Gunning for Secrets

A Jo Gunning Thriller

Renée Pawlish

Creative Cat Press

Copyright © 2024 by Renée Pawlish

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Contents

1. CHAPTER ONE

2. CHAPTER TWO

3. CHAPTER THREE

4. CHAPTER FOUR

5. CHAPTER FIVE

6. CHAPTER SIX

7. CHAPTER SEVEN

8. CHAPTER EIGHT

9. CHAPTER NINE

10. CHAPTER TEN

11. CHAPTER ELEVEN

12. CHAPTER TWELVE

13. CHAPTER THIRTEEN

14. CHAPTER FOURTEEN

15. CHAPTER FIFTEEN

16. CHAPTER SIXTEEN

17. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

18. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

19. CHAPTER NINETEEN

20. CHAPTER TWENTY

21. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

22. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

23. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

24. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

25. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

26. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

27. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

28. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

29. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

30. CHAPTER THIRTY

31. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

32. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

33. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

34. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

35. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

36. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

37. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

38. CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

39. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

40. CHAPTER FORTY

41. CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

42. CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

43. CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

44. CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

45. CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

46. CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

47. CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

48. CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

49. CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

50. CHAPTER FIFTY

51. CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

52. CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

53. CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

54. CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

55. CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

56. CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

DEADLY CONNECTIONS: A SARAH SPILLMAN POLICE PROCEDURAL

AUTHOR'S NOTE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

RENÉE’S BOOKSHELF

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

CHAPTER ONE

Afew minutes before all hell broke loose, Jo Gunning walked toward the National Bank in downtown Dallas. The April morning sun felt good on her back, and no one was paying any attention to her—just the way she wanted it. This particular bank branch was on the smaller end, located on the ground floor of a tall high-rise several blocks from her hotel.

She pushed through a set of revolving doors into the building’s spacious lobby, then strolled into the bank. At a high counter with four teller windows across the room, a young man with long brown hair pulled into a ponytail was helping an elderly woman with a transaction. Jo couldn’t make out their conversation, but she could hear the tenor of the woman’s voice, high and shaky. Another teller—plump and middle-aged—waited at the next window. Behind the counter, a large wall-mounted TV displayed graphs of financial information, then shifted to a news story about the murder of a local journalist. A woman in a skirt and heels stood at a high table in the center of the lobby. She finished writing and started toward the waiting teller.

Jo approached the high table, and as she looked for a form to complete her transaction, her gaze roamed the room, taking in the rest. A few desks sat across from the teller counter, each occupied. A Hispanic man at one, typing on his keyboard. His desk phone rang, and he answered it, frowning and speaking in a low tone as he glanced around. A woman with long black hair sat at another; she finished a transaction with a younger couple, and they got up to leave. A stern-looking man in a suit occupied the third desk, his hair flecked with gray, bifocals perched on his nose. He was checking a file and scratching his head.

The room was cool, even though the Texas day outside was in the low seventies. Jo—ex-Army and Civil Affairs—took in the information quickly. It was second-nature to her. Being observant had saved her life many times, most recently in Prescott, Arizona, when she’d run afoul of human traffickers. Her experience and a little luck had saved her life. She’d stayed in Prescott while an investigation had been conducted, and then she’d wandered east. She would soon need to travel to Alabama, where she was expected at the trial for Rance Pollack, a dangerous man who’d been involved in the drug trade. But for now, she didn’t need to be anywhere, and as she found the correct banking form, the soft elevator music playing in the background seemed to confirm it.

Everything seemed ordinary, until it wasn’t.

Jo was reaching for a pen when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye—three men entering the bank through the glass door. All wore dark clothes and masks that fully covered their faces. She couldn’t even see their eyes. As she turned for a better look, they were reaching into their coats for weapons.

“This is a robbery!” one of them barked. Tall, with broad shoulders and big hands, he was built like a quarterback and carried a large black duffel bag. His pistol swept the room. “Do as we say and no one gets hurt!”

He moved toward the desks, while another stalked toward Jo and the teller counter. Behind him, the third robber pulled something from his pocket. He was tall, and he reached up and fiddled with the locks on the door. Jo couldn’t tell what else he did as the second one moved toward the tellers, pistol raised. A Beretta, common but deadly. Easily concealed, but solid firepower.

“Back away from the counter and raise your arms!” he snarled at the two tellers.

They did as he said. Jo knew there had to be some kind of silent alarm button that one of the employees could’ve pushed, but had they? And even if the police were going to respond, the robbers were moving quickly.

“Anyone else back there?” the second one said. He had a way of talking in grunts, as if there were sandpaper in his throat.

The young man with the ponytail nodded. “One more.”

The two remaining customers were paralyzed, fear etched on their faces. The tall man rushed around the lobby, reaching up and closing blinds, leaving a shaft of light shining through the glass entrance door. His long arms stretched out as he leapt deftly over the counter. He moved past the terrified tellers and disappeared through a side door. Jo knew he’d be carefully checking the rest of the premises. Jo presumed there would be other bank employees.

The second robber turned to her. She stood her ground, staring into his blue eyes.

“Go,” he snarled. He jerked his head toward a door to the right of the teller counter.

Jo did so warily, assessing whether she could take him down. Grunt—as she now thought of him—stood several feet away. She could dive at him and probably disable him, but she didn’t know if he’d pull the trigger. She might be hit—or worse, someone else. Better to do as he said, for the moment.

As those thoughts raced through her mind, the broad-shouldered man hustled the people who’d been sitting at the desks past her. The three employees had their hands up, and their eyes were wide. They paused at the side door with Jo. In the meantime, Stretch had reappeared behind the teller counter with a stocky man whose mouth moved, but no words came out.

“Clear,” the robber called out.

Jo was correct. The stocky man was the only other person at the back of the bank.

Stretch stood with pistol at the ready, covering that man and the tellers. Grunt was ordering the two customers at the counter toward the side door. The well-dressed woman was shaking, and Jo thought the elderly one might faint. As she approached, Jo murmured at her.

“It’s okay.” The woman nodded, tears welling in her eyes.

“What’s your name?” Jo whispered, trying to get the woman to focus on something other than her fear.

“Barbara McCarthy.”

Jo smiled at her, and she momentarily relaxed. As the group stood there, Grunt approached Jo’s group. He pointed to the side door.

“Who can open that?”

The employees shifted nervously, and the gray-haired man who’d been at his desk when they stormed in raised his hand.

“I can.”

“Do it,” Grunt said.

The man approached the door on wobbly legs, took a keycard from his pocket, and opened the door. As Grunt held it open and covered the group, and the man with the athletic build—QB in her mind—roughly searched each of them, emptying their pockets and throwing their belongings across the lobby. When he got to Jo, he pulled out her phone, her credit card and driver’s license, some cash, and a small military knife. She traveled light, with only a few changes of clothes at her hotel, a mile away. He didn’t say anything when he saw the knife, just threw it with the other stuff. Then he shoved her out of the way. At the same time, Stretch told the two tellers and the stocky man to carefully empty their pockets and throw their belongings over the counter.

QB motioned for the hostages to go through the door. “Do anything stupid, you’re dead,” he said to them.

At the same time, Stretch gestured with his pistol to the side door. “Through there,” he ordered the tellers and the stocky man.

The plump woman turned and went through the teller door first, followed by the man with the ponytail and the stocky man. As Jo followed her group, she kept assessing the situation. All three robbers wore the same tactical pants, lightweight nylon black jackets, black gloves, and the combat-style black boots. Their ski masks were high-tech, with breathable material that covered everything, even their eyes. Each carried a Beretta. They were coordinated, in sync; they knew what they were doing. Very efficient. Even their movements didn’t allow much to distinguish them from one another.

Jo passed the door to the teller area and glanced inside. The tall one wasn’t trying to get cash out of any drawers or a cash dispenser. He was nowhere in sight, and she couldn’t hear him either. At the end of a hallway, Grunt gestured to an open door on the left. He’d dropped the duffel bag on the floor.

“In there,” he said, then stood back, Beretta raised.

The tellers and the other employees went in first, followed by the two women, and finally Jo. The storage room had metal shelves and a long counter with cabinets. No windows, no pictures on the walls. The two bank customers leaned against the shelves, along with the man in the suit and the stocky man from the back of the bank. The two tellers and the Hispanic man stood to Jo’s left, the black-haired woman on her right.

“Sit on the floor, backs to the wall or cabinets,” Grunt ordered. They all did as they were told. “Put your hands on your knees where I can see them,” he said.

They all complied once more as he stood in the hallway, the pistol still on them.

“We good?” QB called out from down the hall.

“Yes,” Grunt replied.

Jo listened for Stretch’s voice, but she didn’t hear anything. The big-handed man appeared, standing in the hall. They stood with pistols ready, waiting. Jo glanced around. There were nine people, including her, all crammed into the storage room—waiting to see what happened next.

CHAPTER TWO

Afew sounds broke the silence in the storage room. Barbara wheezed hard through her mouth, and the woman with the long black hair who’d been sitting at one of the desks whimpered softly. The Hispanic employee cleared his throat. The room carried a faint vanilla and metallic odor, the smell of paper and ink, but also a release of sweat, the presence of fear. That was familiar to Jo. She’d been on enough dangerous missions where she and her teammates hadn’t known what might be coming. None in this little group had any idea if they would get out alive. The two hostage-takers—Jo now thought of them that way—remained in the doorway, pistols up. They didn’t say a word, just stood there, looking lethal. Behind them was another hallway with a closed door at the end. Then Stretch’s voice carried down the hall, and Grunt moved out of view. QB remained, staring in at them. Jo studied the door. It was heavy and sturdy. The knob locked from the outside with a key.

The black-haired woman put a hand to her chest. “Oh, I don’t think I can breathe.”

Jo spoke to her softly. “Relax your shoulders and breathe through your nose for a couple of seconds. Then exhale slowly through a small gap between your lips. Keep doing that.”

The woman looked at Jo with frightened eyes but did as she’d said.

“What’s your name?” Jo murmured.

“Sabrina.”

“Hey! No talking,” the robber snapped, glaring at Jo.

She gestured toward Sabrina. “She’s having trouble breathing. She may need help.”

He shook his head. “She’ll be fine.”

Jo glanced at the others. They were holding up as well as could be expected, though the man in the suit was sweating profusely, the collar of his shirt already soaked. Was it solely fear, or was he on the verge of some kind medical situation?

She looked back at the hostage-taker. “You don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

She let the words come out slow, bringing the pitch of her voice down, leaving no signs of threat as she talked. In her years in Civil Affairs, where she’d worked with several secretive Special Operations units, she’d not only been an expert markswoman who was fluent in several languages, she’d also had to gather human intelligence in dangerous countries. She knew how to make people feel comfortable, and she could use that to her advantage now.

“No talking,” their captor repeated.

“It’s just—”

“Be. Quiet.” He pointed the Beretta at her for emphasis.

For the moment, Jo kept her mouth shut. She didn’t think he’d shoot her. Their abductors had taken hostages for a reason, and killing any of them would make their crime much worse. She might have another opportunity for negotiation later.

In the meantime, Jo continued to evaluate. She had a good internal clock, and by her estimate, it had taken no more than two or three minutes for the men to take over the bank and get everyone into the storage room. If an emergency call had gone out, which seemed likely given the circumstances, law enforcement would be at the bank by now. The responding officers would assess the scene, knowing a robbery was in progress, and would likely have figured out the situation inside the bank.

She hadn’t heard any shots, so she assumed the officers were staying back and calling for more help. A hostage rescue team would be on its way, and the HRT would have a negotiator, someone to talk to the men. It would take a little time to get a direct line to the bank, and she wasn’t sure if she’d hear a phone ringing from back here. Once the negotiator got in contact with one of the three men, the situation would progress.

One thing worried Jo, though. Manpower. Budget cuts had left many police departments short on officers and resources. That could delay the entire timeline running through her mind. She glanced around the room. No matter what was happening on the other side of the storage room walls, the little group would have to be careful. They probably didn’t have long before the hostage-takers went to their next move.

Grunt returned, holding a license in his hand, the duffel bag still on the floor of the hallway. His gaze settled on the man two down from Jo. “Rico Ortega?”

The Hispanic employee looked up and cleared his throat. “Yes?” His voice warbled.

“You have access to the safety deposit boxes?”

“There’s a key to the room.” A noncommittal reply. He wore a white shirt, and he was nervously smoothing the dark tie he wore over it.

“Take me to the safe deposit boxes,” Grunt said.

Rico was an inch or two taller than Jo, at least five ten, and he was muscular, clearly worked out. But he wasn’t agile, not light on his feet. Not a fighter. He hesitated. “I can’t get in that room.”

Grunt gestured with his pistol. “Stand up.”

Rico rose to his feet with care. “Even if I could unlock the room, you need two keys to get into the safety deposit boxes.”

Jo gritted her teeth. Rico was trying to bargain with their captor. A big mistake. These men knew what they were doing. And the bank employees would’ve been told not to resist, not to argue. Nothing—no money or valuables—was worth their lives. She glanced up, trying to make eye contact with Rico, but he was looking at Grunt.

The man tossed the license into the hallway, then pulled others from his pocket and shuffled through them. He looked at the gray-haired man in the suit. “Douglas Lovato?”

Douglas looked up. “Yes?” He wiped perspiration off his brow, then rested his hands back on his knees.

“Stand up,” Grunt said.

“What do you want?”

“Stand up!”

Douglas shifted to his side and pushed himself to his feet, grabbing one of the shelves to help. His face was wet with sweat, and his lip trembled as if he were on the verge of crying. Grunt pointed the Beretta at Douglas, but his eyes remained on Rico. A few gasps sounded through the tension in the room, and Sabrina whimpered again.

“Please,” Douglas said. “I have a wife and kids.”

“You have a key to the room where the safety deposit boxes are,” Grunt said to Rico.

“Rico,” Douglas pleaded, his voice shaking. “What’re you doing?”

Grunt bolted forward and pressed the Beretta against Douglas’s temple. Everyone else but Jo recoiled, horror taking over their faces. Rico suddenly held up his hands.

“Don’t do anything to him,” he said. “I can get the key.”

He kept the pistol on Douglas, whose whole body rippled with a violent shudder. Finally, the Beretta lowered, and Grunt backed up to the doorway, then flicked a finger at Rico.

“Come with me.”

Rico stepped past the well-dressed woman and moved toward the door. Grunt grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and propelled him out the door.

“I’m sorry, I’ll do what you want,” Rico said.

Looking out, Jo had a limited view as Grunt pushed him down another hallway, and they disappeared inside the vault room. QB grabbed the duffel bag and headed after them. He paused by the vault door and tossed the bag inside. Douglas’s legs gave way. He sank to the floor and leaned back, his back thumping against the cabinets. With both hands, he made another futile wipe at his sweaty face.

“I don’t want to die.” It was the well-dressed woman, her voice so small it could’ve been a child’s.

Barbara was crying, and Sabrina put a hand over her stomach.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she moaned.

“Everyone, stay calm,” Jo whispered. “Don’t argue with them, just do what they say.” She looked at the well-dressed woman. “What’s your name?”

“Darlene.”

The stocky man who’d been at the back of the bank spoke up. “I’m Ward.”

Jo nodded at him, then focused on the plump, middle-aged teller. “And what about you?”

“Mandy,” she said.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mandy,” Jo said. “I’m Jo.”

She mimicked Mandy’s and Darlene’s responses, not using her surname. She didn’t know if the women had done that intentionally, but Jo didn’t want these people to know anything more about her, if possible. The introductions served the purpose Jo had wanted. The tension, although still palpable, had diminished somewhat. She kept up the encouraging tenor, hoping to push that along.

“We need to stay cool,” she said. The employee with the long ponytail stared at her. “How do you know what to do?” His tone seemed skeptical of her.

“What’s your name?” Jo asked him.

“Cameron.”

“Cameron,” Jo repeated. Saying his name herself did several things. It was attention-grabbing, and it might make him feel important. It also showed that she respected him. All ways to help her connect with him. “I know a little about . . . dangerous situations, and if we’re careful, it’ll all be okay.”

She didn’t know if it would be okay, of course, but if the group kept calm, that was significant. Jo didn’t intend to die this way, crammed into a storage room by a few random criminals. After years of being overseas on missions, she’d finally left Civil Affairs a year and a half earlier. She’d been in Alabama and Arizona, then to Mexico to help her best friend, Dack Pendleton. She’d also gone back to Colorado to see her father, Will, and her sister, Avery, where she’d started repairing long-fractured relationships with them. She’d hoped to be able to stay there, but it hadn’t worked out, and she’d gone to Utah, then Nevada, and then back to Arizona. Always on the move, always encountering trouble. Jo wasn’t the kind who could walk away, and she wasn’t one to lose.

As Jo pondered all this, she was watching the doorway. QB eyed the storage room from his vantage point outside the vault, but he didn’t seem to care if the hostages were talking. Jo didn’t know how long they would have before that changed. She looked at Douglas.

“Are you going to be okay?” she asked.

Douglas stared at her, his eyes wide. “Yes.” He sounded firm.

Jo glanced at the others. For the most part, they’d remained motionless and quiet. Jo touched Sabrina’s arm. She wasn’t shaking, but she still clutched her waist.

“Take deep breaths, okay?” Jo said.

Sabrina nodded and gulped. “What’re they going to do to us?”

“They’ll take what they want, and they’ll negotiate their way out of here.”

She kept thinking about the men who had taken them hostage. Besides the coordinated clothing, she’d been paying attention to their voices. Grunt had an accent, something European. QB had a slight Southern drawl, with a slower pace of speech, as if he might’ve grown up in Alabama or Mississippi but hadn’t lived there in a long while. She’d only briefly heard Stretch speak, and he hadn’t appeared again. Was he up front, talking to law enforcement? The trio had planned everything to this point with precision, making no mistakes, and they wouldn’t have come this far without a solid escape plan. She hoped it didn’t involve taking someone in the storage room with them.

She looked out the doorway just as Rico emerged from the vault. QB propelled him down the hallway, toward the storage room.

CHAPTER THREE

When they reached the doorway, the man shoved Rico into the room. Jo tensed, waiting for what would happen next.

“Sit down,” he ordered Rico.

Rico stumbled into the room, tripping over the legs of Barbara. He put a hand on the countertop so he didn’t pitch forward, and then he whirled around and stared at the hostage-taker.

“What the hell,” Rico said. “I could’ve hurt her.”

Barbara was rubbing her shin, and she looked at Rico, frightened. “I’m okay.”

“Sit down,” QB repeated.

Rico took a couple of steps toward him. “You’re not going to get away with this.”

“Rico, keep your mouth shut,” Douglas murmured.

Rico turned partially around and said, “Yeah? You may not want to get out of here alive, but I do.” He turned back to the hostage-taker. “I got you into the vault, so let us go.”

Jo gritted her teeth. Rico was doing everything wrong, making a bad situation worse. The last thing he should do was get the group stirred up, or worse, anger these men. But Rico went on.

“How long are you going to keep us in here?” He jabbed a finger at the man. “I need to go to the bathroom, and I’ll bet others do, too.”

“Calm down,” Jo whispered.

It was too late. The man stalked into the room, the Beretta raised. Before Rico could do anything, the pistol was trained on his forehead.

“Sit down now, or your brains will be splattered all over these people.”

The room erupted in fear. Barbara began crying, and Darlene reached over and held her. Mandy pleaded with Rico to be quiet, while Cameron swore at him. Next to Jo, Sabrina moaned loudly, wringing her hands. Jo grabbed her wrist, feeling her steady pulse.

“Oh man, oh man,” Sabrina said. “I’m gonna die.”

Rico stood his ground, staring at the man. Jo watched the finger on the trigger, the tenseness in his hand.

“You don’t want to do that,” she said to him. “It’ll only make things worse for everyone.”

QB glanced at Jo, and she wished she could see his eyes. His heaving chest began to slow, and his demeanor changed, his stance easing. Jo didn’t know if her words had helped the situation or not, but the man hadn’t pulled the trigger. He glanced around, then said, “Shut up!”

The room went silent apart from terrified, ragged breathing. The man looked at Rico. “I should kill you.”

“Well?” Rico said. He stood tall, but his eyes blinked with fear.

Jo silently prayed that the hostage-taker wouldn’t do anything foolish. She relaxed slightly when she saw his finger ease off the trigger. He dropped his arm, and Rico let out a long, slow breath. His relief was short-lived, though. The man suddenly stood straighter, braced himself, and punched Rico in the gut with the Beretta, the full force of his weight behind the blow. Rico fell forward, landing hard on the tile floor. He gasped for breath, unable to speak, unable to even moan.

Their captor backpedaled, looking over the rest of them. “The next person who confronts me dies.” He stepped into the hall but stayed near the door.

Rico tried desperately to breathe, sucking in hoarsely and then coughing violently. Douglas wiped his brow and shook his head. Everyone seemed afraid to move—all they could do was sit there, helpless, watching Rico struggle. Jo glanced to the door, wary of the hostage-taker. She didn’t want to anger him any more than he already was. Then she carefully reached out and touched Rico, but he shrugged her off. Finally, he crawled toward the spot where he’d been before, and Cameron helped him into a sitting position. Rico put his hands on his knees and rested his head on his forearms. His breathing remained labored, and he didn’t look up. The smell in the room grew worse, the odor of sweat tangible. Jo had been in plenty of terrifying situations, but her adrenaline still ran high. Next to her, Sabrina continued to shake.

“Keep taking deep breaths,” Jo whispered.

Sabrina nodded. “My heart’s racing, but I’ll be fine,” she murmured.

Jo glanced to the hall. QB appeared distracted, and after a moment, Jo realized why. A phone was ringing somewhere, the sound faint but audible. She couldn’t recall if it had rung before, but she figured it must have. Enough time had transpired for the police to obtain a direct line into the bank, and they would be trying to contact the hostage-takers. If they didn’t want to talk, the phone would ring and ring.

It cut off abruptly. That was a good sign. Any kind of conversation between the hostage-takers and a negotiator meant hope for the little group. Stretch was probably on the phone, communicating his demands to a negotiator. If that person was good, they’d be listening, empathizing, trying to build rapport and trust with him. Those were critical steps in the process, ways to keep the situation in control. The negotiator would do everything to keep the hostages alive, not wanting any loss of life. Hopefully the hostage-takers didn’t want it either.

A loud humming noise emanated from the vault all of a sudden. They’re drilling the safety deposit box doors, Jo thought. She eyed their captor, who was now staring into the room. The group didn’t try to talk over the drilling. The noise went on for a while, and then a series of bangs and thumps replaced it.

Several minutes ticked by, tense and thick. A voice called out, and the man looked away from the storage room, then spun around and hurried toward the vault door. He kept the Beretta aimed back toward them as he looked into the vault and spoke in a low tone, inaudible to the little group.

“Something’s happening,” Cameron murmured.

Douglas was farthest from the storage room door, and he leaned forward, trying to look out. “What’s going on?”

“Shh,” Darlene said. “Don’t do anything to bring them back in here.”

Barbara nodded, finding some strength. “Do as they say.”

Cameron sneered. “As long as Rico doesn’t do anything stupid.”

Jo glanced at Rico. He remained where he was, head down, but his shoulders stiffened at the mention of his name. Hopefully he would remain quiet this time. The rest of the group were growing restless, which was bad. They’d already had one altercation, and they couldn’t afford more. At some point, the situation could grow more violent. And as soon as the hostage-takers killed one person, they might not worry about killing more.

“They’re talking to the police,” Jo said. “They’ll be negotiating, figuring out a way to get us out of here. We just have to wait.”

“I don’t know,” Cameron muttered.

Douglas nodded toward Jo. “She’s right. We need to do what they say, just like we’ve been trained to do. It’s our best option.”

“Sabrina, are you going to be all right?” Jo asked.

She nodded and leaned the back of her head against the cabinet. “I’m so scared.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll make it out.”

The drilling noises and the pounding stopped, and in unison, everyone looked to the hall.

“What’re they doing?” Douglas whispered.

Jo eyed QB, who was staring into the vault once more. His pistol had lowered slightly, no longer aimed right at them.

“I don’t know,” she said.

As the fresh silence stretched out, so did the fear in the room. Everyone tensed, and Rico raised his head, but he wisely didn’t say anything. Jo strained to hear. There was only a faint sound of air blowing through ducts.

Then QB started walking toward the storage room, the Beretta raised once more. Behind him, Grunt emerged from the vault, the duffel bag in his left hand. It looked bulkier than before, full now. The pair hurried toward them, and QB stood to the side as Grunt looked around the room. His gaze settled on Rico, and he pointed his Beretta at him.

“You, get up,” Grunt ordered.

“What do you want?” Rico asked.

Jo was going to chide him, but before she could, Grunt aimed and pulled the trigger. A bullet hit the cabinet door next to Rico’s head, sending shards of wood flying. Screams filled the air, and everyone instinctively ducked. Rico covered his ears. Jo sucked in a breath. Grunt knew what he was doing—a close shot like that served its purpose. The hostages were terrified, and they would likely be more compliant.

“Don’t kill me!” Rico sniveled.

“Get up, or I’ll kill you,” Grunt said.

Rico scrambled to his feet.

CHAPTER FOUR

Grunt took a small piece of rope from his pocket and yanked Rico’s hands behind him. Jo expected the employee to resist, but for once, he was smart. He stood straight, staring ahead as Grunt bound his wrists behind him. Jo watched the whole time, thinking there would be nothing investigators could decipher from the rope. It looked ordinary, probably purchased at a Home Depot or Lowe’s. Something that couldn’t be traced back to them. Even if fingerprints could’ve been lifted from the fibers, Grunt still had his gloves on, so there was no hope for that. Next, he pulled a black cloth from his pocket and blindfolded Rico. That elicited a small snivel from the man. Grunt pushed him forward, and he disappeared from view. Then he returned to address the rest of them, gesturing with his gun.

“Stay here. You try to come out, you’re dead.”

No one said a word as Grunt reached in, flicked the light switch, and shut the door. The storage room was plunged into darkness. The doorknob rattled, followed by a thumping sound, which seemed to startle Sabrina based on her small gasp. Jo thought fast. If the hostage-takers were still negotiating, one of the men might be positioned near the storage room door, ready to shoot if anyone emerged. She doubted that, though. They looked like men who were ready to leave the bank. And if they had left, would they have been able to lock the storage room door? If not, they had probably placed something under the knob to prevent anyone in the room from opening the door. Worse, they could’ve placed a bomb in the hall.

The room remained deathly still for a moment, stilted breathing mounting the tension level. Then the air-conditioner kicked on, a small hum behind the walls.

“Are they still there?” Barbara asked in a whisper, fear still in her voice.

The group would be wondering what to do next, and Jo knew she had to take control.

“Everybody stay put,” she said. “I’ll get the light.”

“What if they see you turn it on?” Cameron asked.

For the first time since she’d walked into the bank, Jo felt a tinge of humor. “It’s dark in here, so that’s not likely.”

“What if someone’s on other side of the door?” That was Douglas.

Jo shifted into a crouch. “Not likely,” she said, even though she’d wondered about that possibility. “They’re trying to scare us.”

“You should stay where you are,” Darlene said.

“It’s okay,” Jo replied.

Still, she remained in place for a bit, waiting to see if the sounds of their voices caused a reaction from outside. Then she felt her way along the floor, her hands hitting a shoe here, touching a leg there. The sound of breathing seemed a cacophony in her ears, and she watched the door the whole time. A thin sliver of light filtered in from the crack under it, but no shadows or movement were discernable on the other side. As she drew closer to the door, she stopped, listening. Someone shifted behind her, the sound of fabric rustling. Cameron sniffled, and Sabrina let out a tiny mew. Jo crouched at the side of the door, raised her hand, and flicked on the light, then turned to look at the group.

A few people blinked; a few had their mouths open. The door didn’t open, and no shots were fired. Jo hadn’t expected anything, of course. She’d been trying to outthink the criminals. They’d bound up Rico and taken him with them, which meant they didn’t need the group in the room anymore. They had cleared out.

She tried the door, and although the knob turned, as she gently tried to pull inward, nothing happened. She wasn’t planning to fully open it. There still could’ve been someone on the other side with a weapon, or the hostage-takers could have booby-trapped it. Her intent had been to see if anything occurred when the knob turned. When nothing did, she was more certain than ever that they were alone. That meant they had no choice but to wait.

Jo crouched by the door and looked at the group. “Is everyone all right?” Several nods. She focused on Barbara. “You doing okay?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice a tiny bit stronger.

“We’re going to make it out of here,” Jo said.

“How do you know?” Ward asked.

“I know something about these situations,” Jo said.

“Are you law enforcement?”

Jo shrugged. “Something like that.”

“Are the police out there?” Mandy asked.

“I need to use the bathroom,” said Darlene.

“Hold it.” That was Cameron, but there was no malice in his tone.

Jo smiled. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to, if you can.”

Darlene smiled. “I guess I can.”

“I’m sure we’ll have to wait a while, but we’re going to make it out of here,” Jo said. “Someone will be here soon to help us.”

A few of the others asked questions, wondering what the police would be doing and such, and Cameron just kept saying that he couldn’t believe the hostage takeover had happened.

“When this is all over, I think I’ll sleep for a week,” Barbara said.

A few of the others smiled. Jo glanced at Sabrina, who had been quiet since the lights went on.

“How are you doing?” she asked her.

Sabrina forced a smile. “I dream about something like this happening sometimes, but I never thought it actually would. People keep telling me I should work somewhere else . . .” She glanced around the room. “Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll quit.”

“It’s not over yet,” Ward muttered.

That brought the mood down quickly, so Jo leaped in with a reply. “It’ll be fine.”

They lapsed into silence. She listened at the door, but she didn’t hear anything.

The clock in her head had counted about thirty minutes since the men had left with Rico when she heard pounding feet and voices on the other side of the door.

“Did they come back?” Darlene whispered.

Jo stayed alert, then shook her head. “I think it’s the police.”

Seconds later, that was confirmed.

“Police! Police!” a voice yelled in the hallway.

“In here,” Jo called out. “We’re safe. There are eight of us. We’re unarmed. They took a man named Rico with them.”

“Stay away from the door,” the voice said.

Jo moved back to her spot, placed her hands on her knees, and watched the door. The knob rattled, and the door swung inward. Three SWAT team members stood in the hall, rifles at the ready. They shined a light into the room, staring at everyone, and then one of them spoke.

“You,” he said to Sabrina. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she replied.

He nodded at her. “Stand up slowly and raise your arms.”

Sabrina carefully got to her feet, keeping her hands where the officers could see them. The one who’d spoken had her move into the hallway, where she was quickly searched by another. When he finished, she was escorted away.

They did the same with Jo next. As the officer searched her, she saw the driver’s licenses that Grunt had discarded. After, she was escorted down the hall and into the bank lobby, which was abuzz with activity, far more so than the sleepy scene she’d walked into before the robbery. Sabrina stood in the corner, already being questioned by an officer. The woman looked calm. Now that the crisis was over, was she in shock? Jo wouldn’t have blamed her. It had been a scary situation. She didn’t see any sign of the hostage-takers. Had they gotten away or were they already on their way to jail? And where was Rico?

An officer took Jo to another part of the lobby, where yet another uniformed officer stood guard. Jo glanced around, taking in everyone’s belongings still lying where they had been thrown on the floor. She wondered when she could get her own things back. Rolling her neck, she finally felt some tension leave her. She knew, though, that it would be a long while before she could fully relax. As she drew in a deep breath, a man in a dark suit and tie approached. Jo guessed him to be in his thirties. He was on the shorter side, wiry, with a stubble of hair on both his head and his chin.

“I’m Detective Holton,” he said. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Jo replied, her voice level and calm.

They were about the same height, and he looked her straight in the eye. Jo introduced herself, and he noted her name, then held up a finger, stepped back, and murmured into his phone. A command center would’ve been set up somewhere outside, and a slew of law enforcement personnel would be assisting in his investigation of the bank robbery. Holton would be getting someone to check Jo’s background, and they would soon discover her military history. It would be interesting to see what they thought of her after that. It didn’t concern her all that much, but she was a bit worried that they’d discover what had happened while she’d been in Colorado. She was thinking about that, pondering options, when Holton wrapped up his call and approached her again.

“Where’s Rico?” Jo asked.

“We’ll get to that,” he replied. “Describe the three men who robbed the bank.”

His answer had her worrying about Rico, and she hoped the bank employee hadn’t been hurt or killed, despite how poorly he’d reacted under pressure. Holton’s reply also told her that the hostage-takers had probably gotten away—otherwise he wouldn’t be pressing her for information about them.

“Tell me about the men,” he said again.

CHAPTER FIVE

Jo drew in a deep breath and began. She treated the situation as she would have had she still been in the military, relating information with as few words as possible. She was efficient, specific, with little emotion. She’d get to her feelings later.

She told him what time she’d arrived at the bank and how she’d barely approached the table in the middle of the lobby when the hostage-takers stormed in. Holton asked for descriptions of everyone in the bank, including the three men, and she told him what she’d observed. He didn’t ask a lot of questions at that point. He was looking for anything that might help him in the moment, any clues in their hunt for the assailants.

She fixed hard eyes on him. “Where are they now?”

He contemplated her for a moment as he scratched the stubble on his chin. “We’re looking for them. Did they give you any indication where they might’ve gone, or what their plans were?”

She shook her head. “They didn’t say a whole lot, and they were careful not to reveal anything to us. Efficient, well planned. They didn’t waste time.”

He nodded, then briefly went over everything she’d told him again. As he did so, Jo saw that the other hostages were being gathered in the bank lobby as well, separated from each other for private interviewing. Several were visibly shaking, while others wore blank faces, still in shock.

“We’re going to take you down to the station for more questioning. Before we do that, is there anything you need?”

Her throat was parched. “I could use a drink of water.”

“I’ll get you some. Hold on.”

Holton hurried out of the bank lobby, returning a minute later with a bottle of water. Jo thanked him and drank half of it before he could say another word. The liquid was soothing as it traveled down her throat.

“Let’s get you to the station,” he said.

“Okay.”

He waved over a uniformed officer, who nodded politely at Jo and escorted her out of the bank without speaking to her. The building lobby was full of law enforcement personnel, their voices and footsteps echoing loudly in the cavernous space. Jo squinted at the sunlight as they walked outside. The street had been cordoned off, and several police and SWAT team vehicles were parked up and down the block. Behind crime-scene tape, a group of reporters craned for a view as cameramen videoed the area. Several more people loitered nearby, trying to get a look at the bank.

The officer put Jo in the back of a squad car and inched his way down the block, where another officer moved a wooden barricade out of the way so the vehicle could pass. Jo looked at the high-rises, thankful that she and all the other hostages had gotten out alive.

Then she remembered Rico again. What had happened to him? Was he all right? Jo felt a familiar pulling at her heart. She’d been on plenty of missions where something had gone wrong, where someone had gotten hurt or killed. On her final mission, Dack had been the victim, and she’d blamed herself for a long time. Every operation, she’d wished she had done something differently that would’ve made for a better outcome. She was thinking about the bank now, wondering if she should have stepped in and said more when Rico was getting agitated. That might’ve just made the situation worse—there was no way to know. You couldn’t go back and do it over to test; she knew that all too well. She downed the rest of the water and let out a heavy sigh, still second-guessing herself regardless of what logic told her. The officer spoke up.

“Everything okay, ma’am?”

They were stopped at a light, and he was peering at her in the rearview mirror.

“I’m tired,” Jo said.

“I’ll bet.”

He continued studying her until the light changed, and then he drove on.

A few minutes later, they arrived at a police station, a four-story brick building with reflective glass. There were more reporters waiting out front, but the officer drove to the side of the building and through a gate to a parking garage that was out of view. He pulled up near a bank of elevators and walked Jo into the building, which was also a flurry of activity. A hostage situation at a bank would do that to a precinct. He turned her over to another detective, who politely introduced himself as Buchanan.

Buchanan wore a white shirt, no tie, and he had a pad and paper in his hand. He again asked if she needed medical attention, and when she confirmed that she didn’t, a female officer went with her to a bathroom, where Jo took a few minutes, then washed her hands as the detective waited by the sinks. Neither said a word.

Back outside, Buchanan took her to an interrogation room and had her take a seat at a rectangular metal table. The door closed behind him, shutting out any noise in the hall. A sweet, flowery scent filled the room, but the air freshener didn’t quite mask that odor she knew so well—sweat, terror, like in the storage room. Who had been interrogated here last, and what had they been suspected of? Whatever it was, it had instilled fear that still lingered.

“I know this has already been a long and stressful day for you,” Buchanan began, “and I’m afraid I’m going to add to it.”

“I understand,” Jo said.

He had a warm and engaging manner, which she appreciated. Bedside manner wasn’t just for doctors.

“Detective Holton will be here in a while, and he wants to talk to you again. In the meantime”—he pushed the pad and paper across the table to her—“I want you to write down everything you saw and heard, everything you can think of from the moment you walked into the bank this morning.”

“Is Rico okay?” she asked.

“He is, but that’s all I can say. I’ll let Detective Holton fill you in.”

Jo breathed a sigh of relief. At least Rico was alive. She still didn’t know if he’d been harmed, or what else had happened since she’d last seen him.

“Can I get you anything?” Buchanan asked.

“More water,” she said.

He smiled. “You got it. If you need anything else, knock on the door.”

“Thank you.”

He left the room, and as Jo gathered her thoughts, she glanced around. It was like other interrogation rooms she’d been in, with the standard-order white walls, table and chairs, and a camera mounted high in the corner, where at any moment someone might be observing her and recording everything she did. She sat for a long while, then ran her hands down her face, picked up the pen and began writing everything she could think of from the moment she’d entered the bank until she’d spoken with Detective Holton. As Buchanan had requested, she was detailed. She had time. Holton would wrap up what he was doing at the bank before he would talk to her, and that might take him a while.

She was interrupted by a tap on the door, and Detective Buchanan entered the room once more.

“Here you go.” He handed her a bottle of water. “You still doing okay?”

She tapped the notepad with the pen. “Working on my notes.”

“Good, thank you.” He stared at her for a moment. “Detective Holton will be here soon.”

“Fine.”

He backed out of the room without another word. She took a sip of water and went back to writing. By her internal clock, at least a couple of hours had passed. She wrote slowly, her thoughts turning to Holton. He’d be comparing notes with the other detectives and interviewers, seeing what each hostage said about the robbery. He’d be looking into their backgrounds, and law enforcement would comb through surveillance video from the entire neighborhood, pinpointing when she and the others had entered or left the bank. He’d have learned as much as he could about her before he entered the interrogation room. Whether she or any of the other hostages liked it, there would be suspicion on them, too. And that got her thinking, wondering about the others in the storage room. Then her eyes narrowed.

She realized that there was something she’d missed.

CHAPTER SIX

Jo put her pen down and stared at the pad and paper in front of her. As she thought back, there was something she hadn’t noticed before. It was understandable. A lot had been going on at the bank, the situation incredibly stressful, even for someone with her background. Stress had been a part of every mission she’d ever been on. However, once she was removed from a particular situation, she was debriefed, and she had time to go over what had occurred. You had a chance to see what you’d missed.

For what had happened at the bank, that time was now. She had to be careful, though, because the mind could be fickle. Although it could validate things to be true, it could also make up things that didn’t happen. She crossed her arms and pictured her morning like a movie in her mind. She went through everything again, from start to finish. Yes, there was something she hadn’t thought of until just moments ago. She was about to make note of it when there was another tap on the door, and Detective Holton came into the room.

“You’re doing all right?” he asked brusquely.

She nodded. He glanced toward her almost-full water bottle.

“Do you need anything else? Coffee, or a soda?”

Jo shook her head. “The water’s fine. Is Rico okay?”

“Yes.” Holton didn’t offer more. “Where’re you staying?”

“A hotel nearby.” If he wasn’t going to be specific, she felt no need to be either.

He had files and a notepad with him, and he plunked them on the table, pulled out the chair opposite her, and sat down heavily. He looked harried, his tie askew. This was probably the first chance he’d had to take a seat since he’d entered the bank a few hours ago. He drew in a breath and let it out slowly as he looked at her.

“I’m sorry it took so long to get here,” he said.

She shrugged. “No problem. You have a job to do.”

He studied her for a moment, then flipped open a file folder. She saw a piece of paper on the top with her photo clipped to it. As she suspected, they’d done their research on her. Holton perused the page for a moment and then looked up.

“You’re ex-military.”

She nodded. “Army and Civil Affairs.” She didn’t hide anything, as she’d done nothing wrong.

“I had to do a little research on Civil Affairs. You were with Special Operations.”

Jo shook her head. “I worked alongside Special Ops teams.”

His eyebrows went up slightly. “Doing what?”

She knew he hadn’t only looked up Civil Affairs—he’d also tried to find out specifics of her assignments. He could hunt all he wanted, but he would find little more on her. Most of the missions she’d been a part of had been highly classified, things that the average person would never know about and even someone with his authority couldn’t touch. If the police had obtained her service records, they would show her military service, some places where she was stationed, and not much else.

“I did a tour in Afghanistan,” she said vaguely.

His lips pressed together. He wanted more, but he could tell he wasn’t going to get it. He flipped the pages of her file dramatically, then closed it with a flourish and set it aside.

“What’re you doing in Dallas?”

“Visiting.”

“Who?”

“Sight-seeing. Nothing much.”

He eyed her carefully as he opened another file containing notes and pictures from the bank. “What were you doing at the bank?”

“I’d gone in to withdraw some cash,” she said.

“For?”

“Personal reasons.” He didn’t need to know that she always preferred to use cash if possible. She wanted to be as anonymous as she could. That was growing much harder in the digital age, but she tried.

“You don’t have a fixed residence,” he said.

She shook her head. “I’m traveling around for a while.”

“Where do you receive mail?”

“An APO box.”

“Army Post Office,” he said, familiar with the term.

“Yes.”

The APO was close to Dack’s house, and ever since she’d left Washington, DC, he’d checked it regularly and forwarded anything important to her. Again, she wasn’t going to tell Detective Holton anything about her friend. He didn’t even need to know Dack existed.

He pointed at her notes and held out a hand. “May I?”

She handed the notepad to him. He perused it quickly, then pulled a pen from his pocket and went over her notes again, asking her questions and periodically jotting his own notes alongside hers.

“The three men who took you hostage all wore the same clothes,” he said.

She nodded. “It all looked military grade.”

“Do you think they were ex-military?”

Jo considered their thorough plan, their precision once more. “They could have been,” she said.

“Any notable accents?”

“One had one. Maybe Slavic.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve been to the Eastern bloc.”

“Ah,” he said.

“And the broad-shouldered one has a slight Southern drawl.”

“A Texas drawl, or somewhere else?”

She had noticed he had a bit of a drawl himself but saw no reason to point that out. “Yep.”

“And the tall one?”

“He didn’t,” she said. “Maybe he was from California, or the Northwest.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I rarely detect an accent when I’ve been in those areas, not like New York or the Northeast, or anything from the South. It’s just a guess, though.”

He glanced down at her notes, then at a file. “When you entered the bank, where was everyone else?”

“There were two tellers behind the counter. One was helping Barbara, the elderly woman. Another woman, Darlene, was at the middle table, and she had just gone to the teller window when the men entered the bank.”

“And the other bank employees?”

“Sabrina, Douglas, and Rico were at their desks.”

“And Ward?”

She blinked at him. “I didn’t know about him until right before we were taken to the storage room.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “What did the three employees at their desks do when you entered the bank?”

She pictured the scene in her head. “Sabrina had been working with a younger couple who then left the bank.”

“Describe the couple.”

Jo did. She remembered they were younger, the man with longer blond hair, the woman with dark hair. In the bank, she’d noted their presence. Now, with everything that had happened, she didn’t have as much detail on them as she would’ve liked. The fickle mind. “I have no idea who they were.”

He nodded again. “What did Sabrina do next?”

Jo tried to picture the woman. “She remained at her desk. I don’t know what she was doing. Douglas was reading a file, and Rico had just taken a phone call when the men came in.”

“You know the names of the employees?”

She smiled. “We talked in the storage room and introduced ourselves. I was trying to keep everyone calm.”

“Right. How did Rico act when he took the phone call?”

She narrowed her eyes, wondering if he’d been thinking what she had earlier. Had there been an inside person to help the robbers?

“He was frowning as he talked,” she said.

“Anything else?”

She shook her head. “Right after that, those men came into the bank.”

He tapped her notes with his finger. “And you said one of them did something to the door?”

“Yes, but I couldn’t tell what. I’m assuming something to lock it.”

“Could be,” he said noncommittally. “And then?”

She went over what happened next, how the men had gathered everyone in the bank together and searched them, then herded them into the storage room as hostages.

“And where was everyone positioned?” he asked.

She gestured toward the notepad. “I can draw it for you.”

“Excellent.”

Jo took a moment to diagram the storage room, with circles labeled with each person’s name, and he studied that for a moment.

“And Rico was here?” He pointed.

“Yes.”

“How did he act when you all were waiting in the storage room?”

“He was scared, like the rest of us.”

He tipped his head. “You were scared, too?”

She stared at him. “Just because I have a military background doesn’t mean that things can’t scare me.”

“Right. Go on.”

“None of us knew what was going to happen.”

“No one acted odd?”

“You mean Rico?”

His face revealed nothing. “You tell me how everyone was behaving.”

She went over what little the hostages had said to one another when they were in the storage room. When she finished, Holton rifled through more notes.

“Tell me about the exchange between Rico and the broad-shouldered man.”

“The guy wanted the key to the safety deposit box room.” She told him about that, very clinical in her words, very military.

“What did Rico do?”

“He was belligerent, questioning what the hostage-takers were doing. He put Douglas at risk.”

Holton eyed her. “You’re holding something back.”

She thought for a moment. “Aren’t bank employees told to do anything a robber tells them to, that they shouldn’t resist in any way?”

The detective nodded. “That’s true.”

“Then why was Rico fighting back? Was he just being stupid, or was there something more?”

Holton didn’t answer that, but he couldn’t hide a flicker in his eyes that revealed she’d hit on something. She let it slide for now, waiting to see where he went next.

“What else did Rico do?” he asked.

“He was still argumentative with the man when he brought him back into the storage room, and the guy punched Rico in the gut.”

Holton had obviously heard that already, and he looked at her to go on. “And?”

“It was a good punch, and it had to hurt. Rico couldn’t get any air for a minute. Then he sat on the floor and didn’t say anything else until all three men came for him later.”

“Why take him?”

She’d been thinking about that, and she told Holton exactly what she’d been pondering. “Was Rico acting the way he was for show, because he knew they wouldn’t do anything to him?” Holton didn’t say anything, and she went on. “I know what you’re getting at. If Rico was an inside man, someone giving the robbers information about the bank, they might take him as their hostage. They use him as their way out, their shield against the police. You’re not going to take out the bad guys when they have a hostage. But Rico knows he’s not going to get hurt, so he plays up his role, acts like he has no clue who they are.”

Holton nodded thoughtfully. “That’s an interesting possibility.”

“Or, no one was involved.”

“Is there anyone else you’re suspicious of?” he asked.

Jo puzzled over another thing that had occurred to her, deciding whether she should bring it up to him. “Did you look into Sabrina?”

“We’re looking at everyone and everything,” he said. “But tell me about her.”

“She acted scared, and even said something about her heart racing.”

“So?”

“I held her wrist multiple times, and I could feel her pulse. It was steady. Not what you’d expect from someone who was that frightened.”

He rubbed his chin with an audible scratching sound. “Anything else about her?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m on the wrong track, but her behavior might’ve been over the top. Like she was acting.”

He jotted down more notes, then went over everything with her again. She couldn’t tell if he thought anything of her perception of Sabrina. He finally finished, and he gathered up his notes and files.

“I appreciate your talking to me. This is an ongoing investigation, and I do need you to stay in town.”

“Of course.”

“Did you have a car parked near the bank?”

Jo shook her head. “I walked from my hotel.” She gave him the location.

He arced an eyebrow. “That’s a long walk.”

She shrugged. “It was a beautiful morning.” At least until everything happened at the bank.

“I’ll have an officer drive you wherever you want,” he offered.

“My hotel.”

He stood up. “Wait here, and I’ll get someone.”

“What about my phone and license, and my other stuff?”

“I’ll return everything to you before you go.”

With that, he left her alone in the room, where she continued to run over everything that had happened that morning.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Kline waited at a parking garage off Forest Lane, in northern Dallas, a several-minute drive from National Bank. He was a brawny man, with big hands that had done a lot of damage over the years. He was parked on an upper level, where he had a view of the downtown skyscrapers to the south. The Bank of America Plaza stood tallest, dwarfing the nearby Renaissance Tower. Kline liked Fountain Place, a fifty-eight story prism that defined the city skyline. He remembered seeing the building on reruns of Dallas, and when Kline moved to Texas, one of the first things he’d done was walk all the way around it. Now, after several years of living in Texas, he didn’t pay much attention to the skyscrapers. Too much else to do.

A warm breeze blew, but he was in the shade. No one was parked on level four of the parking garage, and no one would leave their car on the rooftop, even though it wasn’t hot yet. There were no surveillances cameras anywhere in the parking garage, and no one to know he was there. Kline looked around anyway, then checked his expensive watch. Ten minutes late. He wasn’t worried, though. The men he’d hired were experts, and he’d vetted them well. That was what money could buy you. If anything had gone wrong, he would’ve heard about it.

Kline leaned against an unremarkable brown sedan—license plate registered to a fake offshore business—and stared at the empty parking places. He barely noticed the hum of U.S Highway 75 in the distance, his mind on the last twenty-four hours. So far, his plans had worked to perfection. Which was good, because there was no room for failure.

Finally, the sound of a car engine approached. An older-model Chevy sedan turned the corner and drove up the ramp, then parked two spaces down from Kline’s vehicle. A man with closely cropped dark hair, steely eyes, and a big nose got out. He wore faded jeans and a white shirt, as well as a pair of tennis shoes. He looked like any number of people you’d see on the streets or in the nearby stores.

Kline smoothed his own hair, short and blond. “How did it go?” His voice was cool, void of any emotion.

“Your intelligence was flawless,” the man replied, gravelly and with the hint of an accent.

Kline studied him. “But?” He could tell something wasn’t quite right.

The man shrugged. “One of the employees pushed back a little.”

Kline took a couple of steps forward. “How?”

“We had them in a storage room, and the guy started acting tough. One of my guys had to hit him, show him who was boss.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Was he hurt? Did he have to go to the hospital?”

The man shook his head. “Nothing like that. My guy said he couldn’t breathe for a moment. He’ll probably have a bruise.” A slight smile rippled across his face.

“You better hope nothing happened to him,” Kline said. “That could make things bad for you.”

The smile vanished. “Don’t worry. No one will be able to trace the robbery back to us.”

“To you.” Kline was sure the man he’d hired would never be a threat to him. The man didn’t even know Kline’s name, knew nothing about him. The other two had never met Kline, and it would stay that way. Kline knew what he was doing. He was better than good. “Who else was in the bank?”

“Three customers.”

“Did you recognize any of them?”

“No, and no issues there.”

“And the stuff?” Kline asked.

The man moved to the trunk of his car and opened it. Inside was a bulky black bag. “We got everything you told us to,” he said.

“No traces left behind?” Kline asked.

The man shook his head. “I know how to do this, and we were good. The black clothes have already been burned, and one of my associates is heading south with the stolen vehicle. It’ll be discarded where no one will find it.”

“No one saw you in the tunnel systems?”

The man let out a tiny sigh, as if he didn’t like being questioned like this. “I’m telling you, everything went well. You have nothing to worry about.”

Kline couldn’t take a chance; he had to be careful. “For what I paid, that better be the case.”

“You have nothing to worry about,” the man repeated. Then he unzipped the black bag. “It’s all there.”

Kline walked over and looked into the bag. There was a drill and some other tools, papers and file folders, and small pouches he assumed held diamonds, gold, jewelry, and other valuables. The important things that people kept in their safety deposit boxes.

“You have a bag for your stuff?”

“Sure,” the man said.

He reached into the trunk and opened a similar black bag. Kline stepped forward and threw a few things into the second bag. Then he zipped it up and stepped back.

“Dispose of the rest as you wish, but be careful,” Kline said. “If you make a mistake, the police will be after you.”

The man zipped up the other bag and closed the trunk, the sound echoing in the garage. He turned around, eyes narrowed. “I know how to fence this stuff,” he said. “But we’ll wait several months before we sell anything.”

Kline nodded. “Your last payment will arrive in a month, after we’re certain there haven’t been complications.”

“That’s right,” the man said. “Good doing business with you.”

Kline didn’t say anything in goodbye, just walked back to his vehicle. The man got into the sedan, backed up, and drove down the ramp and around the corner. Kline waited until he couldn’t hear the sound of the engine anymore before getting into his sedan. He texted someone with a burner phone, and then he started the sedan and drove out of the parking garage.

CHAPTER EIGHT

After Jo signed for her belongings, a different uniformed officer drove Jo from the station to the Amyfinehouse Luxury Downtown Stay. The hotel wasn’t anything fancy, but it was reasonably priced and in the downtown area. She hadn’t been lying to Detective Holton. She had wanted to see Dallas, to just walk around the city and take in the sights. She’d googled places to stay when she’d arrived, and Amyfinehouse—although a little pricier than some hotels—fit the bill.

When the officer parked in front of the hotel, she thanked him and went into the lobby, then watched until his squad car pulled away from the curb and vanished. On the drive, she’d realized she was famished, so she walked a few blocks to Harwood Tavern, a local joint that was busy at that hour, the interior shadowy—a good place to be anonymous. It was midafternoon, but there were plenty of people eating and playing pool and watching sports on any of the numerous TVs throughout the place. She took a booth in a corner and ordered a Harwood burger with bacon jam and house aioli and a Coke. While she waited for her food, she mulled over the morning.

She’d been at the wrong place at the wrong time. It had happened, and there wasn’t a thing she could do about that. She kept most of her emotions at bay, but she was more than a little irritated. The hostage-takers had put a lot of people in danger. What had the robbers wanted? They hadn’t been in the bank long enough to steal from all the safety deposit boxes, and they hadn’t worried about cash in the teller drawers or anywhere else. That puzzled her.

Then her thoughts turned to Rico Ortega. She was curious about him. Why would he go against bank protocol and challenge the robbers? He had to have known that was the wrong move, that his behavior might potentially put them all in harm’s way. Right? Was he just that kind of person, impulsive, someone who didn’t think, just acted, no matter what he’d been told to do?

A waiter brought her burger, and as she took a couple of bites, she pictured Rico on the phone, right before the hostage-takers had come in. He’d frowned, like she’d told Holton, clearly not happy about something. Had he been nervous, too? He could have been expecting the men’s appearance, and that was the reason why he’d been acting the way he had.

Law enforcement would be able to find out who had contacted him, and that might explain his reactions. She didn’t have that luxury on her own.

And what about the robbery investigation? She was now involved, a player in the whole thankfully bloodless game—at least so far. That was bad. The previous fall, she’d discovered a threat at a secret biolab in Colorado, and she feared Dale—a top man from the unnamed government agency whose plans she’d thwarted—would come after her at any sign of her popping her head up. Or worse yet, come after her father and sister. Dack owned a firm that specialized in security consulting and incident response for the wealthy, and he also offered training services. Given his expertise in those areas, he had settled Will and Avery in a small town in Florida, where they were safe. For now.

Jo ate some fries. What about herself? What happened if people from that government agency heard about her name in connection with the robbery at the bank and came after her? Would that lead them to Will and Avery? She couldn’t let that happen. She took another bite of her burger, still thinking about Rico and the entire robbery, wondering what all law enforcement would discover as they investigated.

She’d lost her appetite, so she got up, threw out her trash, and walked back to the hotel. When she reached her room, she checked to make sure no one but the maid had been inside. Once she felt safe, she had a sudden urge to take a shower. She had to rinse off the stench of the bank robbery and the smell of the storage room. She peeled off her clothes, then went into the bathroom and showered, letting the hot water pound her neck and shoulders. Finally, she got out and dressed again in one of a few pairs of jeans she had, along with a clean blouse. Feeling better, she sat on a small chair at a round table and video-called Dack. He answered after a couple of rings.

“Jo, how are you?” he asked, blue eyes sparkling.

He used a text-to-voice app, and as he typed, a tinny computer voice translated the words. The apps had improved, and he almost sounded human, although she still missed the sound of his real voice. She’d met him when they’d served together overseas, and a close friendship had formed. They’d been through a lot, especially on their final mission. When intelligence she’d gathered had turned out to be wrong, a fight had ensued. Dack had been captured by enemy insurgents, and they’d tortured him and cut out his tongue. She and Dack remained friends during his convalescence and after they’d both left the military. It had taken her a long time to forgive herself for what had happened, even though he had never for a moment blamed her.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“Dallas,” she said. She hadn’t talked to him in a week or so, and she’d last been in Lubbock.

He raised his eyebrows. “Just passing through?”

She hesitated. “That was the plan. I thought I’d visit the Sixth Floor Museum to learn more about the JFK assassination, and check out downtown, then find a smaller, quieter town.”

He sensed something. “But?”

She smiled ruefully. “You won’t believe what happened.”

Jo launched into a detailed explanation of the bank robbery, and when she finished, he was staring at her.

“I’m glad you were there, that maybe you could be a calming force for the group.”

“Yeah, but what if the police investigation leads back to me? What did the other employees say about me?”

“Holton researched your background, too.”

“Yes. He doesn’t know a lot about my military experience, but his checking would flag systems and possibly alert others.”

He knew what she’d been thinking. “Someone from that biolab is likely monitoring to see if your name pops up.”

“Right. I may have blown my anonymity.” She thought for a second, then spoke another thing that had been on her mind. “I need to check things myself. I have to know that no one is coming after me.”

Dack ran a hand over his closely cropped brown hair. “You need to be very careful.”

“I know.”

“I’ll start with Rico. I’ll make sure he wasn’t the inside man. If I’m wrong, then I move on.” Some of the emotions she’d been holding in check were bubbling to the surface. “I don’t want anyone to discover where Dad and Avery are.”

“They’re fine. You don’t need to worry about them, I promise.”

“I want to talk to them.”

He shook his head, his angular jaw harder than usual. “Not now. Wait until you know more, and then I’ll set up something.”

She grimaced, but she knew he was right. If someone was monitoring her, they might be able to make the connection between her and Will and Avery, even though Dack took extreme precautions to make sure no one could trace their phone calls.

“Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll keep in touch.”

“Let me know if you need anything.”

She put a hand to the screen, and he did as well. Then she smiled and ended the call. She sat for a moment, then used her phone to get on the internet. She googled Rico Ortega and found an Instagram account for a Ricardo Ortega. He had posted some photos of himself—definitely the employee from the bank. With a few more minutes of searching, she found an address for him in Lancaster, south of Dallas. She pocketed her phone and took the elevator down to the hotel parking garage, where she had an older-model Ford Escape that Dack had provided her when she’d left Colorado. It was four o’clock when she left the garage.

CHAPTER NINE

Rico Ortega lived in an apartment complex off Pleasant Run Road. The neighborhood had wide roads, and a shopping complex was only a couple of blocks away. Jo parked across the street and watched the apartments for a moment.

Based on the unit number, Rico lived on the top floor of a three-story building with a large grassy area in front. A window next to his front door had open blinds. She didn’t see any movement inside the apartment, nor any unusual activity around the complex. After five minutes, she got out of her car, walked up the stairs to his floor, and knocked on the door. No one answered, even after she tried again, so she walked back to the Escape. She had no idea what he would’ve done all day, but like her, he’d probably spent a long time with the police. He would have to come home at some point, or if he was married or in a relationship, Jo might see his partner as well. She drummed the steering wheel with her fingers. She could wait to talk to Rico or whoever else showed up. One thing she had was time. She had to make sure she would be safe, and most importantly, that her father and sister would be too.

She started the Escape and drove farther down the block, then squeezed between a truck and a van, where she could see Rico’s apartment but keep her car where it wasn’t easy to spot. Several people came and went, cars going in and out of the complex parking lot. A couple walked out of the unit next to Rico’s, and a woman emerged from a first-floor apartment with two small children. They walked across the street to a park and began playing on the swings. The sun sank lower on the horizon, and finally a black Subaru drove into the lot and parked. Rico Ortega got out. Even at this distance, Jo could tell he was tired, his shoulders caved forward, his gait slow. He climbed the steps to the third floor, went down the walkway, and disappeared into his apartment.

Then she noticed a nondescript white sedan pass by. It went to the end of the block, flipped a U-turn, and parked, but the driver didn’t get out. Surveillance? If the police suspected Rico of being a part of the bank robbery, it made sense that they would be watching him. Unfortunately, that meant they might see her, too. There wasn’t anything she could do about that, and if she was confronted, she’d deal with it then.

She waited a moment, then got out and headed toward Rico’s building, keeping her head down. She didn’t want to give him time to settle in. Better to take him by surprise, to get him at his most vulnerable.

That didn’t happen. Right as she neared the building, he emerged from his apartment. He’d changed clothes, swapping his dress shirt and tie for a white polo shirt, shorts, and flip-flops. She whirled around and hurried back to the SUV, ready to follow him.

Rico walked down the steps and across the parking lot, but he didn’t get into the Subaru, instead passing it to cross the street. When he reached the sidewalk, he headed in the opposite direction. Jo waited a moment, then got out of the Escape, casually crossed the street as well, and followed his path.

Rico went to the end of the block and turned the corner. Jo hurried after, cutting through an alley. She ran behind another apartment building, and when she reached the end, she peeked around the corner. At the other end of the block, Rico soon crossed the street. Jo walked along the side of the building until she could look down that block as well. He was continuing to head north. Jo backtracked and jogged down the next alley, reaching a parking area behind some shopping center buildings.

Rico soon appeared. He walked into the parking lot and headed for a standalone building with a wood roof. Smitty’s Bar, apparently. Jo stayed put as he went inside. Soon after, the sedan she’d seen near his apartment drove down the street and into the parking lot. The driver positioned the vehicle away from the bar, but at an angle where he could see the bar entrance. Jo kept to the back of a store building, then went around the side. As she headed toward the bar, she kept cars between her and the sedan. She had to cross an open throughway, and she kept her head down and turned away as she hurried to the bar and stepped inside.

Smitty’s was dark and cool, loud with rock music pumping from hidden speakers. To the left was a long bar, and a bartender was hustling back and forth. The center of the room held several mostly-full tables, and booths lined the opposite wall. She looked around and saw Rico tucked into a booth. A hostess walked up.

“Table for one?”

Jo shook her head and pointed to Rico. “My friend’s there.”

The hostess stepped aside as Jo sidled between tables to the booth. She looked down at Rico and smiled.

“Hello,” she said.

He had a Lone Star beer in his hand, and he looked up, puzzled. “Do I know you?” Then recognition filled his eyes. “What’re you doing here?”

Jo slid into the seat across from him without asking permission. His mouth dropped open in protest, and he glanced for any waitstaff to rescue him, but no one was close by.

“I want to talk to you about what happened at the bank,” she said.

“Are you kidding me?” he said, not hiding the anger in the tone. “I want to put the whole incident behind me.”

A waiter stopped by the table and asked if Jo wanted anything. She looked at Rico. He stared at her but kept silent, didn’t make a scene. She wasn’t a big drinker, and she needed to keep her wits about her, so she asked for water. Rico looked relieved. Just water meant she wasn’t staying long. Although in her mind, that depended on how the conversation went.

The waiter backed away, and Jo laced her fingers together and rested them on the table. The din of the bar was loud, but she kept her voice low.

“What happened after those men took you?” she asked.

He gulped some beer and leaned forward. “I don’t have to talk to you.”

“Maybe not, but if I don’t get some answers, you’ll regret it.”

He stared at her, clearly worried about her threat. “You with the cops? Undercover or something?”

She shook her head. “But I have an interest in what happened.”

Jo felt the anger seeping from him like oil. But underneath that was something else. Fear. He picked at the label of his beer, not making eye contact.

“What are you afraid of?” she asked.

“I can’t talk to you. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

He finally looked up. “Who are you with? FBI?”

She shook her head again. “I want to make sure we’re all safe. I don’t trust what went down at the bank.”

“I shouldn’t talk to you.”

“Why?”

He glanced away and bit his lip. It took him a long time to say anything. “The police seem to think I had something to do with the robbery.”

“How do you know that?”

“Some of the questions they asked.”

“Did you?”

“No,” he snapped. He paused as the waiter put a glass of water in front of Jo. “I was as scared as the rest of you. I didn’t know that was going to happen. But I don’t think they believe me.” He glanced toward the door. “I think someone was following me. Do you know what would happen if they suspect me? Just them investigating me could ruin me, and I can’t afford that. I have student loan debt, and other bills. I’m trying to get ahead.”

“Tell me what happened, and maybe I can help.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I have my reasons,” she said. Her military training kicked in, her thinking methodical, her voice easy. “Tell me what happened after those men took you away.”

“I don’t know if I should talk to you.”

“If you weren’t involved, you have nothing to worry about. We’re just two people commiserating over what happened.”

He let out a huge sigh. “I guess if you’re with some law enforcement agency, you’ll find out I’m telling the truth.” He ran a hand over his face, dejected. But he seemed to sense her persistence, so he took another drink and began.

CHAPTER TEN

“You knew the robbers blindfolded me and tied me up?” Rico asked.

She nodded. “I saw that.”

He subconsciously rubbed his wrists, and even in the dim light, she saw burn marks on his hands from where the ropes had chafed against his skin.

“They took me into the bank lobby, and I heard one of them talking.”

“One of the two who tied you up?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No. It was that tall one. The one who stayed up front.”

“What was he saying?”

His brow furrowed. “He must’ve been talking to the police, or what do you call them—a hostage negotiator. The guy was telling the cops to stay back or . . .” He swallowed, hard. “Or he said they’d shoot me.”

All the while, Jo was studying him carefully. He kept picking at the label on the beer bottle, his fingers shaking. He flicked away some of the label and went on.

“I think that guy was standing at one of the desks, talking on the phone. I couldn’t hear anything on the other end. The guy said they’d be watching, that they would know what the police were doing.”

“Did the other two say anything?”

He shook his head. “They stayed quiet. One of them kept holding me.”

“Which one?”

Rico shrugged. “How would I know?”

“Maybe you noticed how one of them acted while they took you to the vault?” she offered. “Or you smelled an odor from one of them?”

“No. I was too scared to pay attention.”

“Could you see out of the blindfold?” She rested a hand on her cheek, just under her eye. “Sometimes the cloth doesn’t fully press against your skin, and there’s a crack underneath.”

He looked at her, surprised at her suggestion, but Jo knew what she was talking about. She’d been blindfolded before, and she’d been trained to pay attention to her surroundings. The one time it’d happened to her had been a harrowing experience, when she and a few others had been waiting to talk to a potential target who had intelligence for her. The group had been blindfolded, then led down an alley. Jo had been able to see under the blindfold, just a slit.

She could still clearly picture the ground, the hardened dirt, the type of old, rundown boots the men they’d been talking to had worn. She’d even made out some of their dusty clothing. She’d also noted how the empty street had looked, and tipped her head back to get a glimpse of the lower part of the small building they’d walked into. It had helped them later.

Jo had been trained to be acutely aware of her surroundings, to know what was going on at all times to whatever degree was possible. Rico had not.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I guess I saw the tile floor.”

“What happened next?”

“That main one talked some more, and then he slammed down the phone.” He jumped, as if he’d heard the noise again right there in the bar. “The other two grabbed me, and I heard the entrance door unlock. They pushed me forward, and suddenly we were out in the main lobby of the building. I could tell because even your footsteps echo. I don’t think anyone was in there, just us. They hurried me away from the main doors of the building and into a stairwell. We went to the parking garage.”

“How many flights down?”

“Two.”

“Did they do anything to disable the stairwell door, to keep the police from coming through?”

“I don’t know.”

“Think,” she urged him.

“All right.” He thought for a moment and shook his head. “It was loud, with our footsteps on the metal stairs. I didn’t hear anything else.”

“Did the police follow?”

“No. Those guys walked me through the parking garage. It had an . . . oily smell? You know, like a mechanic’s garage. We stopped by a concrete pillar.”

“How did you know?”

“Because that’s where I was when the police found me.”

“They left you there?’ He nodded, and she went on. “Then what?”

“They turned me around and shoved me against it.” He touched his cheek. “The concrete was cold. I . . .” He drew in a breath, and when he spoke again, his voice warbled. “One of them put a gun to my head, and he stuffed something into my pants pocket. He said if I made any noises, if I yelled or if I moved, that a bomb would go off. Then I heard their footsteps as they ran off.”

“What did you do next?”

“I stayed where I was. I don’t know where they went.”

“And?”

He stared at her for a long moment. “I pissed my pants.” He glanced away, ashamed. “I was so scared. I did as they said. I didn’t move a muscle. Finally, I heard yelling, the police coming. They told me to stay where I was, and I told them about the bomb.” He could barely find his voice. “I thought for sure it would go off, and that would be it. Some bomb squad people arrived, and they were careful when they searched me, and when they took it out of my pocket.”

“What was it?”

He ran a hand across his nose. “Some kind of box. Turns out it was fake. I didn’t have anything to be worried about, at least with that. But I didn’t know.”

“No, you didn’t. You couldn’t have.” As they’d talked, Jo had come to the conclusion that he’d been telling her the truth, that he hadn’t been involved in the bank robbery. It would take an incredibly good actor to fake the emotion that he’d been displaying. She softened her voice and told him to go on. Before he did, a waiter brought a plate with a burger and fries. He set it down in front of Rico, glanced at them curiously, and walked away. Rico reached for a fry and stared at it.

“I was starved when I got home, but now I don’t feel like eating.”

“You should,” Jo said.

He popped the fry into his mouth, then took a bite of burger and ate slowly for a moment. Finally, he went on.

“The police made sure I was okay, and they began asking me a bunch of questions.” He eyed her. “The same ones as you, I’ll bet. I told them everything. I don’t know who those guys were, and I don’t know where they went.”

“While you were in the parking garage, did you hear any doors opening, or the sound of a car?”

He shook his head. “There was no car.”

She thought about that. “They must’ve left through some kind of tunnel system.”

Rico nodded. “I’ve heard about tunnels that connect some of the buildings, so that could make sense.”

“Did you hear any other voices, somebody else with them?”

“No. As far as I could tell, it was just the three men.”

“Once the police searched you, what happened next? Did the police go through any doors, anything like that?”

“No. They were running around, but I don’t know what they did in the garage. After their questions, they took me down to the station and put me in an interrogation room. They had me write down everything I remembered, and I waited a long time before a detective came to talk to me.”

“Holton?”

“Yeah. He wasn’t very nice.”

“Why do you say that?”

He took another bite of his burger before answering. “He was okay at first, but not as the conversation went on. We talked about everything that happened since those guys came into the bank. Holton kept asking me why I talked to them when we were in the storage room, and he noted how I asked them how long they intended to keep us there.”

Jo sipped some water, then said, “Why did you do that?”

“Because they pissed me off.”

“You have a temper?”

He turned red. “Sometimes. I don’t know, I guess I should’ve kept my mouth shut, but I didn’t think they’d be able to get into the safety deposit boxes. I figured if I told them that, maybe they’d just ask to get the cash in the drawers and leave.”

It was foolish—as she’d come to expect from him—but she didn’t say that. “You didn’t get the sense that these guys were more coordinated, that maybe they were more than just typical robbers?”

He shrugged. “I guess I should have.”

“You went against bank policy, right? You’re not supposed to push back in any way.”

He ate another fry. “Yeah. That’s been pointed out to me.” His belligerence faded, replaced by remorse as he fiddled with another fry. “I put everyone in danger, didn’t I?”

She nodded. “It could have gone really, really badly—especially for Douglas.”

“Yeah, Doug didn’t deserve that. I wasn’t thinking.”

“What happened when they took you into the vault?”

“There’s a small room with a table in it. That’s where a person takes their safety deposit box, where they can have some privacy. Then there’s another door to the actual boxes. He had me open that door, and then he went into the room for a minute. And then he brought me back to the storage room.”

“Why’d you keep pushing the robbers, asking them to let us go?”

A hand instinctively went to his stomach, and he lightly brushed his shirt. “You don’t have to point out that I was stupid. I’ve never been hit like that in my life. Honestly, in the seconds after that, I thought I was going to die. I couldn’t breathe.”

“You’ll have a bruise for quite a while.”

“Yeah. It hurts just touching it.”

“Well, you wisely kept your mouth shut after that.”

“For all the good it did me. They took me with them.” He had the burger halfway to his mouth, but he set it down then. “I really did wonder if I was going to die, and you know what’s funny? In that moment, I thought maybe I deserved it, because I realized how I’d put everyone at risk.”

“Nobody deserved to die. They had no right to do what they did. You shouldn’t have been in the situation at all.”

“I’ve never been in a bank robbery before.”

That didn’t surprise Jo, but she nodded for him to go on with his thought.

“Yeah. I graduated from college a year ago, and I’ve been working at the bank, trying to get some financial experience. Luckily, nothing like this ever happened.”

“What do you think those guys were after?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. They didn’t have enough time to get into all the boxes, that’s for sure. But I saw that duffel bag. It was pretty full.”

“Do you have access to accounts with safety deposit boxes?”

He shook his head. “I see names here and there of people with the boxes, but I don’t know specifically who they are.”

Jo sipped at her water. That would be good information, but she didn’t know how she would get it.

“Are there any well-known people who have accounts there, anybody that you can think of? Politicians, or some wealthy or famous person?”

He shook his head. “Some people have a lot of money, but I don’t know who they are.” He stared at his plate. “I wonder if the police think I might’ve been involved because of the way I acted. I tried to tell the detective it was just me being angry and stupid.” He looked toward the door. “Somebody had to tell the robbers about the bank, to give them intel. But it wasn’t me.”

“What about one of the other employees at the bank?”

He took a couple bites of his burger while he thought about that. “I don’t know. I haven’t been there that long. Doug’s worked there for years, and he’s a good guy. I can’t see him being a part of something like that.”

“And Ward?”

“I don’t know him. He stays in his office, and he doesn’t interact with us a whole lot.”

“Could he help with information?”

“I suppose.”

Something to think about, at least. Jo went on. “What about Sabrina?”

“I don’t know.”

She sensed something in the way he said it. “What?”

“I don’t like her that much. She’s never been that friendly to me.”

“Was she acting suspiciously this morning?”

More contemplation. “Maybe. She’s been edgy for a while now, sometimes snaps at me. I just chalked it up to her not really liking me.”

She pressed him. “Was she that way with just you, or with others?”

“I guess some of the others, too. I heard she had some trouble at home, broke up with her boyfriend or something. Maybe it was that.”

“Did you watch her when we were in the storage room?”

“She seemed pretty scared, don’t you think?”

“Yes.” She didn’t tell him about Sabrina’s steady pulse, how physiologically she didn’t act like someone who was terrified about what was happening around her. “What’s her last name?”

“Padilla.” He looked at her. “You’ll talk to her, too?”

She didn’t say anything to that. “Had you seen any of those men in the bank before?”

“The police asked me that, and no. I mean, obviously, we couldn’t see their faces, but I didn’t recognize any of their voices.”

“You’re sure?”

He nodded vigorously. “Yes.”

“What about the tellers?”

“Cameron’s fairly new, and Mandy’s been there about as long as me. I don’t think either one of them would’ve known enough to be able to help the robbers.”

“You know that, or you’re guessing?”

“I’m guessing.”

“How much do you know about either one?”

“Not much.” He laughed bitterly. “I wouldn’t make much of a detective. I don’t pay that much attention to what’s around me, it seems, and I don’t know much about people.”

“What about the two customers—Barbara and Darlene?”

“I don’t know either of them. Hadn’t seen them before.”

“Their names never came up?”

He eyed her. “How could either one of them have been involved?”

“I don’t know, just asking.”

He let out a heavy sigh. “We all need to put this behind us, you know? The detective said the bank will be open tomorrow, and I already got a call from the bank district manager. He told me I could take a sick day if I want to.” His face darkened. “Man, I don’t know if I want to go back. I’ll never walk in there feeling the same way again.”

“That’s understandable,” Jo said.

They sat for a moment, the music loud, the conversations even louder. But Jo wasn’t bothered by that, and Rico didn’t seem to be either.

“Is there anything else that happened today that was unusual?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I told you everything. Will you talk to the police again?”

“I don’t know.”

“If you do, see if you can get them to believe me. I didn’t have anything to do with what happened this morning.”

Looking him over, Jo believed him. She’d been fooled by people before, but not often. Still, she tacked on, “If I find out you’re lying to me, the police will be the least of your worries.”

He wiped his hands on a napkin and pushed his plate away. “I’m telling you everything.”

She assessed him one last time, thanked him, and got up from the booth.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Jo didn’t head toward the entrance. Instead, she looked around for the kitchen. Before anybody could object, she walked straight through that door like she belonged there.

Pots and pans banged around, and cooks and dishwashers hollered at each other, filling the room with competing noise. She received a few surprised looks as she hurried between two long metal tables. Spying a back exit, she headed outside before anybody said a word to her.

She jogged around the side of the building and peeked toward the front. Farther down the parking lot, the nondescript sedan was still there. A few minutes later, Rico emerged from the restaurant. He looked around, but in the fading light, he didn’t see the sedan or her. He rushed across the parking lot, and when he disappeared down the street, the sedan slowly followed. Jo waited until it vanished from view, then cut through the parking lot toward Rico’s apartment, hurrying through the alley as she’d done before. She reached his street just as he appeared, and she stayed in the shelter of the building across from his.

No one was around as he crossed to his building, went up the steps, and disappeared into his apartment. The sedan parked in a different place down the street this time, and once its headlights winked out, Jo ran around the block and approached her SUV from the opposite direction, using cars to shield her advance. She waited behind the Escape for a while to see if Rico would leave, and when he didn’t, she got behind the wheel, flipped a U-turn, and left.

She watched in the rearview mirror, but neither the sedan nor any other vehicle followed her.

Jo drove to a Walmart a mile away and parked. Pulling out her phone, she looked up Sabrina Padilla. It took only a moment to find the woman. She lived in a North Dallas neighborhood, mostly ranch-style houses on big lots, with alley access to garages. Jo spent a few more minutes taking in Sabrina’s online presence. She found a LinkedIn profile, which gave her some information. Sabrina had worked at National Bank for several years as a senior loan officer. Before that, she’d worked at another bank. She’d gone to the University of Texas and had received a degree in finance. Jo found a Facebook profile as well, but the settings were private, so she couldn’t see anything Sabrina had posted, just the profile picture. After a few more minutes of hunting, Jo gave up. She started the Escape and headed toward Sabrina’s house.

***

Thirty minutes later, Jo drove into the neighborhood. It was dark now, and quiet, with some vehicles in driveways or parked on the street, but nothing moving. Jo pulled to the curb down the block and studied Sabrina’s house. It was a quaint red-brick single story, set back from the road, with a covered porch and bushes lining the front of the house. The driveway was empty, no lights on in the house.

Jo wondered if Sabrina was still with the police. If they suspected her of being an inside person to the robbery, they could be holding her. However, Jo didn’t get the feeling that Holden believed her about the woman. Jo looked up and down the block but didn’t see any signs of surveillance personnel. After waiting a few more minutes, she got out, walked down the street, and cautiously headed up the walk to Sabrina’s door. She rang the bell and waited. It was now seven o’clock. Too early for her to be in bed, unless she’d come home exhausted and gone straight to sleep. Jo knocked, but still no answer.

The street remained empty, so she stepped off the porch and walked around the side of the house toward the back. There was a chain-link fence and a gate to the back yard. She saw no signs of people or dogs, so she let herself through.

The yard was spacious, with a detached garage at the end of the drive and a wood picnic table and benches sitting just off a small porch. Jo slipped along the back of the house and peeked through a window into a kitchen, dimly lit by a digital clock on a stove. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and she didn’t see any signs of Sabrina or anyone else. Jo quietly made her way around the other side of the house, hopping the chain-link fence and heading to the front. She hurried to the sidewalk just as a couple emerged from the house next door. They walked out toward the sidewalk, and Jo waved at them.

“Hey there.” She gestured over her shoulder. “Have you seen Sabrina?”

“I haven’t,” the woman said. She appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties, with long blond hair. Both wore wedding rings. She looked toward Sabrina’s house. “She ought to be home from work by now, unless she went out.”

“I was supposed to meet her,” Jo said.

“It’s Monday night, and she usually watches The Voice.”

“How do you know that?” her husband asked.

The woman laughed. “Sabrina and I talk.”

The man shrugged. “Yes, the two of you certainly do.”

“Maybe she got delayed. Sorry,” the woman said, giving Jo a sympathetic look.

“No problem,” Jo said.

The couple headed down the block, and Jo let some distance grow between them before she followed. Once they’d disappeared around the corner, Jo dashed to her car, then drove around the block and parked in a different place, from which she could still see Sabrina’s house. The evening was pleasant but cool, and she felt comfortable sitting in the car for a while.

Half an hour later, the couple returned from their walk and went back inside their house. Neither appeared to notice Jo. Thirty more minutes after that, a silver Lexus drove down the street. It turned into Sabrina’s driveway and pulled into the garage. Jo got out of the SUV and jogged down the street, and as she approached the house, light spilled from the living room. She hurried to the door and rang the bell. A moment later, a porch light went on and the door opened. Sabrina peered at her.

“Yes?”

Jo studied her through the screen door. She appeared stressed, her eyes narrowed, wrinkles flaring from the corners. Her lips were pursed, and there was a visible tension to her whole body.

“Sabrina?” Jo began.

Sabrina cracked open the screen door and peered at her. “What do you want? Do I—” Just as it had taken Rico a moment to recognize Jo, it was the same with Sabrina. Her jaw dropped, and she began to tremble. “What’re you doing here?” She looked into the street. “How did you find me?”

“It wasn’t that hard,” Jo replied.

Sabrina shook her head. “How do you know my last name?”

She dodged that one. “Are you doing okay?”

“I’m fine,” Sabrina snapped. “I’m just . . . tired, and I want to go to bed. It’s been a long day.”

“Did the police interview you?”

“Of course they did. They talked to everybody.”

Jo gestured toward the hallway behind her. “Could we talk for a minute?”

Sabrina shook her head. “That’s not a good idea. I already spoke with the police.”

She hazarded a guess—time to see what the woman would do. “You know more about the robbers.”

“What? That’s not true.”

Jo heard it in the tone. Surprise comingled with fear. It was a curious response. Then Sabrina tried for some indignation on top of it.

“I don’t know what you’re implying.”

“Let’s talk,” Jo said.

Sabrina shook her head. “I don’t have anything to say to you. You need to leave.”

With that, she pulled the screen door shut. A second later, the wood door closed with a bang. Jo tapped lightly on the screen and called out for her, but she received no response. Jo didn’t want to make a scene, so she hurried back down the sidewalk. As she walked to her car, she knew one thing.

There was a reason why Sabrina didn’t want to talk to her, and Jo was going to find out what it was.

CHAPTER TWELVE

When Kline walked into the office, the other man was on the phone, running a hand along the surface of a long desk, its surface polished to a gleaming shine. Kline sat down on a leather couch and waited, mulling over his day.

Everything was still going according to plan. After his meeting in the parking garage, he’d switched vehicles. The other one would be sold, and even if the police had reason to trace it, the car wouldn’t lead back to him. The latest burner phone he’d been using to contact the bank robber had been destroyed as well, and Kline had a replacement. He’d been monitoring the robbery investigation closely. He had contacts in various police departments, and he knew plenty of personnel at other government agencies, too. No one had discovered the identities of the robbers, and they didn’t have any idea where the three men had gone.

And of course, no one knew about Kline, either.

He looked up. The room had high ceilings and crown molding, with paneled walls and rich mahogany bookshelves that held leather-bound volumes that were rarely opened. Expensive artwork adorned one wall, and a few sculptures sat on the bookshelves and on a credenza. Recessed lighting cast a warm glow throughout the room. It was quiet except for the phone conversation. Kline rested his hand on the black duffel bag sitting next to him. It hadn’t been easy to obtain the contents, but hopefully it would be worth it. As soon as the man got off the phone, they’d see exactly what they had.

The man he was referring to was nicknamed JD. Kline had known him for a long time. They’d accomplished a lot, and there were plans for a lot more. Especially now that that business at the bank had been taken care of.

JD finished his call, stood up, and looked at Kline. “Well?” JD said.

Kline rarely showed emotion, but he smiled now. “So far, so good. The police investigation is proceeding, but they don’t know anything.”

The other man sat down in the wingback chair across from Kline and crossed one leg over the other as he nodded thoughtfully.

“There’s no way that business can be traced to us?”

The room was soundproofed, and it was regularly swept for listening devices. They could talk freely, although neither one did, keeping their conversation couched in general terms. Extra precautions never hurt.

Kline shook his head. “My associate said everything went according to plan.” He didn’t say anything about the bank employee being assaulted. “I don’t see how things could be traced to here.”

“And the other situation?”

“It hit the news this morning. The homicide detectives are beginning their investigation. It should all be fine, though. The man I hired is reliable. He’s done this kind of thing before. No one will know who’s responsible, and it won’t come back to us.”

JD frowned. “That was not the way I would’ve chosen to do things.”

Kline shrugged. “It had to happen. He didn’t listen to any warnings, and he kept pressing the issue. You know we didn’t have any other option.”

“I know.” JD flicked a hand. “We went over everything. It’s still a risk.”

“There have been plenty of risks before, but it’s never come back to us. You’re clean.”

JD didn’t say anything as he reached to a small humidor on a granite-topped coffee table for a cigar. Although the man had been cutting back, Kline didn’t like the habit, and he particularly hated the lingering odor on his clothes.

“I wish I knew how he got his information in the first place,” JD said as he lit the cigar and puffed on it.

Kline held up his hands. “It was his business.”

The man arced an eyebrow. “He’s not the only one. Plenty of people have dug around, and they never found anything. So why him?”

“It was what he did, and he was good at it.”

JD paused. “We’re not getting careless, are we?”

Though Kline managed to keep a straight face, the comment stung. He was good, and he shouldn’t have been questioned. They wouldn’t have gotten this far without him.

Without waiting for a response, JD pointed to the duffel bag. “That’s everything?”

“Yes. There’s paperwork and other documents. Even a fake passport.”

“You think he planned to run?”

“Maybe.” Kline shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now. We need to check the USB drive. It could be password-protected, so it might take a bit of time.”

JD gestured toward the desk, where a laptop sat open. “Shall we?”

They stood up, and Kline took the bag to the desk. He sat down, dug a USB drive from the bag, and plugged it into the laptop. As he suspected, it was password-protected, so he inserted another drive and opened some software to work on the device. After a few minutes, he had the correct password, and he opened the drive. He poked around, looking at files, JD breathing over his shoulder. Finally, Kline sat back.

“That’s everything,” he said.

“He had a lot of information.” JD didn’t sound happy.

“Yes,” was all Kline said.

JD looked at him. “He coded names, so how do we figure out who he talked to?”

“We will,” Kline said. “It’ll take some time, though.”

“And then what?”

Kline didn’t say the answer they both knew. People would have to be dealt with.

“It’s a good thing you got the drive,” JD said. “If it ended up in the wrong hands, that would’ve been bad.”

“Yes,” Kline repeated.

“But it didn’t, and now we can move forward.” JD puffed on the cigar, a satisfied look on his face, not just from the cigar.

Kline wrinkled his nose and sat back. Then they began to discuss their next steps.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Jo watched Sabrina’s house for a long time. The woman eventually closed the living room blinds, so she couldn’t see any movement inside after that. However, Sabrina didn’t leave—at least by car or through the front door—and no one came to visit. The street remained quiet, lights on in other houses but not a soul outside.

At ten o’clock, Jo figured people would stay in for the night, so she got out of the Escape, shut the door, and listened. There was only the buzz of traffic farther off. Jo stole across the street and went around the corner, then peeked into the alley that ran behind Sabrina’s house. Two streetlights at either end offered little respite from the shadows.

Jo moved forward, alert for any noise as she stealthily crept behind detached garages until she neared Sabrina’s house. It was cooler now but still humid, and she wiped sweat off her brow as she hunkered down near a dumpster to watch the back of the house. A square of light shone from a kitchen window, and periodically Jo saw movement. She slinked to the chain-link fence at the back of the yard for a closer look. Sabrina appeared to be washing dishes, and then she disappeared from view.

Jo didn’t want to risk being discovered, so she continued past the house, checking to see if anyone else was about. She remained alone, and she hurried around the next block, then backtracked to her car. Once inside, she focused on Sabrina’s house again. Shortly before eleven, the lights winked off. Jo kept an eye out for police surveillance, but there was no sign of it. Was she wrong in her suspicions?

When nothing else happened, Jo drove down the block, headlights off. She stared at Sabrina’s house, which remained dark. Jo reached the end of the street, and for good measure, she drove up and down a few blocks in the neighborhood. Everything seemed as it should be, so she headed for her hotel.

Jo was careful as she drove, peering in the rearview mirror to see if she picked up a tail. That didn’t happen, but she remained cautious as she drove into the hotel parking lot. She went to her room, approaching her door carefully. The hallway was empty as she let herself into her room. Sometimes when she’d leave her hotel room, she would put a piece of paper between the door and the jamb, and if it wasn’t there when she returned, she’d know that someone had entered her room. But this hotel had maid service, which didn’t leave that as an option. Still, she flicked on the room light, then carefully searched for anything out of the ordinary. She might be being paranoid, but sometimes paranoia could save your life. She even checked for surveillance cameras or listening devices.

Satisfied that only the maid had been in the room and that no one was watching her, Jo stripped, took a shower, then sat on the edge of the bed and googled the bank hours. They were open from nine to six. She put her phone on the charger and crawled under the covers.

She was soon asleep.

***

The next morning, Jo was up well before dawn, and after stopping at a convenience store for gas and a cheap breakfast burrito, she drove back to Sabrina’s neighborhood. She parked in a different place than the previous evening and picked up her surveillance again. And just as she’d done then, she looked for any signs of anyone else watching Sabrina’s house.

Jo was alone on the street. Lights were on in a few houses, but Sabrina’s place was dark. As the minutes ticked by, a couple of cars pulled out of garages, headlights cutting a swath across the street, and Jo ducked down as they drove by.

At six, a light appeared in a window on the side of Sabrina’s house. The woman was up early. Was that routine, or was she going to work? Rico had said the bank would be open, but it sounded as if the affected employees could take a sick day if they wanted. Would Sabrina do that?

A little before seven, the sky eased from black to a dark gray, and a purply-pink hue painted the eastern horizon. More cars left the neighborhood, and each time, Jo crouched below the dashboard until they were gone. Sabrina’s living room blinds opened, and Jo briefly saw the woman, but then she moved away, and the house remained still for a while after that. Children left for school, some older ones walking by themselves, some younger ones with their parents, a couple of pairs of siblings. No one noticed Jo. She found that most of the time, people were too preoccupied to pay much attention to their surroundings.

Time ticked slowly by. Jo yawned and stretched as best she could in the small space. Clearly, Sabrina wasn’t going into work—it was long past the bank’s opening.

Shortly before eleven, Sabrina’s silver Lexus backed slowly out of her driveway and into the street. It went the opposite direction, and Jo waited until the vehicle turned the corner before following. When she reached the end of the block, she noticed two things. One, the Lexus was farther down the street, approaching a busier intersection. And two, no other vehicles had driven after the Lexus or Jo. Apparently, still no surveillance on the woman, other than Jo.

When the Lexus turned left at the traffic light, Jo sped up and made a left as well. She stayed back, the Lexus far ahead. Jo kept back a safe distance, tailing the vehicle. She wasn’t worried that Sabrina would see her. The woman had probably never been trained to spot surveillance, probably didn’t even have the thought in mind. And even if she was watching, Jo knew enough to avoid detection. What she was doing wouldn’t work with a pro, but it would with a civilian. Sabrina stopped at a Starbucks drive-through, and Jo pulled into a space in a grocery store parking lot. Once Sabrina had her order, she drove south toward downtown Dallas.

Was she headed for the bank still?

It quickly became clear that that wasn’t the case. Sabrina exited the interstate and turned into a shopping mall. Jo parked far away, but where she could still see the Lexus. Sabrina got out and headed into the mall, and Jo tailed her at a distance.

The woman spent a couple of hours shopping, purchasing a pair of shoes and trying on outfits at a couple of clothing stores. Then she went to a Panda Express at the food court for a late lunch. Jo took the opportunity to eat as well, selecting a sandwich place where there wasn’t a line. She took a seat, with Sabrina off to her left. The woman fiddled on her phone as she ate. She glanced around nervously but never spotted Jo due to their angle. When she finished her meal, she didn’t leave, just kept checking her phone.

Jo pretended to occupy herself with her phone as well. People came and went, and then a man in black jeans and a dark jacket strode into the food court, saw Sabrina, and walked over.

Jo sat a little straighter, alert, studying the man carefully. He had the same build as Grunt, but was he carrying himself the way that man had at the bank? She couldn’t be sure. He sat down, and the two began to talk. Jo wished she could hear what they were saying, but she knew if she tried to get closer to them, they’d see her.

She stayed put and studied them. At one point, Sabrina frowned and pointed at him. Then they pulled their chairs closer together, and an intense conversation ensued. The man shook his head a time or two, and he pulled out his phone and checked something. Sabrina spoke again, and he reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to her. They talked for a minute longer, and she did not appear happy. Then he stood up, said one final thing to her, and left. Sabrina glanced around, and Jo turned away. When she looked back, Sabrina had gotten up and was walking away.

Jo followed, scanning for the man, but she didn’t see him. Sabrina went to the parking garage, and Jo drove behind her the whole way as she headed straight back to her house. When the Lexus disappeared into the garage, Jo parked down the street. She watched the house the rest of the evening, periodically parking in different spots, but Sabrina never left. At nine o’clock, Jo called Dack, skipping a videocall since it was dark and the screen would be too visible to anyone on the street. She told him what Sabrina had done.

“It could be nothing, but what if she was meeting Grunt, what if he’s her accomplice?” Jo asked when she finished.

“There’s no way to tell,” Dack said in the metallic, computer voice. It always felt a little off when she couldn’t see his face. “I could run a background check on her, but that might flag something in the system, and the police—or some other government agency—might be alerted. They’d wonder who else is looking at her.”

“It’s not worth the risk at this point.”

He paused. “What’re you going to do?”

Jo thought for a moment. “I want to know what was in that envelope, and there’s only one way to do that.”

Dack’s sigh pushed through the phone. “You’re going to break into her house?”

“If I do, I might find that envelope.”

“I don’t like it.”

Jo shrugged to herself. “I don’t like it either, but there’s something suspicious about Sabrina, and I need to find out what. And I need to know if the man she met was Grunt. I’ll be careful, and she’ll never know I was there.”

“And if you get caught?”

She stared at Sabrina’s house. “I won’t.”

“When will you go in?”

“Whenever she’s back at work.”

“I don’t like it,” he repeated.

“Do you have any other suggestions?”

“No.”

“I’ll be in and out of the house quickly, and I’ll let you know what I find.”

“If you need anything . . .”

“I will.”

Jo ended the call and stared at Sabrina’s house until it went dark. Then she drove back to her hotel.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The next morning, Jo was up early again. She’d only slept for four hours, and it reminded her of some of her missions—long days with little rest. She left the hotel and stopped for food and water at a convenience store, then swung by a fast-food joint for a quick breakfast. While she ate, she googled pawn shops and found one close by that was open twenty-four hours. She drove there and purchased small, military-grade binoculars. Before dawn, she was watching Sabrina’s house.

The morning went similarly to the day before, with some of the same neighbors leaving at approximately the same times. A light shone through the side window of Sabrina’s house at six, but this time she didn’t stay at home for nearly as long.

A few minutes before eight, the Lexus emerged from the garage, and Jo followed Sabrina to the same Starbucks she’d visited the previous day. At this time of morning, the drive-through line was longer, and once Sabrina had her order, she headed to Highway 75 and went south. Traffic was heavy, and Jo easily kept the Lexus in view as they made a slow trek into downtown Dallas. Sabrina drove to the building where National Bank was located and disappeared into the underground parking garage. Jo found a metered space on the street, paid, then loitered at a cement planter near the building doors, where she could see through windows to both the bank entrance and the parking garage entrance. A few minutes later, Sabrina walked across the building lobby and into the bank. Right after that, Rico entered, followed by Doug. None of them seemed to notice Jo. Some of the other bank employees showed up, too. All appeared to be business as usual.

Jo waited until the bank opened, making sure Sabrina was at her desk. Then she left and returned to North Dallas.

She parked around the corner from Sabrina’s house and called the bank, asking for the woman. When Sabrina answered, Jo mumbled, “Wrong number” and ended the call.

Next, she surveilled the neighborhood. Now armed with binoculars, she was able to study Sabrina’s house better, and those on either side. Both were quiet, with no activity. Next, Jo studied every house on the block, looking for surveillance devices on eaves or doorbell cameras. She thought a next-door neighbor had a doorbell camera, as well as a house across the street. She didn’t see signs of surveillance equipment on Sabrina’s house.

One next-door neighbor left. Sabrina’s house remained still. With the binoculars, Jo could see through the front window. She never saw anyone inside. Finally, she drove the surrounding streets, assuring herself that there was no suspicious activity. Then she pulled into a space at a small park. She left the binoculars under her seat—too conspicuous at this time of the day to take them with her—but she had her knife in her pocket. She got out and acted as if she were just taking a walk, but she headed toward the alley behind Sabrina’s house.

When no one was looking, Jo stole into the alley, staying low, keeping her head down. It was a weekday, and most people would be at work, the children at school. A dog sat near a doghouse in one back yard, and he gave her one bark but didn’t seem overly interested.

She continued until she reached a dumpster, from which she could see the back of Sabrina’s house and her yard. Jo listened, only hearing the occasional car on a neighboring street. Then she approached Sabrina’s house, letting herself through an alley gate. She looked for surveillance cameras but didn’t see any. Hopefully, by the time anyone knew about her presence, or saw what she was about to attempt, or if Sabrina reported her, Jo would have her answers and could explain her actions. She walked up to the back door as if she knew what she was doing. Over the years, she’d found that if you acted like your behavior was normal, nothing unusual, people didn’t tend to question you.

She eyed the yards on either side. Both were empty. She knocked on Sabrina’s back door and waited. When no one answered, she tried the knob. Locked. She moved to the kitchen window and glanced inside. The room had stark white walls, oak cabinets, granite countertops, and a table in a breakfast nook. Jo pushed on the window, and to her surprise, it gave. Sabrina hadn’t locked it.

Jo again glanced right and left, then pushed up the window sash and darted through. She was agile, still in shape even though she hadn’t been in the military in over a year. The brief climb ended with her on her hands and knees on the counter. She dropped to the floor, crouched down, and listened.

Silence.

Jo stood straighter and peeked out the window to make sure no one had seen her. Then she began her search, using a rag from the sink when she touched anything so she wouldn’t leave fingerprints. She checked behind pictures, and in other nooks and crannies, assuring herself there were no surveillance cameras, no nannie-cams. The kitchen was nothing remarkable, nothing on the walls, no smells lingering in the air. Sabrina was a neat person, the sink empty, the countertops clean. The refrigerator didn’t hold much, some takeout containers, salad items, and condiments. Some frozen meats and dinners in the freezer. Then Jo found an envelope on a small desk near the back door. She looked inside. It was empty except for a note that said, “Final payment.”

For what? Jo thought.

She checked cabinets and drawers, not sure exactly what she was looking for, just feeling her gut was right about Sabrina. Something didn’t add up with the woman.

Jo went into the living room next, careful to stay low so no one could see her through the front window. She made quick work of the room, checking under couch and loveseat cushions, looking in the drawers of two end tables. Sabrina didn’t own a lot, just a few knickknacks here and there. A large TV hung against one wall.

Jo moved on to a bathroom, a spare bedroom, and then the main suite. Chest of drawers and closets held the usual assortment of items a person might keep. Sabrina’s closet was full of nice outfits and shoes. There were no surveillance cameras anywhere. Jo checked a small laundry room with a washer and dryer last, then stood there with the dank odor of the space around her, thinking. Maybe she’d been wrong about Sabrina.

But what if she wasn’t?

She headed back into the kitchen for a second search, not wanting to take too long. She quickly checked the house, ending in the front hallway. She looked down at the floor and saw a few white specks on the dark hardwood. Bending down, she touched one of them. Paint flecks. She hadn’t seen that before. Jo stood straight and looked up. Over her head was an attic opening, and it appeared it might have been accessed recently. The cover—a rectangular piece of drywall fitted into a frame—was slightly askew.

Jo went into the kitchen for a chair, returned, and placed it underneath the attic opening. She stood on it, just able to reach the attic cover. She pushed it up and over, then reached her fingers to the edge. She couldn’t feel anything, so she hopped up and grabbed the edge, hauling herself up. She held herself with one arm, then reached for her phone and turned on the flashlight app. Her arm strained with her weight as she shined the flashlight around. She didn’t have to look long. Nestled in insulation, right by the attic opening, was a small metal box. Jo turned off the flashlight, shoved her phone in her pocket, then grabbed the box and dropped to the chair. After a quick pause to sneeze, she sat on the chair and opened the box.

Inside was a Ziploc bag full of hundred-dollar bills. They weren’t wrapped, didn’t appear to be consecutively numbered, probably not marked. Jo carefully opened the bag, then began counting the money. She was in a hurry, but she had to know how much was there. When she finished, she stared at the stacks on the floor.

One hundred thousand.

What would Sabrina be doing with that much cash? Jo tried to reason with herself, tried to make up all the excuses she could for the woman. Sabrina could have a distrust of banks, even though she worked at one. But keeping that much cash at her house? She could have just sold something big, but again, why receive a payment that large in cash?

Jo shook her head. A person didn’t tend to have that much money around unless they were doing something illegal. She thought about the man Sabrina had met at the mall, and the envelope he’d given her.

Had he paid her for something? For assisting in the bank robbery?

It was pure speculation on Jo’s part, and there was only one way that she could get answers. She had to talk to Sabrina.

Jo used her phone to take pictures of the money and the box, then stuffed the money back in the bag and put it into the metal box, which she returned to its place in the attic. She put the cover back down and returned the chair to the kitchen. Everything in its place.

After a quick walk-through of the house to make sure she hadn’t left any other signs of her presence, she opened the kitchen window and crawled outside, reaching back with the cloth to wipe off any prints. Then she eased the sash down, stuffed the rag in her pocket, and sneaked away through the yard.

Back in the car, she ate some trail mix. She didn’t figure Sabrina would be home for hours, so she spent the day researching the other bank employees. She found where each one lived and checked their houses, but didn’t see any signs they were under surveillance, nor did she see anything suspicious. She drove downtown and watched the bank as well, never seeing Sabrina leave. At four, Jo was parked down the block from Sabrina’s house, waiting for the woman to come home from work.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The orchestra played loudly as JD Babineaux danced with his wife, Lydia. She wore a stunning blue full-length dress, her blond, highlighted hair perfectly coiffed, her makeup so perfect an artist could have applied it. As he gazed into eyes as blue as her outfit, he was mesmerized by how such a beautiful and kind woman had fallen for him so many years ago. Lydia had come from a good family, and he had been a rough-and-tumble oilman. But they’d bonded the first time they’d met, talking for hours into the night. He’d known the second he laid eyes on her that he was going to marry her, and he kept at her until she’d seen through his hard exterior, to his potential.

And he’d lived up to that potential. After his start as an offshore rig worker, wise investments had allowed him to start his own energy exploration and production company, and now he was worth several hundred million dollars. He worked hard, made all the right connections, and it was finally paying off in the way he always wanted. His dream of getting into politics was in sight, which was why they were at this party at the governor’s palatial estate away from his residence in Austin.

“What’re you thinking about?” Lydia murmured as they continued to dance.

A waltz, he thought. Who danced the waltz anymore? It was what the governor wanted, though, and everyone did seem to be enjoying themselves. After dinner, there would be better music.

“Just thinking about how far we’ve come.”

Lydia smiled at the lieutenant governor’s wife, who was dancing with her husband nearby. JD smiled as well, not just for the other couple, but for Lydia. She handled herself well, knew how to schmooze people, but she never made it seem that way. She was actually a very genuine person, cared about everyone, and that came through. She was an incredible asset to him, not just for his oil career, but for his burgeoning political ambitions as well. Which was why she didn’t know anything about his other peccadilloes, his . . . how should he think of it? His alternative tastes in the bedroom. He smiled again.

“What?” Lydia asked as the waltz ended.

They stepped back and politely clapped, and the orchestra began a rendition of Frank Sinatra’s “My Way.” They moved to the side of the dance floor. Lydia waved at a state senator, then looked at JD curiously.

“Nothing,” he told her. “Just an amusing joke I heard earlier today.”

She scrutinized him carefully, and he glanced away. A troubled look crossed her face.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” she asked.

“No,” he rushed to say.

“Oh, there’s Maggie,” Lydia said, gesturing at a woman who worked with the governor. “I should say hello to her.” Her smile returned.

“I’ll catch up with you in a minute,” he said, glad for her distraction.

JD watched Lydia walk away, her hips swaying, grace in every step. He wasn’t the only one who noticed her, but he wasn’t threatened by any onlookers. Everyone knew Lydia was devoted to him and him only. And other men knew what would happen if they crossed him.

JD sauntered to an open bar and ordered a Scotch on the rocks. When he received his drink, he moved away and watched as other people began dancing. The mood in the crowded room was upbeat, the din of voices floating over the orchestra, the liquor flowing as people enjoyed themselves. He looked around, knowing many people in this room had their secrets, just as he did. And he was sure they knew how to dodge some landmines—again, just as he’d done. You didn’t reach positions of power without knowing a thing or two. He was grateful to have Kline around. The man was a master at handling delicate situations, and he’d gotten JD out of more than a scrape or two.

He watched as Lydia moved around the room, working her magic. He couldn’t lose her. His mind strayed to how she was tonight. Maybe a tad distracted. What was that about? She’d never given any indication that she knew what he did on the side. As far as he could tell, she thought he was a devoted and loving husband and father to their two sons. What she didn’t know didn’t hurt her. And shouldn’t he be allowed to let off steam?

He drank some Scotch and frowned. For years, everything he’d done had been covered up, even in that one harrowing situation. He thought about that incident now. It never should have gone down the way it had, but he’d been forced to act. Kline had helped him cover his tracks, and they had nondisclosure agreements and everything. Kline handled it all so that the rumors remained rumors, and for several years, it seemed that nothing would come of it.

But there’s always one fool, one person who talks anyway, especially after the passage of time. All it took was some digging, some perseverance. He snorted. Not just a little perseverance. A lot. That one had gathered a lot of information on JD, and if any of it came to light, it would destroy him. Some things the public would not dismiss easily. And not only that—if everything came back to JD, he’d end up in prison. There was no way that could happen.

That was why he’d put Kline to work on it.

JD took another gulp of Scotch, letting the alcohol soothe his nerves. They’d checked everything from the safety deposit box, and he could only hope that everything was there, that there was no other evidence that could lead back to him. He never relied on hope, though, so Kline was still working on things. They’d have to deal with whoever talked, too.

A deep voice interrupted his thoughts.

“JD, how are things going?”

JD turned to see the governor, looking cool and collected in a tux, his brown eyes sparkling. The man had incredible charm, and JD smiled.

“It’s a wonderful party,” he said.

Pierce nodded, then tipped his glass toward Lydia. “Your wife’s beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you,” JD murmured. “I could say the same about yours.”

The governor eyed his wife, who was wearing a pink dress and standing with some other women across the room. “We are lucky to have such wonderful companions.”

JD watched the governor’s wife and nodded. “Yes, we are.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Pierce asked.

“Of course,” JD said.

He gave JD’s arm a reassuring squeeze and moved off. JD’s mind went to their impending meeting. The governor was rumored to be eyeing a bid for the White House, and JD’s influence would help him. Meanwhile, JD had plans of his own, some kind of position in Washington.

It was all at his fingertips—as long as he could keep everything else a secret.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Sabrina didn’t come home until after six. Jo was parked down the street, and as the silver Lexus eased into the garage, Jo was out of her car and hurrying down the street. As she walked up the driveway, Sabrina emerged from the side door of the detached garage. Jo called out to her. Sabrina looked up, then gasped when she recognized Jo in the dim light.

“I said, I’m not talking to you,” the woman snapped.

By now, Jo was at the chain-link fence, and she rested her arms on it and stared at Sabrina.

“Tell me about the hundred thousand dollars.”

Sabrina was almost to the back door, but she stopped and whirled around. “What?”

Jo moved toward the corner of the house. “I want to know about the money. Do the police know you have it?”

Her jaw worked, and she looked around to see if they were alone. “Who are you?”

“What’s your involvement in the bank robbery?” Jo pointed at her. “Who are you working for?”

“I don’t have to talk to you.” Sabrina dug into her purse. “Go away.”

As she pulled out her keys and inserted one into the back door lock, Jo opened the gate and stepped into the yard. Sabrina turned, her gaze darting all around.

“If you don’t leave, I’m going to call the police,” she said, her voice shaky.

Jo waved a hand around. “Go ahead. That’ll be an interesting conversation, won’t it?”

They stared at each other. A car drove by on the street, and Sabrina’s gaze snapped that way. She gulped and stared into the shadows until the noise faded. A dog barked, and then it was quiet. Finally, she spoke.

“Come into the house.”

She unlocked the door and flicked on a light as she entered the kitchen. Jo followed. Sabrina plunked her purse on the counter and gestured for Jo to sit at the table. Then the woman hurried into the living room. Clearly, she assumed Jo wasn’t a threat, and that was a mistake.

Sabrina returned, her face pale. She stood near the refrigerator, arms crossed.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“I’m asking you the same thing. I know you hid a hundred thousand in cash, and I know you met a man at the mall yesterday, and he gave you money.”

Sabrina glanced at the envelope on the desk. “You’ve been following me.”

Jo nodded. “I won’t deny it. I need to know what’s going on.”

“Why?”

“It’s for my own safety. That’s all I’m going to tell you.”

Sabrina bit her lip, glancing toward the living room window. Then she stepped closer to Jo, where she couldn’t be seen from the front window. They stared at each other in silence. Seconds ticked by.

“You’re mistaken about the money,” Sabrina said.

Jo shook her head again. “Do you want me to show you where you hid it in the attic?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The woman wasn’t a good liar.

“Was the man at the mall the one from the bank with the European accent?” Jo asked.

Sabrina chortled. “Is that what you think?”

Jo tapped the table emphatically. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

She smiled grimly. “You’re wrong.”

“Then tell me who he was.” Jo’s voice took on a hard edge as she pulled out her phone. “You have about five seconds before I call the police.”

Sabrina’s face twisted up as she considered her options. Jo imagined that every conclusion she came to wasn’t good. She was in a pickle, but at least she seemed to realize that. The woman moved to the table, pulled out the other chair, and sank onto it as if her legs had given way. She put her hands to her face, visibly fearful.

“What if they’re listening?” she whispered.

Jo held up a hand, signaling that she should be quiet. Sabrina didn’t move a muscle as Jo tiptoed around the kitchen, searching for listening devices. When she’d been in the house before, she’d checked for cameras, but not audio. At that point, she’d figured Sabrina might be an accomplice to the bank robbers; no one would care about Sabrina’s conversations. Now, Jo wasn’t so sure.

However, even after a more thorough search, she didn’t find any surveillance equipment, so she slipped into the living room, Sabrina quietly following her. Jo made sure the front window was locked, then closed the blinds and rooted around. She didn’t find anything, so she checked the bedrooms. Still no surveillance equipment. She made sure all the windows in the house were locked, as well as the front door. They returned to the kitchen together and reclaimed their seats at the table.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Jo said.

It took Sabrina a moment to answer. “That man at the mall is my ex-boyfriend, Brendan.” She spoke in a low voice.

“What was in the envelope he gave you?”

Sabrina wouldn’t make eye contact. “He owes me money.”

“A final payment.”

She stared back at Jo and snorted. “He thinks it’s a final payment, but it’s not. He owes me a ton more. He’ll probably never pay it all back.”

Jo glanced toward the ceiling. “He paid you a hundred thousand?”

“Not anywhere close.”

“I’m only going to ask once. Where did you get that much cash?”

“You’re not with them?”

“With who?”

Sabrina swore softly but didn’t answer the question. “I needed the money. I have to pay off all this debt Brendan left me with.”

“By helping them.”

“If I talk to you, I don’t know what they’ll do to me.”

“You’re in trouble regardless, but if you tell me what’s going on, I might be able to save your life.”

“How?”

Jo let the question hang in the air for a moment. “Those men in the bank don’t know who they’re dealing with. But if I don’t get to them first, they’ll get to you.”

“You’ll tell the police about me?”

Jo nodded. “That would be a better fate than having those men after you.”

“Are you wearing a wire?”

She stood up, shaking her head. “No.” She lifted up her shirt so Sabrina could see that nothing was taped underneath, and then she emptied her pockets for good measure. “It’s just me.”

“Who are you?”

Jo sat back down. “I was at the wrong place at the wrong time.” She didn’t ask for a surname, and Jo didn’t offer it. Sabrina stared at her, and Jo went on. “I need to keep a low profile, but I can’t tell you why. What happened yesterday was more than a routine robbery, and I need to know about those men.”

“You’re scared of them, too.”

It took Jo a moment to answer. “Yes,” she finally said, still not willing to tell Sabrina why. “I have to know who they are, and one way or the other, I’m going to find out.”

Sabrina continued to hem and haw, her lips trembling. Jo thought she might even start crying. But the woman gathered herself together and seemed to make a decision, seemed to realize Jo was telling the truth. She didn’t have many options, and she chose the same one Jo would have in her position.

“A man approached me a couple of weeks ago, saying he wanted information about the bank. I was scared of him, because he knew about me and Brendan, and he knew about the debt. It was obvious he’d researched me thoroughly, and he’d been following me. I didn’t know what else to do, so I talked to him.”

Jo hadn’t seen anybody following Sabrina. If someone was still keeping tabs on her, they were good. Very good. Had they spotted her?

“Was he one of the three from the bank?” Jo asked.

She nodded. “I think it was the one with the foreign accent, although I can’t say for sure, because the men at the bank had those masks on.”

“Did he give you a name?”

She shook her head. “No. He contacted me, never the other way around. I don’t know how he had my phone number, but he did. I could give you his number, though. I memorized it.”

Jo shook her head. “It wouldn’t do any good. I’m sure it was a burner phone, and it’s probably been destroyed by now.”

Sabrina’s face fell a bit. “Anyway, we talked that one day, and he told me if I helped, they would pay me. He wanted to meet again. I tried to talk my way out of it, but he threatened me and said if I didn’t help, it would go bad for me, or for Brendan.” She snorted. “Part of me didn’t care about Brendan, but . . . I still wouldn’t want him to get hurt.” Tears leaped into her eyes. “The man also said they’d hurt my mother, or my younger brother. I was so scared, I did what he asked.”

“And then what?”

She kept glancing at the kitchen window as she talked. “He contacted me and arranged another meeting.”

“Where?”

“A parking garage in Arlington. No one was around.”

Jo had figured that would be the case. If the guy was good—and all signs pointed to that—there’d be no way to trace him.

“He showed me some pictures of my mom.” Her hands balled into fists. “He’d been following her. I didn’t know what he might do to her.”

Jo saw her predicament, but unfortunately, Sabrina had gotten into a worse situation. “What’d he want to know about the bank?” Jo asked.

“He had all kinds of questions about the layout and how things operated. He wanted to know about the safety deposit boxes, who had access to them, how all that worked. I didn’t want to tell him, but by then, I knew I was still being followed. They weren’t letting up.” She was speaking calmly, but fear filled her eyes. “I told him everything, and to show me he was living up to his end of the agreement—that’s how he phrased it—he gave me ten grand for the information I’d given him. We met a few more times, and I knew they were going to rob the bank when he told me that there’d be money at my house. He said to look on Monday when I got home, that it would be in the attic.”

She swallowed. “And it was. I was too scared to do anything with it. And they told me not to spend any of it right away.” She stared at Jo. “Where’s the money?”

“I left it,” Jo said. “I don’t want that coming back to me.”

Sabrina looked momentarily relieved. Then it seemed she realized she had much bigger problems, and she frowned. “Do you know who they are?”

“No,” Jo said. “How many safety deposit boxes are there?”

She shrugged. “At least a few hundred. I don’t know for sure.”

“What happened yesterday morning?”

Sabrina breathed heavily. “I was so scared. They told me that would be the day, but I didn’t know the exact time. I’ve been trying to act normal, but I don’t know if anyone believed me.” She looked at Jo. “You didn’t, or you wouldn’t be here.”

“I had my suspicions.” Jo thought for a second. “You said they asked about some bank members?”

She nodded. “They wanted me to look up a few people who had safety deposit boxes.”

“Names?”

“David Lebow, and Jane Dinkle. And Trent Fontenot.”

Jo knew she’d heard that final surname, but she couldn’t place it in the moment. “What do you know about them?”

“They were just names to me. I looked them up, but it didn’t help me. Lebow is a businessman in town, and I never heard of Jane Dinkle. Fontenot is a journalist.”

Jo snapped her fingers, remembering where she’d heard about him. Fontenot had been the subject of a news piece on the TV at the bank the morning of the robbery.

She looked at Sabrina. “Trent Fontenot was murdered recently.”

“He was?” Sabrina’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “I didn’t know that.”

Jo studied her. “What else did the man want to know about those three members?”

“The only one he asked more about was Trent. Did I know him, if I’d seen him in the bank, and how he acted.”

“Did you see him?” Jo asked.

“No. All three were just names to me. I didn’t even know Trent was a journalist.”

Jo believed her. “You don’t watch the local news?” Sabrina shook her head. “You didn’t research them more, or follow them, anything like that?”

Sabrina shook her head. “No, I swear. I figured if that man was asking about those people, they’d be watching them, too. They wouldn’t want to see me there, or they’d wonder what I was doing.”

“Maybe,” Jo said.

“Oh,” she moaned. “I think I’m going to be sick.” Sabrina took in a few deep breaths and went on. “They told me if I talked to anyone, they’d kill me.”

“You should talk to the police,” Jo suggested. “They can keep you safe.”

“Safe in jail.”

“Yes. Given the circumstances, they might go easier on you.”

“What about my family?”

“The police could help.”

Sabrina shook her head. “I don’t know what to do.”

Jo didn’t have any other advice. Sabrina was in a terrible situation. Jo quickly went over their conversation in her head. That man had chosen Sabrina because she was vulnerable, and he’d known she needed the money. That was a good move, and with the threats as well, it had worked. What they hadn’t counted on was Jo being at the bank as well.

“If you’re lying to me, I’ll know it,” Jo said.

“I’m not. I’m telling you the truth.”

Jo stared at her, then said, “Call Holton.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Sabrina drew in a long breath and let out a heavy sigh. Jo repeated that she should call the police. Sabrina finally stood up and dug in her purse on the counter for her phone. She also pulled out a small business card and held up both.

“Holton gave me his number.”

Jo nodded. She had Holton’s number as well, and if Sabrina delayed, she was going to give it to her.

And Sabrina did delay, staring at the card in her hand. Then she swore softly.

“How stupid could I be?” she muttered to herself. “I should’ve just walked away from those men.”

Jo didn’t reply. It was an easy thing for Sabrina to say now, after the fact. But when someone is threatening you, threatening your family, the situation is different. It didn’t excuse what she’d done, but Jo could understand—her father and her sister were always on her mind.

Sabrina finally dialed a number, put the phone to her ear, and waited. Seconds later, Jo heard Holton’s voice, and Sabrina frowned and mouthed, Voicemail. Her voice shook as she left a message. “Detective Holton, this is Sabrina Padilla. I was . . . wondering if you could give me a call, please. Thank you.” She ended the call and stated the obvious. “I left him a message.”

Jo nodded. “Hopefully he’ll call back soon.”

Sabrina suddenly whirled around and peeked between the kitchen window blinds. “What do I do while I wait? That man might come here. How do I know he’s not watching now, waiting for you to leave? Oh, I’m a dead woman.”

“Is there anywhere you could go, anyone you could stay with?”

Sabrina shook her head. “My brother’s in school in California, and I don’t want to go to my mom’s. That might put her in danger, and I don’t want to explain anything to her.” She ran her hands across her face. “It’s going to be hard enough telling her what I did.”

And she couldn’t go to any friends, either, Jo realized. That would put them in danger.

She quickly contemplated her own options. She didn’t want to be involved, but per usual, she already was. And she couldn’t leave, knowing that a man might come after Sabrina at any moment.

“I’ll stay with you,” Jo offered.

Sabrina threw up a hand. “How can you protect me? Who are you?”

“I can’t get into all of that, but I can keep you safe.”

The woman put her hands on her hips. “Are you some kind of cop?”

Jo allowed a small smile. “Something like that, at least in a past life.” Her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t see anyone around your house earlier, but I’ll check again. We can’t be too careful.” She stood up. “I’m going to check outside.”

Sabrina sank to a chair. “You think they’re out there?”

Jo thought about it. “Probably not. If they were, they’d try to come in by now. They’d want to know what we’re doing in here, and they’d be worried about you talking to me.”

Sabrina nodded with some encouragement. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Turn out the lights, and I’ll slip outside. Wait by the door, and if you see or hear anyone else, call the police. Give me ten minutes, and if I’m not back, you dial 911.”

“Ten minutes? That long?”

“I want to see if there’s any activity.” Jo squeezed the woman’s arm, now noting a rapid pulse. The reality that she’d faked before. “It’s okay. Lock the door behind me.”

Sabrina stood by the door as Jo let herself out, and then a click sounded as Sabrina locked the door. Jo ducked down and let her eyes adjust to the dim moonlight. She believed what she’d said—that there was no imminent threat at the moment—but she wasn’t going to take any chances. She crouched down and sneaked around the side of the house.

Jo checked the street, then went to the backyard and checked the alley, staying low. There were the usual sounds of traffic on neighboring streets, and someone spoke for a moment in a yard a few houses away. However, there were no signs of anything suspicious. Jo surveyed her car next, until she was confident that no one was watching it. Finally, she crept back into Sabrina’s yard, approaching the house from a different direction. She reached the corner, pressed herself against the wall, and again paused. After another minute of only the neighborhood sounds, she tiptoed to the back door and tapped on it.

“It’s me,” she called out softly.

She heard the knob rattle as Sabrina unlocked the door, and then it swung open. Jo slipped inside and relocked the door. Sabrina breathed a sigh of relief as Jo flipped on the light.

“It’s safe,” she announced.

Sabrina nodded. “Let’s go into the living room.”

Jo followed her and sat on the couch, while Sabrina took the loveseat. She still held her phone, and she kept looking at it.

“Why won’t Holton call back?” she asked.

Jo shrugged. “He’s in the middle of a big investigation, so he’s busy. At this point, feds will be involved, too.”

Sabrina paled. “This whole thing is bigger than I realized.” Jo nodded, and Sabrina said, “I really blew it.”

“Yeah. But you can make it right.”

They sat for a few minutes in silence, Jo listening all the while for any unusual sounds. Then Sabrina looked at her again.

“What if Holton doesn’t call back tonight?”

“I’ll stay with you, like I said.”

“You would do that?”

“Yes.”

“You can sleep in the spare bedroom.”

Jo glanced around. “I’ll stay here, where I can hear everything.”

Sabrina got up. “Let me get you some blankets.”

“I don’t need much.”

The woman went into the other room and returned with two blankets and a pillow. She handed them to Jo and smiled wanly.

“I’m going to lie down. If Holton calls, I’ll let you know.”

Jo nodded and watched her leave the room, her shoulders stooped, the weight of the world on them. The bedroom door closed. Jo stood in the front hallway and familiarized herself with the noises of the house—the refrigerator turning on, ice clinking in an icemaker. No sound from the spare bedroom. Some small noises emanated from the main bedroom, Sabrina moving around. Finally, that stopped. The woman had looked exhausted, and she’d probably fallen asleep right away.

Jo checked the time. After nine. She’d hoped Holton would call, but as the minutes rolled by, she didn’t hear the phone, or Sabrina’s voice. Jo was tempted to call Dack, but it would be closing in on midnight on the East Coast, and she didn’t want to bother him so late. She walked around the house on soft feet, peeking out windows and looking into the backyard. Nothing drew her suspicions, so she returned to the front hallway to research the three people Sabrina had mentioned.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Jo sat on the floor, away from any line of sight through the front window. That way, if someone was outside with a gun and possibly a scope, they wouldn’t have a clean shot at her. She turned on an end-table lamp, then turned down the brightness on her phone screen, both ways to obscure where she was sitting. Once she was comfortable, she got on the internet and began researching.

First, she looked up David Lebow. He wasn’t hard to find, as he was a hedge fund project manager at a large firm in Dallas. Jo didn’t know a lot about hedge funds, but a little googling told her that in his position, Lebow was probably making several million dollars a year.

She found a couple of articles on him, profiling his work in Dallas. He was in his early fifties, bald, with wire-rim glasses and a thin mustache. His LinkedIn profile was full of accolades from associates. He’d gone to Stanford, and had lived in Dallas since graduating college. He was listed on a few people-search sites as well. It appeared he was married with three children, all grown. All in all, there seemed nothing noteworthy or odd about him.

Jo found an address for him in University Park, an upscale area north of Dallas. She used Google maps to view the house, a large two-story mansion set back from the street. Lebow was obviously wealthy, which explained the need for a safety deposit box. But what did he have stored in it that the thieves might’ve wanted?

Before she moved on to Jane Dinkle, Jo got up, stretched, and tiptoed through the house, carefully peering out windows to see if she spotted any unusual activity outside. The house was still quiet; no noise from Sabrina’s room. Jo listened at her door, then turned the knob and eased open the door. The room was dark, but Jo could make out the woman, prone on the bed, her breathing steady. Finding a bit of peace in sleep. Jo didn’t disturb her, pulling the door closed and heading to a different spot in the hallway. She hunkered down again and began researching Jane.

From what Jo could tell, Jane didn’t work, didn’t have a LinkedIn profile, nor was she listed as an employee on any company website. However, she appeared to be a socialite, with a few articles mentioning her at social functions and parties around the Dallas area. She was married to Winston Dinkle, a successful lawyer. One article had a photo of the couple. Jane was a beautiful woman, with wavy brown hair and matching eyes, looking stunning in a dark dress. She had what appeared to be expensive taste in jewelry, with one photo showing her wearing a diamond and ruby necklace, which could have been fake. Jo had heard that although some people might actually own expensive jewelry, they’d still wear fake items in public, due to the risk of damage or theft. Maybe Jane had kept anything real in a safety deposit box—had the thieves been after something like that?

Jo pondered that for a moment. There had to be other people who had jewelry and valuables in the safety deposit boxes at the bank. Had the thieves stolen items just from the Dinkles’ safety deposit box, or others as well? She had no way of knowing.

She turned off her phone and listened again. It was after midnight, and a car was driving slowly down the street. Jo crept into the living room and sneaked up to the side of the front window. She peeked out between a crack in the blinds and saw a dark sedan moving along the street, headlights on. It turned into a driveway down the block and disappeared into a garage. Jo watched the shadows and didn’t see anyone. She again checked the house and ended up back in the hallway. Once she was settled, she looked up Trent Fontenot.

When she googled his name, the first thing that came up, of course, was an article about his murder. Trent had been thirty-six at the time of his death, and he’d been a local reporter at the Dallas CBS station. He’d been shot in the head inside his house, sometime Sunday evening. His girlfriend had expected him for dinner, and when he hadn’t shown or called, she’d driven to his house to see if he was there. When he didn’t answer the door, she let herself inside, found his body, and called 911. The police were asking for the public’s help to see if anyone had seen or heard anything at his house around the time of his death.

Jo read a few more articles, all short on details, like how he’d been shot, if anything had been stolen from his house, and if the police had any suspects. The girlfriend would be an obvious choice, but the articles didn’t mention that. Jo read a couple more articles about the murder and watched a few reports from the local news stations as well. Again, any specifics of the murder were in short supply. Rather, everything focused on Trent, how he had been a freelance journalist before taking a position at the station, and how he’d been well-respected in the journalism field.

Next, Jo found social media sites where Trent had posted clips from the station, focusing on the crime beat. She studied him as she watched some of the stories. He appeared to be average height, with short brown hair neatly parted at the side, brown eyes, and an engaging smile. He was articulate, and his back-and-forth with the station anchors was good.

She scrolled through his posting history and discovered several older articles he’d written when he’d still been freelance. They focused on crime as well, him doing a series on several stabbings in the Fort Worth area, where he delved into the unsolved crimes, concentrating on the victims and their families. He was a good writer, and she could see how his freelance work could have been a steppingstone to his getting a job at the station. However, she didn’t find anything that might lead to a reason for his murder. She mulled over her research on him. A local journalist wouldn’t make a ton of money, where he might have jewels or other valuables in a safety deposit box. Unless he’d acquired something like that somewhere else, possibly an inheritance. She looked to people-search sites again and didn’t see any indication that he’d ever been married or that he had children. He lived west of Dallas, in a single-story house with a small yard. The neighbors were close by, and she wondered if any might have seen or heard something the night he was murdered.

Jo stifled a yawn as she stood up and again perused the house. Then she sat back down, thinking about Trent Fontenot. He had been one of three people that the man who’d met with Sabrina had wanted information on, and he’d been murdered the night before the bank robbery. What were the odds of that? It would have to be quite a coincidence, and Jo didn’t believe in coincidences in general. Had there been something in his safety deposit box that had led to his murder? She couldn’t answer that yet, but she definitely wanted to look at Trent more, to talk to his girlfriend and see what else was going on before he’d been killed. It might lead to nothing, but she had to check.

She spent a few more minutes looking at all three people, but she didn’t find anything else noteworthy. Finally, she pocketed her phone, turned off the lamp in the living room, and settled on the floor between the loveseat and the coffee table, where she could see the front window. She placed a pillow under her head, lightly covering herself with a blanket. It wasn’t bad, more comfortable than the many nights she’d spent on cold, hard ground. She stared toward the window, mulling over everything. Sometime later, she fell into a fitful sleep, her subconscious still alert.

What if that man showed up?

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“Thank you, Kline,” Lydia said as she slid into the back seat of a shiny white Cadillac SUV.

“No problem, ma’am,” Kline said, waiting for her to get situated. She gave him a nod, and he slammed the door and slid behind the wheel.

“It was a lovely party,” Lydia pronounced.

He glanced in the rearview mirror. She was looking back to the stately mansion, waving to a few people who were milling about the steps near the front doors. He waited until her gaze shifted forward, then put the car in gear and eased down the long drive toward the street.

“It’s too bad JD had a meeting,” she said, and then sighed. “I suppose this time of night, it’s not so much a meeting as wining and dining people. But it’s what he has to do, and he’s good at it.”

Kline smiled at her. “You had a nice time?”

She nodded. “I do love catching up with everyone, and there were some new faces.”

He turned onto the street and navigated toward the highway, his mind on the woman in the back seat. Lydia was as good at working people as her husband was. JD frequently said he wouldn’t be where he was without her, and Kline figured that was true. There was a reason for the saying that behind every great man was a great woman. He’d seen her doing real work alongside JD, not just smiling and being polite. JD was a man who knew what he wanted, and that focus sometimes led to small errors on his part. Lydia had a subtle way of directing conversations, of nudging JD if he was being too forward or direct.

“Kline.” She interrupted his thoughts. “Do you think he’s working too hard?”

In all these years, she’d never referred to him by his first name. He wondered if she even remembered what it was. He’d been around her family for so long, he was almost like family himself. She treated him well, never had a cross word for him. He appreciated that, especially when other things could go so badly at times.

“No more than usual,” Kline replied.

“He’s been putting in long hours at the office, and he works when he comes home. And then a meeting like this—I don’t expect him home until very late.”

“Probably not.”

Kline glanced in the rearview mirror again. Lydia was gazing out the window, watching cars zip by on the highway. Even at this time of night, traffic was heavy. Dallas never slept. He drove on, wondering about the woman. Could she be as naïve as she acted? Did she really not have any idea that her husband didn’t have some important meeting tonight, that he was actually seeing another woman, someone who would fulfill desires that Lydia would never dream of?

“Is JD all right?” she asked.

“Of course.”

Kline gripped the wheel a little harder. Was she suspicious? Had someone been talking to her?

He’d been telling JD that the man needed to take a break, needed to ease up on the dalliances. And for a while, JD had. Kline had told him they didn’t need any more attention, even though things were going quite well. Better to lie low, to not risk any screw-ups. Then JD had texted him and said he needed a break. That was the euphemism to get things in motion, to have a secret place ready. Kline tried one text, warning JD not to do anything—not with everything going on the last couple of days—but JD just responded that he’d already set things up with the woman, and he’d made his excuses to his wife. Kline knew further arguing would be futile.

He didn’t know why the liaison bothered him so much tonight; maybe it was that he had to drive Lydia home. That task normally went to someone else, but Lydia had let the previous driver go after only a few months. That woman had seemed nice, and competent, but Lydia hadn’t liked her—and that was all that mattered.

Kline checked his surroundings for suspicious vehicles, but nothing caught his eye. His glance fell to Lydia.

For as long as he’d known her, she had always wanted a female driver, a person who also served as a bodyguard. She didn’t like men around, didn’t fully trust them. Kline often wondered if it was because, even at a subconscious level, she knew something about her husband, knew on some level that all men just couldn’t be trusted. Regardless, she hadn’t had a male driver in years. Since the last woman left, they’d been searching for someone else, but it wasn’t an easy task. Kline needed somebody who had skills, someone who could protect Lydia as well as chauffeur her around. Whoever it was, they had to keep Lydia safe, no matter the situation.

Someone that skilled wasn’t easy to find. Kline had a list of possible hires, procured from a variety of places: his law enforcement contacts, other security services, even other bodyguards. Some of the women he contacted weren’t available, and some weren’t interested. Some he didn’t like, didn’t think they could fulfill the responsibilities. He was beginning to worry that he’d never find a suitable candidate. And he was having to drive Lydia around more than he should have, more than JD wanted him to. Kline was needed elsewhere.

JD had been working on Lydia, trying to get her to ease up her standards, whatever those were. She wouldn’t say what made her like a particular driver, or what made her dismiss one, just that it was a feeling she’d get. JD tried to tell her that was nonsense, but that hadn’t worked.

Kline grimaced. They’d find someone, he knew, but at what expense? How long could he afford to be distracted by this hiring process? They might have to settle for the best man available, for the time being. That might not be a bad thing, as long as they knew they could keep her safe.

Lydia yawned. “Oh, I am tired tonight. I don’t know how JD manages on such little sleep.”

Kline studied her. If she knew anything about what her husband was doing, she didn’t show it. He thought, not for the first time, that she’d make a great poker player. She never had a tell. Then he laughed to himself. Lydia would never gamble. She was too refined for that.

He took another quick glance. Not only was she a beautiful woman, she was nice. Kind in ways that few were. She didn’t deserve what JD was doing to her. What would she do if she ever found out? Some people liked the money, the fame, and they stayed in situations despite being aware, long after they should have. Somehow, he didn’t think that would be Lydia. If she ever discovered the real JD, what he was really capable of, she would be gone in a second—and JD would be crushed.

Kline couldn’t have that. He loved the money, the position he was in, the power he had. There was no way he’d let anybody take that away from him. Even Lydia. Which was why he was growing more irritated thinking about JD now. That man might jeopardize everything.

Kline was still thinking about his boss when they drove into the Highland Park neighborhood, soon turning down the long front drive of a palatial residence on two acres that JD and Lydia had built many years ago. He parked in front, hopped out, and opened the back door. Lydia got out as well and smiled.

“Thank you, Kline,” she said. “I’m sorry you had to drive me home only to go right back to get my husband.”

“It’s no problem,” he said.

He walked her into the house, then got back in the Cadillac and left. Only he wasn’t going back to the governor’s place. Kline would be waiting where JD was, ready to whisk his boss home when he was finished for the evening.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Lydia waited until Kline had let himself out. Then she set the alarm and went upstairs to the main bedroom suite. She kicked off her heels and let out a sigh of relief. After a long stretch, she unzipped her dress as she headed to her closet. She slipped out of the dress and left it and her shoes on the floor, then went with only bra and underwear on to a dressing table in the bathroom. As she scrubbed herself and began to take off her makeup, her mind went to her husband.

He wouldn’t be home until late. Again. What was that about?

JD had gone through a period where he’d been home a lot, and then the late-night meetings had started up again. There was always a reason, and the explanations made sense. But still, why have so many meetings at night?

She finished with her face, then took off her earrings and set them down on the countertop. Staring at the mirror, she now found herself thinking about Kline.

She’d questioned him in the car, trying to act casual, but she wasn’t sure about his replies. Lydia laughed to herself. They’d been sparring with each other, each not sure of the other’s answers, neither saying what they really thought. She knew Kline covered for JD, but the question was, covered what?

She continued to stare at her reflection, seeing the unhappiness on her face. What was really going on with her husband? He wasn’t himself lately. Something was definitely not right. She exhaled loudly. She’d been putting on a front, trying to deny what she suspected. It was like that time . . . how many years ago? Things had been said then, and they were being said now. She’d chosen not to address them, to take the high road. It was getting to the point, though, where she would have to figure out exactly what was going on.

As she took off her bra and donned a nightgown, she continued to mull things over. She frowned as she walked into the bedroom, not liking what was going through her head, what she saw coming. It all left her in a foul mood.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Something stirred Jo, and she was suddenly wide awake, staring into the dark room. Then she heard a noise. It took her a second to orient herself. It was still dark, with no light coming from the living room window. Jo strained her ears, then realized what she’d heard.

Sabrina was moving in her bedroom.

Jo glanced out the living room window. All quiet. She hurried to Sabrina’s door and tapped lightly.

“Everything okay?”

The door opened seconds later. Sabrina still wore her clothes from the previous evening, her feet bare, and her hair was disheveled. Dark circles ringed her eyes. She yawned and held up her phone.

“I just heard from Detective Holton. He said he’d meet me at the station in an hour.”

She looked sad and scared. Jo reached out and lightly touched her arm.

“It may not seem like it, but you’re doing the right thing,” she said.

“I want to get this over with, but I’m scared.”

“I know.”

Sabrina glanced around. “Everything was okay last night?”

Jo nodded. “Yes.”

“What if that man is around?”

“I’ll make sure you get to the station without any problems.”

Sabrina breathed a sigh of relief, though a look of disbelief remained on her face. “I can’t believe you’re doing this, but thanks.”

“Let me check your room,” Jo said. “Stay in the hall.”

Sabrina stepped past her, leaned against the wall, and ran her hands through her hair. Jo moved into the bedroom and looked around, then peeked out the windows. Faint light was burgeoning outside, and she studied the deep shadows that it cast. The neighborhood was still. She moved to the other bedroom, then checked again in the living room and kitchen. One car drove by, stopping at the corner before it turned. Everything seemed okay, but Jo wasn’t taking any chances. She glanced down the hall.

“I’m going outside. If you hear anyone other than me, call the police.”

Sabrina nodded. Jo slipped through the kitchen and out the back door. She stayed low and scanned the yard, then trotted to the alley for a look before circling to the front of the house. A few lights were on in other houses, and two more cars drove down the street. The neighborhood was waking up. Jo watched her car for a minute but saw no one nearby, so she ran back to Sabrina’s house and let herself in the back the door, locking it behind her. Sabrina was still in the hall, her phone at the ready.

“Everything’s okay,” Jo pronounced.

“I’ll take a quick shower,” Sabrina said.

She kept the bedroom door cracked open, and Jo waited in the hall until she’d finished washing off and had gotten dressed. They went into the kitchen, where Sabrina grabbed a Diet Coke.

“I need the caffeine,” she said.

Jo nodded and explained what they would do. “You drive me to my car, and I’ll follow you to the station. You’ll go inside, but I’ll be watching.”

“You won’t come with me?”

Jo took a second to answer. “They don’t need to know that we talked.”

“Okay,” Sabrina said softly, still trusting her. “But what if that guy’s around?”

Jo thought it over for a minute, making sure the plan made sense. “When you get close to the station, have Holton meet you out front.”

“Okay.” Sabrina sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”

Jo accompanied the woman to the detached garage, and Sabrina took her to her SUV. Rush-hour traffic was heavy, and Jo kept a close tail as they drove to the police station.

Sabrina parked the silver Lexus in a spot across from the station, and Jo pulled into a space down the street. Seconds later, Holton emerged from the station. Jo ducked down as he looked in her direction. Then he crossed the street, and Sabrina got out of the Lexus. He stayed close as they hurried into the building. Jo drove a few blocks away, then stopped and googled Trent Fontenot’s address.

On the way there, she plugged her phone in to charge it, then called Dack to update him.

“You’re okay?” he asked when she finished.

“Yes. But after talking to Sabrina, I have more questions than answers.”

“Do you think the people Sabrina talked to might be after you?”

Jo gave that some thought. “I didn’t see anyone, but it’s possible.” She glanced in the rearview mirror. No discernable surveillance. “If anyone’s after me, they’ll make their presence known, and I’ll take care of them. When I get some answers, I’ll call Holton.”

He exhaled. “Be careful.”

“Always.”

She ended the call and exited the highway, stopping at a fast-food joint for a quick bite to eat. Then she drove along Spring Avenue and a few minutes later turned down a side street and pulled up a few houses down from a small two-story house with a covered porch. It was after nine, and most people were at work.

She took the binoculars from under the seat and studied Trent’s house. Yellow crime-scene tape was secured across the front door, but otherwise there was no indication that a murder had occurred. She studied the front windows and saw no signs of forced entry. Jo couldn’t be sure, but she thought she spotted security cameras on the corner eaves of his house. If so, there were probably more cameras that she couldn’t see, and she wasn’t surprised when she noticed a doorbell camera as well.

After a few minutes of watching, she backed up, made a U-turn, then drove around the block and parked where she could study Trent’s house from a different angle. Everything looked normal. She didn’t spot more cameras, but she was sure they were there.

She would’ve loved to get into the house, but she wasn’t going to risk being recorded doing so. Some of Trent’s neighbors probably had security systems as well, and if the police looked at the video, they would certainly see her vehicle. Hopefully, they would never have reason to check. She studied the house for a moment longer, then lowered the binoculars.

Down the street, an older man with wispy gray hair emerged from the house next door to Trent. A dog pulled at his leash, and the man started down the sidewalk. Jo got out of the Escape and walked in his direction, thinking he might be a source of information. As she approached, he motioned for the dog—a big German Shepherd—to sit next to him. He said something to the dog, and it stared at Jo, ready to spring into action if need be. Jo pointed to Trent’s house.

“I worked with Trent a while back,” she lied. She scrunched up her face, trying to look sad. “You heard what happened to him?”

He nodded. “It’s a terrible thing.”

“You knew him?”

“We were neighborly.”

She had a feeling about him, like he was ex-military, so she asked him, “Where’d you serve?”

“Marines.” He eyed her. “I was in Nam.”

“Afghanistan,” she said.

“Marines?”

She shook her head. “Army, and then Civil Affairs.”

He studied her with a new appreciation. He asked her a few questions, could tell she knew the lingo. There was an instant comradery, which brought with it a level of trust.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Jo.”

He tapped his chest. “Fred.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he said, glancing over at Trent’s house. “I can’t believe he was murdered.” Fred was small but wiry, and he clearly still had his wits about him.

“He was working on a story I need to know about.”

“Are you a reporter now?”

“Yes,” Jo lied again.

He pursed his lips in and out. “I saw him on the news sometimes. He told me he used to work freelance, but that got hard. He said he took a lot of risks to find out the truth, but when you’re freelance, you don’t have a big agency to back you. If you get in any trouble, or if anyone thinks you’re lying, you could be sued.”

“That’s true.” She nodded knowingly. “I wonder what happened with the story he was working on. Did he tell you about that?”

“He did a lot of stuff with the crime beat, but I don’t know any particulars.”

“He told me some.” She dropped the other names Sabrina had mentioned.

“I don’t know the names,” he said as he petted the dog. “You ought to talk to his girlfriend. If anybody would know, it’d be her.”

“What’s her name?”

“Melanie Gorman.” He smiled. “She’s pretty, and nice. She’s always friendly with me. I told Trent he needed to marry that girl, and I don’t know why he didn’t.” His eyes grew wistful. “I was married for fifty years. Lost my wife last year to cancer.”

“I’m sorry,” Jo said with genuine remorse. “I lost my mother to cancer as well.”

She felt a pain pulling in her heart. It had been several years ago. Jo had been overseas throughout most of that time, which caused the pre-existing rift between her and her father to grow even larger. Some of those wounds had finally begun to heal when Jo had returned to Colorado. And then she’d had to leave again, and leave Will and Avery in danger.

She brushed those thoughts aside and focused on the man in front of her.

Fred nodded slowly. “Yeah, it’s rough. That’s why I told Trent to not let Melanie go.” His voice filled with sadness. “You never know how much time you have with someone.”

Jo cleared her throat and moved on. “Do you know where Melanie lives?”

“Not too far from here. She’s a nurse and works odd hours. I don’t know if she’d be home today or not.”

“Have you seen anything strange going on around here recently?”

“I thought I saw another car parked there the other night.” He motioned down the street. “I don’t know if it was anything or not. But that’s why I was watching closely and saw you.”

“Did you tell the police what you saw?”

“Oh yeah. I want them to find out what happened to Trent. He didn’t deserve it.”

“He didn’t,” she said. “Did he talk about being scared of anyone, or about anything weird going on?”

“He seemed a little edgy the last month or so, not quite as talkative. He just said he was really busy.” He shrugged. “I don’t know if something else was going on or not.”

“That’s what I hope to find out.”

Fred looked up and down the street, then back at her. “Well, Jo, good luck. You need anything, I live there.” He pointed to the house next door to Trent’s.

“Thanks.”

He started walking down the street, and when he reached the cross street, he looked all around, then sauntered around the corner and vanished.

Fred had been helpful, and she wondered whether she could talk to him again. He seemed to be a cautious man, though, and she wondered if he’d think twice about talking to her and end up calling the police. He was sharp, and she knew he’d taken in everything—the license plate and make and model of her vehicle, and her description. If he did report their conversation, when would the police start to focus on her?

She pursed her lips. If they hunted her down, she wanted to have answers before then.

Jo hurried to the Escape and pulled away from the curb. Once she’d made it a few blocks away, she googled Melanie Gorman. Finding an address, she started the car up again and headed that way.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Melanie Gorman lived in a small tan-brick house in a quiet neighborhood half an hour’s drive from Trent Fontenot’s. As she’d been doing the last couple of days, Jo parked several houses away and surveilled the area carefully before deciding it was safe for her to talk to the woman.

She got out of the SUV and walked down the block, still alert. The sky was a crisp blue, the warm sun refreshing. Few cars were around as she crossed the street and approached the house. She stood on a porch shaded by a huge oak tree and rang the doorbell. Moments later, she saw a shadow pass by the lone front window, and then the door opened.

“Melanie Gorman?” Jo asked the woman who answered.

“Yes. Who are you?”

Jo took a second to study her. Melanie was tall and sturdy, with a few extra pounds, but it was obvious she had muscle, too. Her long, dark hair was cascading around her shoulders, and she wore shorts and a T-shirt. Jo was drawn to her eyes, red-rimmed and puffy. Jo hated to disturb her in these circumstances, but it couldn’t be helped.

“My name is Jo. I know this isn’t a good time, but I’d like to talk to you about Trent Fontenot.”

Melanie dabbed her eyes with a Kleenex. “I talked to the police yesterday.”

She thinks I’m an investigator, Jo thought. It was the opportunity she needed, so she rolled with it.

“I have a few more questions about Trent’s death. It’s a difficult time, but it’s important.”

Melanie motioned with the Kleenex. “Come in.”

She led Jo into a tiny living room and had her take the loveseat, while Melanie sat on a couch by the front window. The sound of a TV drifted in through a doorway that led to a kitchen. A marmalade cat stared at Jo for a moment, then moseyed away.

Melanie sniffled and looked at Jo, her whole demeanor tired and listless. She hadn’t asked Jo for any ID, any proof that she was with the police. Jo chalked that up to the woman’s weary state. She didn’t know how long it might be before Melanie figured out she wasn’t with any law enforcement agency, so best to hurry with her questions.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Jo began.

Melanie nodded. “I’m still in shock. I couldn’t go to work, and I haven’t left the house.”

“You’re a nurse?”

“Yes.” She grimaced. “I can’t believe Trent’s . . . dead. I was stunned when I heard what happened, like my whole world was turned upside-down. I don’t even know what to say.”

In other circumstances, Jo might’ve tried to build more rapport, but she sensed she didn’t have much time for that, so she launched into the direct questions. “You discovered the body?”

“Yes.” Her brow furrowed. “I went over all this with the detective the other day.”

“I know, I’m just checking again. Sometimes people forget things.”

“Oh.” That seemed to mollify her. She stared at the floor. “Trent was supposed to come over for dinner, and he was late. Sometimes that happens, when he gets called into work, but he’s good about letting me know. I texted him, and he didn’t reply. Then I tried calling. I thought he might be busy, where he couldn’t get back to me, but after a couple of hours, I was concerned, so I drove to his house. He didn’t answer the door, so I let myself in. I . . .” She gulped. “I saw his body and called 911.” She choked up and swiped at her eyes.

“What’d you do next?”

“I went to the porch. I couldn’t look at him while I waited for the police.”

“He was shot.” The news articles Jo’d read had said that, but they hadn’t given any specifics.

“Yes.” Melanie moved a hand to the back of her head. “I saw blood there, and there was more on the floor nearby. It was awful. I’ll never get that image out of my mind.”

“You didn’t touch anything, or look around the house?”

“No.”

“Did anything appear out of place?”

She nodded. “Some of the couch cushions were pulled up, like someone had moved them. The police wondered if it might’ve been a robbery gone bad.”

“Did Trent have any enemies, any issues with anyone?”

She shook her head. “Trent was a good guy. He was well-liked.”

“How long had you been dating?”

Melanie sighed. “About five years. We’d been talking about getting married . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“Trent was an investigative journalist?”

“He worked the crime beat at CBS 11.”

“And before that, he worked freelance?”

“Yes. He liked the flexibility in his schedule, and he could accept the assignments he wanted, which gave him time to chase down other stories he was interested in. But it could be risky.”

“Risky?”

“Some of the things he researched might not sell, and there was legal risk too. He didn’t tell me a lot, but several years ago, someone threatened to sue him. I know Trent, though. He would never do anything wrong, never libel anyone. He resourced his material, checked his facts well, and he always vetted his sources. But when you’re freelance, you don’t have station lawyers or their money to back you. That’s when he started looking for a permanent job. It took him a while, but he got on with the station, and he seemed to be happier. At least . . .”

Jo leaned forward. “What?”

The sound of the TV droned on from the kitchen, underlining their whole conversation. Melanie glanced away with a heavy sigh. “He’d been under a lot of stress lately. He told me there was a story he’d been working on, and he didn’t know where it would lead. One time, he said he had to be careful. He wouldn’t tell me more, but he was edgy and seemed to be looking over his shoulder a lot.”

“Not a hint about the story?”

“No. He could get like that, where he wouldn’t want to tell me anything. Whatever this story was, it was something he’d worked on freelance, and he was closemouthed about that. He’d been at it for a long time, and he told me it was something big, and that it could lead to better opportunities for him. But I don’t know what happened with all of that. I told the other detective that you should ask Trent’s producer about what he was working on.”

“His name?”

“John Atchison.” She stared at Jo. “You didn’t know that?”

Jo felt she was getting suspicious, but she tried to keep the lie going. “Just verifying.”

“Did you talk to John?”

“Yes.” The lie fell easily from her lips.

Melanie tensed a little. “Do you know something more?”

Jo shook her head. “Did you ever read any of Trent’s notes, anything like that?”

She shook her head. “He had to protect his sources, even from me.”

“He kept his research on his computer?”

She nodded. “As far as I know.”

Trent’s electronic devices would’ve been taken by law enforcement and analyzed, and Jo had no way of knowing what they’d discovered.

“Did Trent talk about leaving anything in a safety deposit box?” she asked.

“The other detective asked about that as well, and I’ll tell you what I told him. I have no idea about that. He never mentioned a safety deposit box.” Melanie blew her nose and then studied the crumpled Kleenex. “Excuse me, I need to get another one.”

She got up and went into the kitchen. She shuffled around, taking her time, and after a minute or so, Jo started to grow worried. She peered out the front window to the quiet street. Melanie continued delaying, and Jo called out.

“Is everything okay?”

“Just a second,” Melanie replied. Another minute passed, and then she said, “You be a good boy.” She appeared in the kitchen doorway. “I was getting my cat a treat.”

Jo nodded as Melanie sat back down, fiddling nervously with a fresh tissue.

“Did Trent mention seeing anyone suspicious, maybe at his house, or when he was working?” Jo asked.

Melanie nodded, then paled. “Who are you really? Do you have ID?”

There it was. Jo tried to work around that. “I thought I showed you my badge.”

“No,” Melanie said. “You’re not with the police, are you?”

Jo didn’t say anything, just stared at her. Then something out the window caught her eye. A squad car had pulled up across the street. Melanie saw something in Jo’s gaze, and she glanced over her shoulder, then looked back at Jo.

“I don’t know who you are, or why you’re asking about Trent,” she said. “I texted the detective I talked to before, and he sent someone to help. You can talk to them.”

“I can’t,” Jo said.

“Who are you?” Melanie repeated.

Jo jumped up. “I can’t explain, but I needed to know about Trent.”

Melanie rose as well. “You won’t get anything else from me.” She put her hands out defensively between them. Jo looked past her to see two uniformed officers crossing the street toward the house. She didn’t wait, dashing past Melanie and into the kitchen. The cat had been sitting on the floor, and he leaped out of the way as Jo crossed to the back door.

“Stop,” Melanie yelled at her.

Jo ignored her, yanked open the door, and ran outside.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“You’re sure?” Kline said into his phone.

The man on the other end was gruff. “Absolutely.” He spoke for a couple of minutes, finishing with, “I’ll keep you posted.” There was a suggestion in the tone.

Kline knew what that meant. “Don’t worry, you’ll get your money.”

“You bet I will. Talk to you later,” the other man said.

Kline ended the call and pocketed the phone. He had no fear of his calls being traced. The phone was clean, no way to tie it back to him, or JD. Kline stared out the windshield as he drove through the downtown streets. He barely noticed the heavy traffic, or the people out and about. He had a lot on his mind.

In the wee hours of the morning, he’d picked up JD from the woman’s apartment and driven him back to the mansion. By then, the place was long since quiet, and JD had retired to bed without a word. Kline, however, had stayed up longer, making sure everything would go smoothly, that the woman wouldn’t talk. Then he’d gone to his suite, only to have to wake up a few hours later to drive JD to the office.

Since then, his boss had been in meetings, and Kline had run some errands, and he’d kept tabs on the bank situation. Everything had seemed to be going well.

Until the phone call.

Kline drove into the Trammell Crow Center parking garage and took an elevator to forty-five. JD leased the entire floor, and the receptionist paid no mind as Kline stepped off the elevator. Everyone knew he was JD’s right-hand man, and no one asked any questions. A little fear of him went a long way, too. Kline walked a maze of hallways to a corner suite, tapped on the door, and entered. JD was on the phone, and he waved for Kline to come in.

“Yes, those figures look good,” JD was saying. “Let’s continue to pursue that.” He nodded subconsciously, then laughed. “We’ll see what the governor has to say about that. Thank you for your time.” He put down the receiver and looked at Kline. “Well?”

He strode to a leather chair across from JD’s large, mahogany desk. Taking a seat there, he stared at his boss. The room smelled strongly of air freshener. JD smoked cigars here, too, but he didn’t like the odor lingering in the air. The air freshener was just as bad, in Kline’s opinion.

“We’ve got a problem,” he announced.

He could speak freely in this room, which was decorated in a masculine style that reflected expensive taste. A bookcase held framed photos of JD with various famous people, evidence of his place in the city. There were no surveillance cameras in here, no listening devices. The room was swept every day to make sure of that.

JD leaned back in his executive chair. “What? Not something with the woman?” He looked smug.

Kline shook his head. “My contact at the police station called me. The employee from the bank is talking.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “What’s she telling them?”

“Everything. That a man contacted her who wanted information about the bank, and how he threatened her if she wouldn’t cooperate.”

“She doesn’t know who the man is?”

Kline slowly shook his head. “My guy’s not that stupid, and he’s careful. There’s no way in hell they’ll be able to figure out who he is.” He didn’t use Damek’s name. The less JD knew, the better.

JD rubbed his chin. “And no way for them to put pieces together, that it would lead to you?”

Kline ran a finger along the arm of the leather chair. “No. You have no worries about that.”

“And there’s no way anyone could have known what was in the safety deposit box?”

Kline shook his head. “Not unless he told somebody what he put in there.”

“How would we know that?” JD asked.

“We don’t. But they took stuff from several boxes to cover their tracks.”

“They’ll think the thieves were interested in jewels or other valuables,” JD said.

Kline nodded. They’d gone over this when he discussed the plan with his boss. Damek had talked about stealing everything from all the boxes, but they’d decided there was too much risk in that, too much time in the bank. But what Damek had done should work, should throw the police off course. Plus, he wouldn’t have stolen anything else that would draw unwanted attention to him, or to anyone else. That man was exceedingly careful.

He had reason to be. Kline had threats of his own for him and his associates. They would never roll over, never divulge anything about Kline or the bank operation. If they did, they’d be dead, and so would all their families.

JD suddenly slapped his palm on the desk and swore again. “This had better go according to plan.” He jabbed a finger at his desk phone. “I was just on the phone with a political contact. Everything is going smoothly, and I won’t see all I’ve worked for destroyed now.”

Kline cleared his throat. “May I suggest that your other . . . activities slow down?”

JD stood up and went to a window, where he could see other buildings. He put his hands on his hips and didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he turned around.

“It’s been a long time since I did anything.”

“Until lately,” Kline said.

“I couldn’t resist last night,” JD went on. “When the pressure builds, you know, it’s hard for me to stop.”

“It’s getting harder to keep things secret.”

JD crossed his arms. “I know. All it took was one person talking . . .”

“And that’s all it might take again. Someone spoke to the reporter. They could talk to someone else.”

“That’s why you’re looking for that person,” JD said pointedly.

Kline frowned. “We’re rectifying that situation, but how about you don’t add to it?”

JD stared at him, and for a moment, Kline thought he might’ve crossed the line. He was able to speak to his boss in ways that no one else could, but even he had to tread lightly sometimes. Especially around this.

“Yes, you’re right,” JD said. He moved back to his desk and sat down. “I’ll work on it.”

Kline relaxed a little and moved to another subject. “We’re still trying to find a new driver for your wife.”

JD tapped the desk. “It’s proving difficult, I know, but we need to find the best for her.”

“Perhaps she’s being a little too picky?”

“I’ll talk to Lydia,” he said. “But she needs the best. I don’t want anything to happen to her.”

“Of course,” Kline said.

His boss looked deep in thought for a moment. “She seems a little on edge lately. You don’t suppose she knows anything?”

Kline considered that, rerunning in his mind how Lydia had been on the drive home from the party the previous evening. Then he shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

JD arced an eyebrow. “You’re sure?”

“I’ll tell you if there’s anything to worry about.”

He glanced at his Rolex watch. “Thank you. I hate to rush you out, but I have another meeting.”

“You need me again at four?”

“Yes.”

Kline nodded and got up. He had plenty to occupy his time. First, finding out what else the police knew.

JD was already on the phone again as he stepped out of the office.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Jo raced through Melanie’s backyard, burst through a wood gate, and headed down an alley. She’d been a track star in high school, and she stayed in shape. Her brain fired thoughts at her as she reached the end of the alley. Melanie would tell the officers where she’d gone, and they’d be following. More law enforcement might show up as well, and that gave Jo little time. She had to get to her car before anyone realized where it was parked.

She glanced behind her and saw an officer in the alley. He looked the opposite way, motioned to someone, then ran in that direction. Another uniform appeared and headed her way. Jo ran close to the side of the house at the corner of the block, then stopped and peeked into the street. A sole squad car was parked across from Melanie’s house, and Jo’s SUV was between the squad car and her.

She ran to the SUV, hopped in, flipped a U-turn, and tore down the street. She stayed low as she reached the intersection, just as the uniform reached the end of the alley. He looked her way, then spoke into his lapel radio. She didn’t know if he’d spotted her license plate, but it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t take Holton long to put pieces together and realize who had visited Melanie Gorman. A BOLO would be issued for the SUV, so all officers would be on the lookout. Dack had provided her the vehicle, and it couldn’t be traced. Again, that didn’t matter. Find the vehicle, find her. She had to stay out of sight as best she could, at least until she could get more answers.

She drove several blocks away, watching to see if anyone followed her directly. Everything seemed okay. Then she frowned. She should’ve realized that Melanie had been in contact with the police. That was a mistake, but she didn’t plan to make any more of those.

Jo spotted a four-story parking garage near a shopping complex and headed in. She backed into a space near the exit, where she could see the street and any vehicles that entered, but a driver searching for her would have a harder time seeing her vehicle in the shadows. As she gathered her thoughts, her heart finally stopped racing, and her breathing returned to normal.

She hadn’t done anything wrong, hadn’t broken any laws, but Holton would be suspicious of her. The detective would wonder why she was asking questions. She doubted he knew all about her, that he’d discovered what had happened in Colorado with the biolab. He wouldn’t know that Dale and his cronies might be after her. However, that didn’t make her feel any better. There was now more attention on her, just based on what had happened at Melanie’s. Jo stared at the garage entrance, her mind on what Melanie had told her. Trent had been working on something big, and then he’d been murdered. Not only that, of course—a robbery had occurred at a bank where he had a safety deposit box, one day after he died.

What was going on?

One thing was certain. If she was going to get caught up in Holton’s investigation, at least she was going to get more answers before talking to him. She wanted to speak with John Atchison to see what he knew about Trent. That might prove difficult, now that Holton would probably be looking for her, but she was going to try.

Jo sat in the vehicle and googled Atchison. He was forty-five years old and had worked at the Dallas CBS station for several years after receiving a communications degree from Columbia. His social media accounts were focused on his work and news stories from the station. Nothing she read seemed remotely odd.

In the photos of him she found online, he had wavy blond hair, blue eyes, and a beard. She memorized his features, then checked some other information sites. It didn’t appear that he was married, or that he had children. He lived in a blond-brick house on Hillsdale Lane in Garland, east of the station.

She looked up a number for CBS 11 and called. When a receptionist answered, Jo asked for Atchison and was told he was tied up, but that she could leave a message on his voicemail. She waited until the woman transferred the call, and then she hung up. That gave her one answer she was looking for—Atchison was currently at the station. She didn’t know what hours news producers kept, but she suspected he’d be there most of the day, possibly into the evening. She’d try to talk to him there, and if that didn’t work, she’d keep a low profile for the day and talk to him when he went home. At least she hoped she would.

Melanie was sure to tell the police everything she’d told Jo, which meant that the police might be watching the station, wondering if Jo would show up to talk to him. They’d likely watch the station entrance, but they wouldn’t have resources to look everywhere.

Jo looked up the address. CBS 11 was located in the CBS Tower, a tall, cement-and-reflective-glass building on North Central Expressway. Other office buildings, a hotel, and an apartment complex stood nearby. She studied the area using the street view. Above a breezeway, a walkway connected the station offices from a parking garage, which was probably where Atchison’s vehicle would be. That presented a potential problem. If she had to wait for him to leave, how would she spot his vehicle? She checked the area from every angle visible, then formulated a plan. If Atchison used the parking garage, he could exit onto either the North Central Expressway, or onto Coit Road. The hotel sat across from the tower, where she could see the breezeway. If she spotted Atchison, she could follow.

Her Escape was a problem, though. She debated leaving it and renting another vehicle. But what if Holton—or worse yet, anyone else who might be after her—were monitoring her credit card activity? They’d know what vehicle she rented. She shook her head in disgust. It was a risk to keep driving the SUV, and a risk to rent a vehicle. After careful consideration, she settled on the SUV. That way, she wouldn’t have to waste time at a car rental agency, and she could focus on talking to Atchison.

Next, she searched online for a Walmart, finding one a few miles away. She started the SUV and exited the garage, taking a series of right turns to circle the building, but she didn’t see any cars tailing her. On the way to the store, she kept a watchful eye for any surveillance or law enforcement. She parked among the other vehicles in the lot, then went inside the Walmart and bought black tape, snacks, and water. After using the bathroom, she returned to the SUV, and when no one was watching, she altered a number and a letter on the license plate. Upon close inspection, it wouldn’t fool anybody, but if a squad car passed as she was driving, they might not notice the tape.

When she finished, she headed to the CBS Tower, keeping to the speed limit and following traffic rules, careful to not draw any attention to her vehicle. On the way, she saw a squad car approaching in the opposite lane. She turned her head as it drove by, then looked in the rearview mirror. It slowed, but then kept on.

Jo made a right onto a side street and meandered north, not seeing any more law enforcement vehicles. Once on US-75, she hit a snag in traffic, and several minutes later, she neared the CBS Tower. She exited the highway and approached on Coit Road, parking in the nearby hotel lot as she’d planned. She quickly spotted a sedan with someone inside parked down the street. It stayed put, and she guessed it was an unmarked vehicle.

She kept an eye on it, and the CBS Tower, as she called CBS 11 once more, asking for Atchison. He was still there, still busy, and she was offered his voicemail again. She declined and ended the call.

Across the street, the sedan remained in place. Jo stayed low and used the binoculars to study the vehicle. A man she didn’t recognize sat behind the wheel, a bored look on his face as he eyed the area. After watching for a few minutes, she knew he was a plainclothes detective, on surveillance. Looking for her? Trees shielded her vehicle, and she was sure he hadn’t noticed her. She hunkered down, ready for a long wait. Cars entered and exited the CBS Tower parking garage, and she was able to get good views of the drivers with the binoculars. Shadows grew longer as the sun lowered in the sky. Then a black BMW emerged from the parking garage, headed toward Coit Road. A man with blond hair and a beard was driving.

Atchison.

The BMW turned on Coit, and the sedan followed. Jo waited until a few cars had passed, then got onto Coit as well and followed. The sedan was several cars ahead, and Jo kept it in sight as it made its way onto US-75, soon exiting on Centennial Boulevard. She couldn’t see the BMW but assumed the sedan was tailing it.

They went east—Atchison was probably heading home. She was able to confirm that when the sedan turned into a quiet neighborhood full of single-story houses. Jo kept back a safe distance as the sedan parked at the end of Hillsdale Lane. She turned down an alley and made her way to the other end of the block, then turned, killed her headlights, and pulled up to the curb.

From this vantage point, she could see the front of Atchison’s house but not the sedan. The sun had vanished, leaving gray sky that quickly turned black. A light went on in Atchison’s living room window. Once the darkness was complete, Jo exited the SUV and crept down the alley until she could see the sedan, still at the other end of Hillsdale Lane. Seconds later, she saw movement, although the driver remained in the car. A bluish light periodically shone out the windows. He was on his phone.

Jo sneaked back toward the SUV, then ran another block, crossed Hillsdale Lane, and went into another alley. She carefully approached Atchison’s backyard, hearing little traffic and no people or pets. She hid next to a dumpster and watched the house, which was surrounded by a chain-link fence. It was too dark to see if Atchison had surveillance equipment installed. There was no doghouse, nor any other signs he might own pets. She couldn’t go to the front door, otherwise the police surveillance detective would see her. That meant trying the back door. She’d see if it was unlocked, and if so, she’d sneak inside. Otherwise, she would knock and see what Atchison did.

After a few more minutes of stillness, she stole to the gate. It opened quietly, and she stepped into the yard. A rectangle of light from sliding-glass doors barely illuminated a covered porch. She sidled along the fence toward the house, crossed the porch, and stepped up to the doors.

As she reached for the handle, Atchison appeared, aiming a Glock right at her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Jo held up her hands and spoke quickly. “Don’t shoot. My name is Jo Gunning, and I need to talk to you about Trent Fontenot.”

She didn’t know how much he could hear through the glass doors. Her heart thumped, the noise heavy in her ears, drowning out everything else. His eyes narrowed, and he glanced past her. Sweat trickled into Jo’s eyes, but she didn’t wipe it away. He stared at her, the pistol still raised.

“Move and I shoot,” he said, his voice muffled.

She understood and stayed put. He approached, sliding open the door. He carried the Glock well—it was clear he knew how to use it. Jo continued talking fast, wondering if he’d already called the police.

“My name’s Jo Gunning,” she repeated. “I’m here about Trent. I just want to talk about him. I don’t have a gun.”

“Empty your pockets.”

Jo carefully took out her phone, cash, and credit card, as well as the knife. “I’m going to put them on the ground,” she said.

He nodded, and she carefully bent down and placed everything on the concrete. She turned her pockets inside out, then twisted slightly to let him see that she had nothing in her back pockets. Then she carefully raised her pant legs, showing him she didn’t have an ankle holster or any other weapons strapped there. She lifted her shirt as well. All the while, she kept talking.

“Did the police tell you about me?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Did you call them now?”

The pistol quivered in his hand. He was unsure what to do, and he looked scared—but not just at her presence. His gaze kept flitting to the yard, into the darkness. As the seconds ticked by, Jo found herself wondering about the police. If Atchison had called them, the detective in the sedan, or a squad car, should’ve shown up by now. Maybe she had a chance.

“You heard about the robbery at National Bank?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

“Yes,” he said, stretching the word out.

“I was there. I don’t buy that it was just a robbery. They were after something, and I wonder if it’s what Trent had in a safety deposit box there.”

“How do you know about him?” he snapped.

“I talked to another employee,” she said. “I think somebody was after what Trent had in that box, and that’s why he was murdered.” She was speculating, but he didn’t contradict her.

“Why didn’t you come to the front door?”

She nodded. “You’re under surveillance. A detective’s parked on the street.”

He swore softly. “Just them?”

That puzzled her. “Who else would it be?”

Atchison glared at her. “Why should I believe you? Who are you with?”

“I’m acting alone.” She still had her hands where he could see them, away from her sides. “Think about it. If there was someone with me, they’d have shot you by now.” He gulped but didn’t say anything, so she went on. “Because I was in that bank, I may be in danger, and my family as well. I only want a few minutes of your time. You know I talked to Trent’s girlfriend, right?”

He took a second, then nodded. The police had to have told him that, which explained why he knew about her.

“Melanie said Trent was working on a big story, and that he had to be careful,” she said. “Was that story putting him in danger?” Atchison hesitated. “Just five minutes,” she urged him. “Please.”

He continued to stare at her, then finally spoke. “Come inside, slowly. Keep those hands where I can see them.”

Jo left her belongings on the porch and stepped to the door. He backed up, the Glock still aimed right at her. He motioned for her to sit at a square table in a breakfast nook, while he stood by a refrigerator where he couldn’t be seen from the sliding glass doors, nor from the kitchen window, where he’d closed the blinds. She rested her hands on her thighs and looked at him. The kitchen was sterile, nothing on the counters, only a hint of something recently cooked in the air.

“Start talking,” he said.

“You’re suspicious of something as well,” she began, glancing to the yard. “How did you know I was outside? Cameras?”

He nodded. “They detected the motion and sent an alert to my phone.”

“But you didn’t call the police.”

Atchison shook his head. “They can’t help me.”

“Why?”

More hesitation, then, “How can I trust you?”

“You can’t,” she replied simply. “As I said, if someone else was with me, they’d have taken you out by now. But that’s not the case. I’m alone, and I only want your help.”

She didn’t point out that he was back far enough that even if she did attempt to disarm him, she couldn’t without him firing on her.

His face was ashen, and he seemed to wrestle with what to do. Then he nodded at her.

“Tell me what happened at the bank.”

Taking as little time as possible, Jo told him about the robbery and how she’d been suspicious of a couple of the employees. She didn’t given names, but told him about the man who’d threatened Sabrina, and how that had led her to Trent Fontenot. She concluded with, “Was Trent working on something that might’ve gotten him murdered?”

“Why do you say that?”

He was good at playing nonchalant, pretending as if he didn’t know more. She pointed that out as well.

“Who are you scared of?” she asked. “There’s a reason why you’re not calling the police.”

“They can’t protect me. Look what happened to Trent.”

“Tell me what’s going on.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“Find who murdered him.”

Atchison’s mouth twisted as he again seemed to consider his options. Upon closer inspection, he looked weary. There were black crescents under his eyes, and his shoulders slumped. At last, he lowered the gun as well, as if defeated.

“Trent was my friend, and they killed him.”

“Who?” she asked softly.

“JD Babineaux.”

Jo’s mind raced, but she couldn’t place the name. “Who’s he?”

“You’re not from around here?”

She shook her head. “I got out of the military a while back, and I’ve been traveling the country. Not keeping up much on the news, either.”

“Babineaux’s a big oilman, a well-known figure in Texas. There’s talk he may get into politics.” He sneered. “Of course, the man’s power-hungry.”

“Why are you afraid of him?”

Atchison stared at her. “You wouldn’t be asking me all these questions if you were with him.”

“Right. Trent had something on Babineaux?”

It took him a moment to answer. “Trent had been researching Babineaux, long before he started working at the station. I didn’t even know he had any interest in the man until about six months ago. Trent asked me to go to lunch, and he told me he had stuff on Babineaux, something big that would ruin the man’s career. It was the kind of story that could change Trent’s career. Or threaten it.”

“What did he have on Babineaux?”

He shrugged. “Trent wouldn’t tell me much, said that the less I knew, the safer I would be. But Babineaux’s into some bad things, things that were being covered up.”

“You have to know something.”

“There’s some stuff with women that would ruin Babineaux’s squeaky clean reputation. But Trent had recently discovered more than that, proof of illegal activities, and he’d been verifying his sources. He told me to give him a little more time, and then he’d tell me everything.”

“You don’t know what this illegal stuff was?” she pressed.

Atchison shook his head. “I started doing some of my own digging. I didn’t find anything, except a lot of people who told me I should be very careful, that he was the kind of person who could ruin me. And a couple of weeks ago, I wondered if I was being followed, and Trent thought the same thing. We were both worried. I told him he needed to let me know what was going on so that we could figure out what to do. He kept saying he needed more time, that he was close. And then he was murdered.”

“By Babineaux?”

He snorted. “His people. There’s no way anything would lead back to him.”

“Any way to prove your suspicions?”

“I don’t have anything, otherwise I’d tell the police.”

“They talked to you about Trent?”

He nodded. “I didn’t tell them anything about what he was working on.”

“Why not?”

Another derisive noise. “I told you, they can’t protect me. Look what happened to Trent. If I told the police anything, I’d be dead.” He glanced toward the closed kitchen blinds. “Hell, I may be anyway.”

“Trent had to have told you more.”

“He said he couldn’t take the risk,” Atchison insisted. “He said he’d tell me when the time was right.”

She thought for a second. “If this guy is so slippery, how did Trent have proof of anything?”

“He got someone to talk. I don’t know how.”

“What’d he tell you about the safety deposit box?”

“He didn’t tell me about it, but my guess is Trent had proof of what Babineaux did, maybe a USB drive with information, something like that. And he hired people to go into the bank, made it look like a robbery, but they were after what he had.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Babineaux would go to those lengths to stop the story?”

He glared at her. “Don’t underestimate the man. He’s worth tens of millions, and he has every resource at his disposal. You don’t get into his position, or be about to get into politics, without being able to dodge some landmines.”

“Even committing murder?”

“Yes,” he said, barely audible. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

“What else might Trent have on Babineaux?”

“I don’t know. The police took Trent’s work laptop, but I’m sure there wasn’t anything on it. I heard whoever murdered him stole all the electronics from his house.”

“Anything stored in the cloud?”

“No. He worried that Babineaux could trace anything he stored there, and then he’d know what Trent had discovered.”

This is big, Jo thought.

Atchison snapped a single curse word, loud in the kitchen. “I was nervous before, but I haven’t slept a wink since Trent was killed. I don’t know what to do.”

“Talk to the police. They can put you under protective custody.”

He shook his head. “Babineaux probably has contacts on the force, somebody who’d tell him about me. I have to act as if things are normal.”

“That’s quite a burden to carry.”

He lifted a hand wearily. “What else am I supposed to do?”

She didn’t have an answer, and she knew how trapped he was. She was feeling the same way. If Babineaux had the resources she suspected he did, did he already know about her, and was he suspicious of her being at the bank during the robbery? If that was the case, what would he do with that knowledge?

The doorbell rang, and they both jumped. Fear filled Atchison’s eyes.

“Who could that be?” he murmured.

“I need to go,” she said.

He pointed to the sliding glass doors. “Be careful, okay? I’ll bet Trent isn’t the only person Babineaux had eliminated.”

She got up and went to the doors. Atchison didn’t stop her, only jumped again when the doorbell rang a second time. Jo opened the door, stepped onto the porch, and bent down to scoop up her belongings. She stuffed it all into her pockets as she ran across the dark yard and let herself out through the gate. Then she heard a voice.

“Don’t move.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

JD walked into his living room, his mind awhirl.

“Long day?” Lydia asked.

“Yes,” he replied.

He made a beeline for the credenza, where he fixed himself a Scotch & Soda. Lydia was sitting on a white couch with a martini in her hand. She rarely drank, and never got drunk, but she did enjoy the occasional glass of wine or a martini before dinner. She was dressed simply, in white slacks and a lavender silk blouse, and he thought she’d never looked more beautiful. In his opinion, she could wear a gunnysack and she’d still be gorgeous.

However, he didn’t like the pensive look etched on her face. He hid a grimace—he did not need this.

“Everything okay?” he asked as he sat down in the wingback chair across from her.

“Hm?” She turned to look at him. “Oh, yes.”

“Kline said you turned down another driver today.”

“Yes. I didn’t like her. She was too brisk, not at all friendly.”

Classical music played softly, and Lydia wiggled her foot nervously as her gaze drifted to floor-to-ceiling bookcases on the far wall. She loved books, had them all over the house. They were clutter to him, but if she wanted them, she’d have them.

JD rubbed his chin, giving himself time to think, and time to gather some patience. He had too much else going on—the usual work stuff—but he was also worrying about those other things. Lydia needed to be protected as well, though, now maybe more than ever. If his political career took off, there’d be even more scrutiny on her.

“Perhaps you’re being a little too fussy?” he asked.

Her gaze snapped to him. “What do you mean by that?”

He was taken aback by the tone. Lydia rarely sounded perturbed. He took a long drink and peered at her over the glass. Her blue eyes seemed as cold as a mountain lake, and as isolated.

“Something else bothering you?” he asked.

She stared at him, then shook her head. “Perhaps you have other things to worry about than my driver.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. But I’ve told you before, if you insist I have someone drive me around, I want someone I’m comfortable with, someone I might be able to have a conversation with.”

“I understand that, but there are other criteria as well. We need someone who can protect you, if the need arises.”

“I know, you say that all the time.” She sipped some more of her martini. “I’ll make a decision soon. Will that make you happy?”

His brow furrowed as he looked at her. This really was unusual behavior.

“You’re sure everything’s okay?” he asked again.

“Yes.” Lydia set her glass down on a glass-topped coffee table. “Your meeting last night—or should I say early this morning—ran long.”

JD nodded carefully. “Yes.”

“Did you accomplish what you needed to?”

He eyed her. She rarely wanted to know about his business, always assumed everything was being handled. A troubling thought entered his mind. Did she suspect something?

“You know how things can go,” he said. “We didn’t discuss a whole lot. It was more about showing my loyalty, showing that I could be there in any situation.” He didn’t make up anything about who he’d supposedly met with. The less he elaborated on a lie, the less for him to keep track of, the less potential missteps and pitfalls.

She stared at him before answering. “I see.” Then she jumped up. “I’m going to check on dinner.”

“I’ll see you in a bit.”

JD watched her backside as she walked out of the room. She was definitely in a mood, which worried him. And what about her questions? Kline had driven her home after the party last night, and he hadn’t said she’d been suspicious of his supposed meeting. Had she been? Kline was working hard to make sure everything in the past stayed in the past, as well as his latest rendezvous. JD frowned. He couldn’t have everything crumbling down around him. Not now.

He heard Lydia’s voice as she talked to their cook. His wife may have been snippy with him, but nothing could change how he felt about her. JD finished his drink as he looked around the room, decorated for comfort but still expensively. They both liked to collect artwork, and they had several valuable paintings around the house, along with several sculptures. They wanted for nothing. He could lose all that, truly, as long as he didn’t lose Lydia. Being without her would devastate him like nothing else. Another reason why he couldn’t let everything come out.

JD stood up, fixed himself another drink, then moved to the window, looking out to their large yard, which was dominated by a pool with a rock waterfall, slides, and a hot tub. An old question started nagging at him.

Why did he see the others if he loved his wife so much?

He sighed. There were things she wouldn’t do, couldn’t do. Needs the others satisfied. That was the simple answer. He couldn’t stop himself. But Kline was right, he needed to slow down, at least until they could get everything else resolved. Maybe by then he could bring himself to stop completely. That would be the wise thing. But sometimes even smart men weren’t wise.

He finished the second Scotch in a few gulps. Everything would have been okay right now if it hadn’t been for that damned reporter. He’d kept at it, digging until he’d found something. JD set down the glass on a side table with a bang that resonated throughout the room.

How had he found out about that incident?

It should have been buried, with no way for anyone to discover what he’d arranged. But somebody had talked. JD’s eyes narrowed. They still needed to find out who, but then what? They’d already taken care of the reporter—someone else too? There’d be more risk, which he didn’t want.

He just needed everything to blow over. Then he could move on to Washington.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Jo froze in place.

“Hands where I can see them.”

She kept her hands out, but she glanced over her shoulder to the house. Blinds blocked the sliding glass doors, and Atchison was nowhere in sight.

“Do you have any weapons?”

Jo recognized the voice. Detective Holton. She sensed others in the vicinity as well. She shook her head. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

The detective appeared from the shadows, gun drawn. She couldn’t tell what model, but she saw the look on his face. He was angry.

“Don’t move,” he said. “Someone’s going to search you.”

Two more uniformed officers stepped up, flanking her. A woman holstered her weapon, approached Jo, and performed a quick pat-down. She took the knife out of Jo’s pocket and held it up.

“Just this, sir,” the woman said, bagging the weapon.

Holton lowered his gun and stared at Jo. “Are you trying to make a mess of things?”

Jo dodged that question with one of her own. “You talked to Sabrina Padilla?”

He looked past her to the sliding doors, then nodded at the female officer.

“Go with the others,” he told her.

She moved carefully by Jo, then cut through the yard and up to Atchison’s back door. A radio squawked as she stood there. Then the blinds parted, the door slid open, and she disappeared inside. Holton looked back at Jo.

“You’ve been following me?” she asked.

He didn’t answer, but his eyes flickered, and she knew she was right.

“You’re coming down to the station for questioning,” he said.

Jo thought about her options. There weren’t many. She could refuse to talk to him, but she didn’t know if he’d drum up some charges to take her in. And if she rebuffed him, she would look guilty of . . . something, and there’d be more eyes on her, more attention. If she talked her way out of this, he might continue to follow her, and she’d be left trying to dodge him.

“All right,” she said, knowing she sounded irritated but not bothering to hide it. “I’ll talk to you. May I put my arms down?”

“Get her in your vehicle and take her to the station,” Holton told the other officer, a burly man with a flat face and a thin mustache.

“What do you want me to do with her then?” the officer said.

“Hold her until I get there,” he snapped.

The officer nodded sheepishly, then holstered his gun. Under Holton’s watch, he cuffed Jo and led her to a squad car waiting outside the alley. He put her in the back seat, where Plexiglass separated them.

The only sound on the drive to the station was his radio chirping now and again. When they reached the station, he uncuffed her, then put her into an interrogation room. Jo waited there, staring at the blank walls and the camera that hung in the upper corner. Nothing to distract her.

Her internal clock ticked, and by her estimation, she waited an hour before Holton came in by himself. He plopped a file folder on the table and sat down across from her. They locked eyes, and then he stretched his back and let out a huge sigh.

“You know, I have a lot going on,” he said. “And you’re not making things any easier on me.”

“I convinced Sabrina to talk to you. That’s something.”

He nodded slowly. “She had quite the story to tell.”

Jo arched an eyebrow. “You don’t believe her?”

The detective leaned back and crossed his arms. “You know I’m not going to tell you about my investigation. But I do want to know how you tracked down all those people.”

“Who?”

He glared at her. “Rico Ortega and Sabrina, for starters.”

She glanced at the file, knowing what was likely in it. She took a long moment to consider.

“What’s in the folder?” she asked anyway. It was worth seeing how much he’d tell her.

His gaze strayed to the table, but he didn’t open the file. “I did an initial search, and then I made some phone calls. You have quite the background.”

They found more on me, she thought.

“I need to know what’s going on,” Holton said. “Sabrina mentioned David Lebow, Jane Dinkle, and Trent Fontenot. What do you know about them?”

Jo decided she had nothing to lose by sharing her information with him. “I don’t know much about David Lebow and Jane Dinkle,” she said. “Just what I could find on the internet. But something’s going on with Trent Fontenot.”

There was only the sound of his breathing as he narrowed his eyes.

“What about Fontenot?” he asked.

“He was working on a big story,” Jo said. “One that might’ve gotten him killed. You know about his murder?”

Instead of answering, he said, “And you know about him how?”

She thumped the table with her hand. “You know what I’m talking about, right? Atchison was his producer. Trent was looking into a man named JD Babineaux. Atchison’s scared of him, and so was Trent.”

He contemplated her for a long time, then said, “Tell me what you know.”

Jo didn’t waste any time now. She told him everything she’d discovered since she’d last seen him. When she finished, the detective sat with arms crossed, rocking slightly. He had a good poker face, she’d give him that—she couldn’t tell whether he believed her or not.

“You’ve harassed quite a number of people,” he said.

Jo shook her head. “Did you talk to Atchison? He’ll confirm at least some of what I’m saying. The guy’s scared, but he knows something’s going on.”

Holton uncrossed his arms, leaned forward, and opened the file. She’d been through this routine before, where a detective questioned her about her background. There were things in her past that others never discovered—highly classified information—and this would be no different.

But he managed to surprise her.

“What happened in Colorado?”

It was her turn to lean forward. “What do you know?”

He again surprised her by being straightforward, which she hadn’t expected.

“There was a situation at a biolab,” he said.

“What do you know about that?” Her nerves tightened.

“You were involved in a bad situation. Two men were killed, but a man named Dale got away.”

Jo stared at him. He knew more than she’d thought, and all of it was bad news for her. If Holton had gotten that much information, how much more might JD Babineaux have discovered?

Something crept into her bones, deeper than she’d felt in a long time. Fear.

“I’ll ask again,” Holton said. “Why are you looking into those people from the bank?”

“If you know about what happened at the biolab, you know I’m in danger,” Jo said. “My family as well. If you’ve been checking around, someone from that biolab might’ve also figured out I was at the bank, and they’d wonder about my background as well. That’s why I was asking questions, and that’s why you need to look into Babineaux.”

He ran a finger back and forth across the folder, not saying anything. The air in the room grew stifling as she waited on him.

“What I need is for you not to interfere in my investigation,” he said at last.

“I have to protect my family.”

“We can do that, if need be.”

She shook her head. “I’ve been down that road before. If Babineaux’s involved, you can’t help me.” She related to Atchison’s fear.

Holton scratched his nose. “You need to stand down and let me handle things. If you don’t, I can make things difficult for you.”

“I’m not breaking the law by talking to people.”

He breathed heavily through his nose. “Maybe not, but I want you out of my investigation, understand?”

She kept talking, trying to get him to realize that there was more going on, something with JD Babineaux. He had her go over what she knew again, and as she did, he stared at her, stony-faced. She kept trying to convince him she was on to something, but she finally gave up. Her path lay elsewhere. If she could get out of the station, there was more she could do—more that she had to do. Holton had researched her background, which had probably raised red flags. And she was sure Dale would have been keeping tabs on her. She went with a different tack.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll leave town.”

Holton nodded, but once again, she couldn’t tell if he believed her.

“A squad car will take you to your car, and I’ll handle things from here.”

Jo didn’t argue, and the detective stood up and left her there. Several minutes later, the same uniformed officers came to the interrogation room, and they quietly escorted her to a squad car.

The drive back to Atchison’s neighborhood was quiet. They dropped her beside her car, and waited until she got in and pulled away from the curb. The headlights of the squad car remained in the rearview mirror as they followed her toward her hotel, and she didn’t bother losing them. She couldn’t be sure, but she wondered if someone else was tailing her as well. She gripped the wheel hard.

Things had taken a bad turn.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Kline stood in the living area of his spacious suite and stared into the backyard. His rooms were located at the far end of the mansion, overlooking JD and Lydia’s swimming pool, one window at an angle where he could also look up to the balcony of their main suite, on the second floor. It was late, and their windows were dark. They’d finally gone to sleep.

Good.

Kline had seen them both briefly at dinner. The tension between them could’ve been cut with a chainsaw. He had no idea if they’d argued, or what had happened—he didn’t ask—but he’d worried that whatever was going on would put JD in a mood, and that the boss would want to leave for the evening.

Thankfully, that hadn’t happened. Kline had been serious when he’d said that JD needed to keep his liaisons in check. Even though he’d told JD that things were going well, they weren’t.

After leaving the office, Kline had talked to his various contacts, assessing what law enforcement knew and making sure that Damek, his man at the bank, wasn’t doing anything foolish, anything that would bring attention to himself or to Kline. So far, no one knew he’d hired Damek. That was good. There had been no indications that he and his team had done anything but lie low, so low that no one had discovered them.

Yet.

Kline looked at a crystal glass in his hand, filled with soda water and a lime. The simple concoction made him feel as if he were drinking something with alcohol. Kline allowed himself the occasional drink, but he rarely got drunk anymore, and only when he wasn’t on the job. That wasn’t often these days. He rarely took a vacation, either, in part because he liked JD and Lydia—he felt a deep loyalty to both of them—but more because he liked the work.

He was an ex-Marine—hell, everyone in his type of position was—and he’d spent time after his service working freelance. He’d been around the world, and he’d worked for a lot of people, none of them particularly upstanding or honest. Some had been downright scum, if he was honest. JD fit somewhere in the middle, and that was fine for Kline. He wasn’t in this business to serve the world or to do good. He got paid very well, and he was great at what he did. In his early forties now, he figured he only had a few more years before retirement—if he chose to retire. Maybe he’d find some small island and just disappear, and then probably drink himself into oblivion.

Kline had never figured he’d live a long life; given what he did for a living, odds were he should’ve been dead by now. If he made it to retirement, he’d either need therapy for all his memories, or he’d drink himself to death quickly. He didn’t care which. But that was a way off still. He had bigger problems now.

Moving away from the window, he sat down on a couch that faced a large-screen TV. A basketball game was on, a replay, but he wasn’t watching it anyway. He took a sip of his drink and thought.

His contact at the bank had another problem. He wasn’t getting any more information. The investigators who were working the bank robbery weren’t talking. Kline had pushed his guy, even threatened him, but the man didn’t know anymore, other than that the employee at the bank had talked. Her name was Sabrina Padilla. Kline had done his research on her and hadn’t found anything remarkable. She also hadn’t returned home that evening. His eyes went cold. If she had, she might be dead by now, and she wouldn’t be able to talk to anyone about the robbery. But she was at the station, or so Kline assumed.

He thought about his police contact, a decent man with a gambling problem. He’d do a lot of things for the right price. But this time, he didn’t seem to know much. At first, Kline wasn’t sure if he could believe his contact, but the man had never let him down before. His problem, he’d told Kline, was that he had to be careful. He wasn’t sure if anyone was onto him, knew that he was selling information, or if the investigation was just so big that everyone was closed-mouth about it. For several hours now, Kline hadn’t heard anything from his man. Kline had put out other feelers, but so far, nothing.

He’d known that the robbery would bring in the feds, but he wasn’t worried about that. Hopefully someone with the investigation would start talking, and then he’d hear more about Sabrina. He had to make sure she hadn’t noticed anything at the bank—even the slightest clue—that might give law enforcement an idea who Damek was, or why he and his men had robbed the bank. When Kline heard what she’d told the police, he would be able to act more intentionally. It was likely she didn’t know anything, but he couldn’t be too careful. He’d made it this far by being cautious, by never assuming anything. By never acting irrationally.

He stared at the TV, still not paying attention to the game. It might as well have been randomly generated colors and sounds. If only he could get his boss to do what Kline recommended, especially now. Once they had everything resolved, then JD could see whoever he wanted.

Then there was Trent Fontenot’s research. Who all had he talked to? Kline was working that angle as well. And he wasn’t sure what he’d do when he found whoever had spoken to the reporter. Eliminating that person would be very risky, especially now. But what else could he do? He couldn’t afford to have them flapping their mouth to someone else.

Kline kept thinking through everything that had happened in the last few weeks, assessing whether he was missing anything.

An hour later, the game ended, though he only noticed because the annoying announcer’s voice stopped. Kline set down his still half-full glass and turned off the TV. Then he went into his bedroom. The coming day, like so many, would be long. It was a good thing he didn’t require much rest, because he wasn’t going to get a whole lot this night.

He undressed and slipped under the covers, then stared at the ceiling. A long time later, sleep overtook him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Asleek black SUV stopped in front of the Amyfinehouse hotel, and the driver got out. He deftly moved around the front of the vehicle and opened the back door for Jo.

“Ma’am?” was all he said as he waited.

His expression was as guarded as the dark sunglasses that covered his eyes, but he wasn’t missing anything. Jo got in, and he hurried back around the vehicle and slid behind the wheel, then pulled into traffic.

“We’ll be at the mansion shortly,” he said, his eyes staying forward.

“Sounds good,” Jo replied.

The driver didn’t talk after that, and he kept a steady speed on the highway. It was a beautiful Tuesday morning, with not a cloud in an azure sky. Four days since Jo had talked to Detective Holton, and things had been moving along. Jo tapped her fingers on her knees, thinking and readying herself for what would come next.

They reached the Highland Park neighborhood, and the SUV meandered along the quiet streets to the Babineaux mansion. The property was an impressive two-story building, with cream-colored brick, balconies, and a curved driveway leading up to it. Decorative shutters and arched windows added to the sense of sophistication. The driver pulled in front of the mansion and hopped out. His dark slacks and coat were tailored to accommodate weapons, Jo could tell, and his actions were methodical. This was a man who knew how to protect himself and others.

He opened the back door, and Jo got out. A muscular man with short, blond hair stood on a wide portico, and he strode down the steps as Jo approached.

“Jo Gunning,” he said. He didn’t offer to shake her hand.

“Kline?” She didn’t have any other name.

He nodded. “Come inside.”

The driver got back in the SUV, and the vehicle eased away as Jo followed Kline into the mansion. The sun’s rays shone through the large windows, bathing a large foyer and curved staircase in bright light. She heard only their footsteps as they crossed a marble floor. Kline led her down a hallway to the right and into a large office. They walked across the plush carpet, and she took a seat at a leather couch. Kline stood near windows that looked to the front of the mansion, his back to her. A long silence stretched between them, one she thought was an attempt to make her uncomfortable. Then Kline turned around and contemplated her.

“You have an impressive background,” he said.

Jo met his gaze and waited. Of course he’d researched her. He would’ve completed a thorough background check, and like others who had done the same thing, he would’ve only been able to see parts of her past. No matter how much he dug, he wouldn’t get classified information. What he had found out seemed to have been enough to get her this far. Now she needed to see what happened next.

She’d done her research, too. JD Babineaux needed a driver for his wife. Jo had learned what he wanted in a driver, and she knew she was a perfect fit. She had the military background, the training, the know-how to be able to protect Lydia Babineaux. She also knew that Lydia had trouble keeping drivers, that there was another factor at play. Lydia needed to trust her drivers, and she hadn’t been able to. If Jo got the opportunity, she thought she could build that trust. And then she’d have the opportunity to learn more about her husband. But Jo had to get that far.

“Where did you serve?” Kline asked.

“Afghanistan.” She kept her answers short—less chance to make mistakes.

“What was that like?”

She told him some about that time, keeping to the facts that he would’ve gleaned from a background search. Keeping it short. When she finished, he moved to a wingback chair across from her, but he didn’t sit down. She glanced around, taking in the décor. This wasn’t his office, definitely not his style. This was only a space to meet.

“You’ve been out of the service for eighteen months,” he said.

She shrugged. “Something like that.”

“Why’d you leave?”

The truth was she’d left because of that last mission, where Dack had gotten hurt. She hadn’t wanted any more secret operations or dangerous situations. Jo didn’t want to see more innocent people getting hurt or killed. Of course, she wasn’t going to tell Kline any of that.

“With my skill set, there’s better money on the outside.”

Money spoke to people, especially people like Kline. She’d encountered his type before—someone who’d served, but who had probably become disillusioned and thought he saw better opportunities elsewhere. She knew some details about him too at this point. He’d had his trouble in the Corp. Nothing that was proven, just some things that had probably been covered up. He had few scruples, the kind of man who did what he did because it would make him much wealthier than a military career ever would have.

At the same time, Kline didn’t appear to spend his money. He liked the power and control, wanted to do things his way, not how some superior officer told him to do it. There was a lot about him that she hadn’t been able to find, no matter how hard she looked. And that could only make him more dangerous.

He rested his hands on the back of the chair and asked more about her military service and what she’d been doing since she’d left. She lied and told him that she’d been a private contractor, working around the country. She kept her answers vague, concise enough to keep him interested and satisfied, but not revealing anything classified or that would throw suspicion on her. When he finished, he surveyed her.

“You understand you won’t be just a driver, but a bodyguard as well? You may need to coordinate transportation logistics, assess potential threats, and gather intelligence.”

She nodded. She’d been trained in tactical driving techniques, and she’d driven in high-risk areas of the world—outmaneuvering terrorists and other threats. Jo was also skilled in many forms of martial arts, and she could handle herself well in close-quarter combat. With those skills, and her wits, she’d survived in some very dangerous situations. Protecting Lydia Babineaux would not be a problem.

“I’m fine with that,” Jo said.

She knew about the position, and the expectations. She’d made contact with Kline to inquire about an interview. It hadn’t been easy, and she’d had to jump through some hoops, but she’d been able to fool him enough to get to a phone call. And after that inquiry, she’d made it here. Now, all she had to do was keep up the ruse.

“The position is two weeks on, then four days off. For the most part, you’ll know Lydia’s schedule ahead of time. When she’s not out and about, you’ll be here. There may be other tasks for you as well.”

“Other tasks?”

“Possibly driving for Mr. Babineaux, or I myself might need you.”

She allowed herself a casual shrug “That’s fine.”

“You just got into town?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t have a place to stay?”

They’d gone over all this when she’d talked to him on the phone. Jo had told him she’d been in Arizona, and that she’d worked in Mexico and California. Enough truth, and nothing he’d be able to verify.

Kline nodded thoughtfully. “We have an apartment close to the mansion. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s furnished. That way, you’re close if Lydia needs something at odd hours or unexpectedly.”

“No problem,” she said. “I don’t need much.”

“There may be holiday hours.”

“I don’t have family around.”

He would’ve known about Will and Avery, but since Dack had been the one to get them into hiding, Kline wouldn’t know where they were. She’d covered her tracks well, and even with careful digging, he wouldn’t have discovered much. As long as he never figured out that she was at the bank, she’d be good.

Kline went over her background again, and she stayed consistent in her answers. Then he contemplated her for a long time, the silence a widening gulf between them. She waited him out, comfortable. Jo knew exactly how to play his game. He continued to rest his hands on the back of the chair, and then he shifted suddenly, taking a step toward the door.

“Lydia would like to talk to you. She’ll have the final say.”

Jo nodded. “I look forward to meeting her.”

“If you’ll follow me,” Kline said.

As they left the office, she tamped down the excitement that pulsed through her nerves. There was still more to do.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Lydia Babineaux was seated at a small couch in a sitting room that looked to the backyard, where Jo saw a large pool and waterfall past a huge portico. She stood up when Kline walked in and introduced Jo.

“We finished our interview,” Kline pronounced. “I thought it’d be a good time for you to meet Jo.”

Lydia reached out with a small smile and shook Jo’s hand. The woman’s grip was light, her hand vertical—she didn’t perceive herself as dominant to Jo. She then gestured for Jo to take a seat on a couch perpendicular to hers. As Jo settled into the couch, Kline backed up, but he remained by the door, observant. It was obvious this routine had happened before, and both he and Lydia knew what to do.

“So,” Lydia said, her voice soft as a warm breeze. “Kline must’ve been impressed with you.”

“We had a nice chat,” Jo replied.

She waited for Lydia to carry the conversation. Instead, the woman just scrutinized Jo, and Jo did the same in return with her.

Lydia was an inch or two shorter than Jo’s five-nine, her blond hair stunning in the sunlight. But what struck Jo most was the woman’s eyes, a piercing but sad blue, with wrinkles pulling at the edges. This woman was carrying some kind of burden. Classical music played in the background, and Kline stood silent. Lydia’s gaze roved around the room before settling back on Jo.

“This is one of my favorite rooms in the house,” Lydia said. “It’s so peaceful here.”

Jo glanced around as well. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in plenty of sunshine, but the air-conditioning was on overdrive to keep the room pleasantly cool. The furniture was dark hardwood, with pottery and metal artwork on glass shelves behind Lydia. The cream-colored marble flooring was polished, and not a speck of dust was in sight.

“It’s a pleasant space,” Jo agreed.

Lydia stared into the yard, looked at Kline, and then focused on Jo.

“Tell me about yourself,” she said.

Jo launched into the same background that Kline had of her, not going into any further detail. Lydia nodded politely but didn’t interrupt. When Jo finished talking, the woman crossed her legs.

“Did you like your military service?” she asked.

“For the most part,” Jo said. “With every job, there are pros and cons.”

“The pros?”

“I helped my country,” Jo said simply. “And I liked traveling the world, going places the average person never does.”

“Were the physical demands challenging?”

“At times,” Jo said. “But I was an athlete in high school, and I enjoyed the challenges the Army presented.”

“Any issues being a woman in the Army?”

“At times, but I can handle myself.”

Lydia eyed her coolly. “I’ll bet you can.” Jo said nothing, and she went on. “And the cons?”

“Being away from my family.”

“Tell me about your family.”

“There’s my father, and my sister.”

“Is she older or younger?”

“She’s ten years younger than me,” Jo said.

“So she was just a teen when you went into the military?”

Jo nodded. “Yes. She grew up a lot while I was overseas.”

“You missed her?”

“Of course.”

Lydia shifted on the couch. “That was a hard time, yes?”

She was getting to the meat of things, and Jo had to quickly assess how much she should share. The woman wanted to know her on a more personal level than Kline had pried into. She needed to make a connection with Lydia, but there were things Jo kept close to her heart.

“My mother was diagnosed with cancer while I was overseas,” Jo said. “It was a tough time, not being there when she grew sicker.”

When her mother had gotten sick, Jo hadn’t come home, hadn’t seen her suffer. Will and Avery had only recently forgiven her for that decision.

“She died,” Lydia said softly.

“I came back for the funeral. It was a difficult time.”

“I’m sure it must’ve been,” Lydia murmured. Her mouth wrinkled. “My mother died of cancer. She was a smoker, and she got emphysema. She just . . . withered away, and there was nothing anybody could do.”

“I’m sorry,” Jo said.

Lydia smiled. “Thank you. She’s been gone for several years, but I still miss her. She was kind to people, and I could talk to her. My father misses her, too. He’s a good man and provided well for his family. After Mom died, he sold the house they lived in, and he’s in a wonderful retirement community. He loves it, loves the interaction with people. It’s nice to see him happy.” She paused, and Jo waited. “Your sister helped with your mother?”

“Yes.”

“I helped with my mother too. It was so difficult at times, but worth it.”

“I missed a lot,” Jo said, allowing some of her true regret to show but masking her other emotions.

“But you’ve tried to make up for your mistakes?”

“Yes.”

“And your father?”

Jo was glad for the change of subject, but there was still plenty of emotion surrounding this. How much to share? she thought. Will was a strong man, not one to show his emotions. He’d always loved her, but he’d rarely showed it, not the way one might expect a father to. After her recent visit to Colorado, things between them were much better—although in a new way, and due to new dangers, much more fraught than ever.

“My father’s a mechanic. He knows everything about cars,” Jo said. That was the truth. He could be stubborn and standoffish, but she left that unsaid.

“And your sister?”

“She’s a nurse.”

“Did she choose that profession after what happened to your mother?”

“Possibly,” Jo said. “She did help a lot when my mother was sick, like I mentioned.”

“Where are your father and sister now?”

“In California,” Jo lied.

Lydia took a moment before continuing. “Family is everything to me. We have two sons, Bryce and Carlton. They’re twenty-five and twenty-three, respectively. They can be a handful, but I’m proud of both.”

“What are they doing now?” Jo was glad the focus had moved away from Will and Avery.

“Bryce is working at my husband’s company, and Carlton is at a law firm in Dallas,” she said. “My husband and I could provide well for our kids, but I didn’t want them to feel spoiled by riches. They worked in the oil fields during summer breaks, and they got a feel for what hard work is like. They have good heads on their shoulders. I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose them, or my husband.” Her eyes took on an edge, but the look vanished as quickly as it had come. She switched topics again. “Why did you leave the Army?”

“Some things happened on the last mission I was on, and I decided I wanted to come home.” Again, there was enough truth in that to help her deliver the lines with sincerity.

“But you didn’t settle down?”

Jo shook her head. “I wasn’t ready for that, so I’ve taken some odd jobs.”

“Where was your favorite place?”

“Germany,” Jo said without hesitation. She’d spent a lot of time in the Middle East, and although some places there had their charm, she’d usually been on missions, her focus far from any thoughts of sightseeing. She’d been to Germany on leave, and she loved the smaller towns there, the scenery and the culture and the rich history.

“Germany is lovely,” Lydia said. “I enjoy Italy as well.”

They chatted for a few minutes about traveling, a pleasant conversation all in all. Jo kept thinking Kline might interrupt, but he stayed quiet, a statue near the door. Then Lydia grew serious again.

“Why do you want to be a driver?”

There was more to the position than being a driver, as Kline had made clear, but Jo didn’t point that out. Lydia knew what was expected.

“I want something simple,” Jo said.

“There are risks with this.”

“I’ve done risky work before, and it doesn’t bother me.”

Lydia uncrossed her legs and put her hands in her lap. “I belong to several charities, so there are activities with those. There are lunches, things like that. You’ll drive me, and usually wait while I’m there.” She talked for a few minutes about her expectations, nothing unanticipated, nothing that Jo couldn’t handle. When she finished, she smiled again. “If we proceed, we’ll figure out the rest as we go.”

The interview was over. Lydia stood up and politely shook Jo’s hand again. Kline was suddenly beside her.

“If you’ll come with me, the driver will take you back to your hotel.”

Jo thanked Lydia for her time, and she followed Kline through the house to the foyer. They stepped onto the portico, where it was hotter. The same sleek black SUV was parked in the drive, and the driver already had the back door open.

Kline said, “I’ll be in touch.” He didn’t offer to shake hands.

Jo got in the SUV, and she pondered Lydia on the quiet drive back to her hotel. The interview with Lydia had gone well. The woman seemed to be a nice person, calm and reserved. But she was also someone carrying some kind of personal load. Jo felt as if they’d made a connection, but she didn’t know if that would help her get the job, get her inside the mansion. And she wasn’t sure what Kline thought about her. He was harder to read.

The driver pulled up to the hotel and let her out. Jo stood in the lobby as the SUV drove away. She didn’t see any cars follow the vehicle, and as she turned and headed for the elevators, her gaze swept the room. No one drew attention to themselves, but she was alert. Someone was likely watching her, waiting to see what she would do.

When the elevator reached the lobby, she got in by herself. As the doors closed, she let out a calming breath. Now to see what happened next.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Kline was back in JD’s office, the only place in the mansion—other than his own living quarters—where he felt perfectly safe carrying on a private conversation. There were cameras and listening devices strategically placed in other areas of the house, a way to keep track of the staff, and what was going on with visitors that JD and Lydia met. But this room, he trusted.

He dialed JD and waited.

“Yes?” His boss had been expecting the call. “What did Lydia think of the prospective hire?” His words were rushed, his patience with this particular process clearly waning.

“Jo was good. She seemed to make a quick connection with Lydia.”

“And Lydia?”

Kline stopped pacing and thought for a moment. After he’d escorted Jo to the driver, he had gone back to the sitting room, where he found Lydia still on the couch. She hadn’t minced words. Jo would be a suitable driver, and Kline was to hire her immediately. Kline politely asked if she wanted to wait a day or two to consider her decision, to discuss her thinking with her husband, but Lydia had been adamant. She liked Jo, and she wanted her to start that day.

Kline heard a familiar tone in Lydia’s voice, and he knew not to argue. At the same time, he knew not to dismiss his own gut reaction to the interview.

“She liked Jo,” he told JD. “She asked different questions than she has with other prospective drivers.”

“How so?”

“She dug deeper into her past.”

“You vetted Jo thoroughly, correct?”

“Yes, and as I told you before, she checks out. Her military career is impressive, but some records are classified. I’m asking around, but I may not get answers about the classified information.”

“What’s the issue with Lydia’s questions?”

“Those were of a personal nature—about Jo’s family, about her feelings concerning her military service.”

“So?” JD asked.

Kline stared out the window. The gardener was on the riding lawnmower, but he couldn’t hear it through the thick bulletproof glass. The room was so still, he could almost hear his thoughts.

“It was like Lydia was searching for something different with this woman,” Kline said. “And Lydia shared more about herself, was more personal than I’ve seen before.”

JD sighed heavily. “What’s the problem with that? We need to get her a driver. I don’t have time to worry about this. If this woman can keep Lydia safe, isn’t that the point?”

“There’s something about Jo,” Kline mused. “She can handle herself, and she should do fine with Lydia, but there’s something I can’t put my finger on.”

“So Lydia’s questions aren’t at issue. You have other concerns.”

Possibly, Kline thought. Lydia had seemed different lately, more pensive. More on edge. It could be nothing more than concern about JD’s burgeoning political career, and the pressures that it would put on her. Kline couldn’t be sure, though. Was he making too much of her behavior? Then again, he got paid to pay attention to these types of things.

And Jo Gunning. Kline couldn’t put his finger on what troubled him about her. He had checked her training, and she would be a good driver and bodyguard. She had the hard skills necessary for personal protection services. She was obviously in good shape, and her military background meant she had weapons training. Not only that, but her service record indicated she was an expert markswoman.

Personal protection was more than those things, though. One needed soft skills—emotional intelligence, problem-solving abilities, and good communication—as well. Jo obviously knew how to talk to people. She put Lydia at ease faster than anyone Kline had seen before. Jo had been friendly and courteous, too. With time, he’d see if she would be trustworthy and loyal.

For the moment, she seemed perfectly capable of doing the job. So what was bothering him?

Instead of answering JD’s question, Kline said, “Do you want me to look for other drivers?”

“If Lydia likes her, then hire her. It’ll be on a trial basis.”

Kline was slow to answer. “I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

“You’re worried about me? If so,” JD said before Kline could answer, “I’ll be all right. I’m working on things, and I won’t see anyone else.”

Kline shook his head slowly. How many times had he heard that? JD might make it a while, but his desires always got the best of him. He didn’t pounce on that, though, as much as he wanted to. There was too much else on his mind.

JD sensed that.

“What?” his boss asked.

“I still haven’t heard from my connection at the station.”

“You lost contact with him when?”

“Last Thursday.”

“You must be able to get information from someone else,” JD snapped.

“I’m working on it,” Kline said. “With all the attention from the bank robbery, I have to be careful. But I don’t like it. My guy’s always been good, always reliable.”

“No one suspects us?”

“No.”

“Then we should be fine,” JD said. “Your contact needs to be careful. Or perhaps something came up, and it’s not a big deal. You know how to handle things.”

Kline nodded to himself. “I’m following up. Just watch things on your end.”

“You don’t need to worry about me.”

Kline snickered to himself. He did need to worry about JD. The man had gotten them into this mess.

As usual, he didn’t point that out. It wasn’t his place. Instead, they talked for a few more minutes about security for some other meetings, and then Kline ended the call. He glanced at JD’s desk. Was the USB drive still there? He’d told his boss to get rid of it. Kline wished he could check, but JD kept one drawer locked, and Kline didn’t have a key. He thought about calling JD back, but he’d talk to him later about the drive.

Kline turned his thoughts to another situation. Sabrina Padilla. If she’d told the police about being threatened into helping Damek, and they believed her, she might not have been charged with a crime yet. That wouldn’t happen until they could prove her story one way or the other. He’d been able to find out one thing: Sabrina hadn’t returned home last Thursday night, or anytime since. By the time Kline had gotten his people looking for her, she had disappeared, along with her mother. Her brother, in California, had vanished as well. Kline didn’t know if they were all in police protection, but he’d given that a lot of thought. Police protection didn’t necessarily mean they’d put Sabrina and her family in a safe house. More likely it meant she would have law enforcement personnel with her, wherever she was. However, if she refused protection, she might still be under surveillance. Knowing all this didn’t help, though. Kline had to find her. He dialed another number and spoke abruptly.

“I need an update.”

A woman with a low voice said, “We still haven’t found Sabrina.”

“What’s going on?”

The woman on the other end was one of many people Kline employed now and again. He had a lot of men working for him, but sometimes people responded well to a female. And this woman was good—she got him a lot of information.

“I do have something interesting, though,” she said.

“What?”

“I did some poking around Sabrina’s neighborhood—casual, nothing that would draw any attention. No one knows where Sabrina is, and they all figure she’s taking some time because of the bank robbery. However, one neighbor said she saw Sabrina last Thursday morning with another woman.”

Kline gripped the phone hard. “Who?”

“The neighbor didn’t know, just said it was a woman with long hair. She wasn’t paying attention to her, because she was focused on Sabrina. She was worried about her, after everything at the bank.”

“No better description on the other woman?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“And Sabrina hasn’t returned to work, or contacted anyone there?”

“No. She took a leave of absence, and no one knows where she is,” the woman said.

“Keep looking for her. We have to know what she told the police.”

“I’m on it.”

The woman ended the call, and Kline stared at his phone. He didn’t like where things were going, that they weren’t getting information. His contact at the station wasn’t helping, either. Kline had tried to get some of his people to talk to the guy, but he was evading them. He might have to take drastic measures to get the man to talk to him, but not yet. Kline had to be very careful so that nothing came back to him. He shoved his phone in his pocket and stared out the window for a few more minutes.

No matter what angle he looked at it from, he was still worried—still wondering about Jo Gunning.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Jo was in her room when her phone rang.

“Yes?” she answered.

“Lydia would like to hire you,” Kline said. “Do you accept?”

“Yes,” Jo said.

“She has a function tonight, and she needs a driver. Could you be ready in an hour? The driver will take you to your apartment so you can settle in, and I’ll be there. Then you’ll need to be at the mansion at four.”

“That’ll work,” Jo said.

“Good. I’ll brief you more when you get to the apartment.”

The call ended. Jo stared at her phone for a moment and then smiled. The muscles in her shoulders loosened with relief.

She was in.

***

Jo didn’t have much to gather, and once she was packed, she sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the hum of the air-conditioner.

Forty-five minutes later, she went to the lobby and checked out. Then she stood near the revolving doors, certain she was being watched. Exactly one hour from the time that Kline had called her, the black SUV drove up to the hotel entrance and the driver got out. He greeted her politely as he held open the back door, and once she got in, they drove in silence to a large apartment complex, where he stopped in front of a three-story building.

Kline stood in front of a door at a ground-level unit, a tablet in one hand, dark sunglasses on. Jo waited for the driver to open the door, and when he did, she got out. As she walked up the sidewalk toward Kline, he gestured toward her duffel bag. It contained her few changes of clothes, toiletries—and her knife, which she’d gotten back from Detective Holton.

“That’s all you have?” he asked.

Jo nodded. “I don’t need much.”

She waited, thinking he might ask to search the bag, but he didn’t. He unlocked the apartment door and stepped back to let her inside. She entered a small living room, sparsely furnished with a couch, a loveseat, and coffee and end tables. A large TV hung on a wall opposite the couch. There were no knickknacks anywhere, only a cheap painting of a lake scene strategically hung above a fireplace. She knew why it was there.

“If it works out, you can decorate,” he said.

She turned to look at him, eyebrow cocked. “If?”

The blinds over the front window were closed, making the room dim. He took off his sunglasses, flicked on an overhead light, and stared at her. “You’re on a trial basis. That’s standard for the Babineauxs.” He logged on to the tablet. “I need you to sign some forms before we proceed.”

He had her fill out some paperwork and sign employment forms and a confidentiality agreement. That made her official. She’d had to think ahead about being paid, and she’d opened a new bank account so that her paychecks could be deposited there rather than to National Bank. When she finished, she handed him the tablet. He motioned toward the kitchen.

“The cupboards and refrigerator are stocked, but if you have any special dietary needs, let me know.”

The offer was polite, and she doubted she’d ask for more. He started down a hallway and called over his shoulder.

“Same with the bathroom. Let me know if you need anything. And here’s the bedroom.”

Jo walked into a large bedroom with a queen-size bed, nightstands, and a dresser. There was nothing on the walls, and no knickknacks. The room was functional, and that was all she needed. She set her duffel bag on the bed.

“This looks fine,” she said.

He opened a closet door, where tan slacks, white blouses, and lightweight blazers hung on a rod. He glanced at her.

“There are various sizes. If none fit, we’ll get something else,” he said.

“I’ll try them on as soon as we’re finished.”

“You keep in shape?” Kline asked.

“Of course.”

“The apartment complex has a gym. The door code’s written on a notepad in the kitchen.”

“I like to run as well,” Jo said. “I could work around Lydia’s schedule, run early in the morning, or in the evenings, after she’s home for the night.”

Kline eyed her. “As long as you can get to the mansion in a reasonable amount of time. You are on call for this position, and Lydia should not be kept waiting.”

“I’ll run around the neighborhood.”

He nodded. “See that you do.”

“Thank you.”

“Let me show you your vehicle.”

He spun on his heels, marched down the hall, and was out the front door. She hurried behind him, and he crossed the parking lot to a black SUV with tinted windows.

“On the surface, it looks like any other vehicle, but it’s an armored car,” Kline said as he donned his sunglasses.

With high-strength metal and bulletproof glass that would withstand gunshot fire, the SUV would handle differently. Jo was prepared for that. The SUV probably had a tracking device hidden on it as well, not only to track Lydia, but her. She kept her face blank as Kline continued.

“There’s pepper spray and a stun gun in the glove box. You’ll carry those with you at all times.” He opened the door for her to look in. “I’ll get a permit for you to carry, but I don’t expect there to be any problems. The kinds of functions Lydia attends usually have security, and they’re not the kind of place we would expect trouble.”

“I’m insurance,” Jo said.

“Yes.” He motioned to the back seat. “You’ll open doors for Lydia, and you’ll be briefed ahead of each function to know what you need to do. In some situations, you’ll stay with the vehicle, but sometimes you’ll need to go in with her. If there are any issues, if you suspect anything, you text 911 to me. Understand?”

“Yes.”

He gave her his number. Before hiring her, he would’ve checked her phone records, and he would’ve seen her calls to Dack and to her father and sister. Those were safe phones, though, with numbers registered to other people. Friends, she’d told him, ones that she didn’t have a lot of contact with. He’d assume she was a loner. And Dack knew she was keeping a low profile, so they hadn’t had contact in days.

“When you’re with Lydia—at a function, or in the car—your first priority is to remove her from any dangerous situation. Keep her safe at all times.”

“Yes,” Jo said.

He handed her a credit card. “Use this for gas and any other expenses, and get me the receipts. Keep the car clean. It’s a reflection on the Babineauxs.”

“Yes,” she repeated.

He pointed to the dashboard. “The GPS is programmed with several addresses you’ll need. If you have any other questions, let me know.” He closed and locked the vehicle, then handed her a set of keys. “JD is tied up, and Lydia has a charity dinner tonight at seven. You’ll need to be to the mansion by four, and we’ll go over specifics.”

She nodded. “I’ll be there.”

“Ring the bell, and the butler will show you to my office.” He scrutinized her. “Where did you say you served?”

“Afghanistan.”

“And after that?”

“I was with Civil Affairs.” Keeping it simple, as always.

“Where?”

She told him what was in her file, what she knew he could access. His asking again wasn’t a good sign, though. Had she drawn his suspicions?

Kline scrutinized her again, then turned and strode to a black sedan. He got in and drove slowly out of the parking lot. When the car turned the corner, Jo walked toward the apartment. The whole time, she resisted looking around. Kline may have left, but she knew she had to be under surveillance. He was too cautious a man to not be watching her closely. She went inside and closed the door, then immediately began searching for surveillance equipment. There were no cameras, but as she’d suspected, she found a small listening device behind the lake painting over the fireplace.

She stepped away from the painting, then yawned and stretched dramatically. Whoever was listening should’ve heard that. She walked into the kitchen, not disguising her movements as she checked the cupboards. Various boxes of cereal, dry foods, canned goods, snacks, protein powders, coffee, and tea. The refrigerator contained fruits, vegetables, eggs and other dairy items, and she found plenty of meats in the freezer. A fancy coffeemaker sat on the counter. All suitable, with the expectation that she would provide a better list of what she wanted later. As she perused the kitchen, she also checked for cameras or listening devices but didn’t find any.

She went into the bedroom, took her toiletries from the duffel bag and put them in the bathroom, then rearranged the towels to her liking. In the bedroom, she put her clothes and other things in the dresser drawers, and performed a thorough search there as well. She found another listening device stuck behind the headboard. There was no surveillance equipment in the bathroom, however. Kline would get in big trouble for violating bathroom privacy. As it was, he was taking a risk with the other surveillance equipment, a clear violation of an employee’s rights.

Was the surveillance equipment in the apartment all the time, or was it removed once Kline trusted the employee? Or, had he installed the equipment just for her? He likely had a key to the apartment as well, and it would be searched when she was gone. Fine by her. She had nothing to hide here.

She felt as settled in as she could be, so she fixed herself a roast beef sandwich for a late lunch, then followed it with an apple. When she finished eating, she changed into workout clothes and went outside. A semi rumbled by on a busier nearby street as she searched the complex for the gym, which was in another building.

It turned out to be serviceable, with weights, treadmills, and stationary bikes. She rode a bike for an hour, then went back to her apartment and showered. As she dressed in the clothes provided, Jo noted that the blazer was tailored to fit a gun in a shoulder holster. Before she left, she opened the blinds in the front window, letting sunlight into the room. She was tempted to put paper between the door and jamb, but she figured the outside of her apartment was being surveilled as well, and she didn’t want to tip off anyone that she was suspicious. Besides, her gut would tell her if the place was searched.

Her gaze swept the parking lot as she walked to the SUV, and as Kline had said, the GPS had the mansion’s address programmed. She adjusted her seat and headed out.

The mansion was less than a five-minute drive from the apartment complex, and she was soon parked at the front entrance. As instructed, she rang the bell. The butler, an older gentleman with thinning hair, opened the door. He knew who she was, and he escorted her down a hall to an office where Kline waited. There was a bank of monitors to the left, and he was watching them. He thanked the butler, who left without a word, and then he turned his focus to Jo.

“Lydia will be going to a banquet for an animal sanctuary. A few local dignitaries will be attending, and there’ll be plenty of security. I do want you in the room with her, but you’ll stay back, by the doors. You’ve been cleared through security, so no one should give you any problems. Be unobtrusive, and do whatever Lydia needs.”

“Understood,” Jo said.

He gestured for her to take a seat next to him, and he pointed to a laptop that had Google Maps loaded. They spent several minutes discussing the route she’d take to the dinner and studying the area. By the time they finished, she felt prepared for whatever might arise.

“When the event’s over, unless Lydia needs something else, you can go home.”

“When should I be back tomorrow?”

“At the moment, she doesn’t have anything scheduled until lunch, but you should plan to be here at nine, just in case. If she needs something before then, she’ll call you, so keep your phone on at all times.”

“Right.” She glanced to the monitors. “Are there other security personnel on the property?”

“Not usually, unless the Babineauxs are hosting an event.”

“The cameras are recording everything, I assume?”

He didn’t answer that. “Let me get Samual. He’ll show you to the kitchen. Get something to eat, and be ready at six to take Lydia to the dinner.”

With that dismissal, Jo got up and waited outside the door. Samual, the butler, appeared moments later and showed her to the kitchen, where a cook—a pleasant woman named Alice— heated up chicken, noodles, and a salad for her. Jo ate quietly in a breakfast nook, not talking to anyone.

At six, she was out front, standing by the black SUV, waiting for Lydia. The evening was warm, made warmer by the blazer she wore. The pepper spray and Taser were in her jacket pockets, both small enough that no one could tell she had them. She felt a trickle of sweat run down her neck, and it wasn’t just from the heat. She was nervous. It was a huge risk to be here, this close to people she thought might’ve had something to do with the bank robbery. How long did she have before she was discovered?

She didn’t mull on that further as Lydia stepped out of the house, haloed by the lights on the porch. She wore a black strapless dress with a scooped neckline and a thin gold chain, and she clutched a tiny purse in her left hand. The woman appeared casual, in an elegant sort of way.

As she approached the SUV, Jo opened the back door.

“Let’s see how this evening goes, shall we?” Lydia said with a smile, red lips glistening.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jo said.

She waited until Lydia was situated in the back seat. Then she closed the door and hurried to get behind the wheel. As she drove away, she glanced back to the house.

Kline was standing on the porch, watching the car retreat.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Lydia inspected her nails as the SUV headed for the highway. She liked the color, a gleaming red, like her lipstick. She smoothed her new dress and fidgeted with her purse, then held it in her lap. After a small shake of her head, she stared at Jo. The driver had her gaze forward, both hands on the wheel. Lydia got the feeling this woman didn’t miss much, and that even though her face held a certain softness and she had a warm smile, there was something in her hard jaw. She had faced her fair share of trials.

“Do you want music on?” Jo asked.

“No, thank you,” Lydia replied.

Her mind troubled, Lydia thought back to their interview earlier in the day. They had made a good connection. Lydia had sensed something with Jo, a feeling she hadn’t gotten with any of her other drivers. Of course, none of them had lost their mothers to cancer like she and Jo had. But it was more than that common piece of their past, more than mutual pain. Jo was haunted by something else.

A question kept nagging at her. Could she trust this woman?

She hadn’t been able to trust her other drivers. Most had been nice, polite, but disinterested. Lydia had been nothing more than a paycheck to them. They didn’t care. She noticed Jo glancing at her in the rearview mirror, and she smiled back at the driver.

“Is everything okay?” Jo asked her.

Lydia nodded. “Yes, fine. I just . . . have some things on my mind.”

“Hopefully you’ll have an enjoyable evening.” Jo’s tone was civil but cautious.

Lydia was suddenly overwhelmed by memories of her mother. She missed her terribly, and she realized yet again that she didn’t really have anyone to talk to. Her mother had been her best friend, her confidant—but she hadn’t shared everything with her.

She didn’t have many friends, certainly no one close. And she wanted to talk about her concerns now, but who could she approach? Kline was out of the question. He was loyal to JD, and loyal to himself. Still, she wanted to talk to someone, to unburden herself.

Jo was eyeing her as if unsure what to say. Lydia grimaced. She was the boss, but she was still human. She wasn’t unapproachable.

“It’s okay to talk to me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jo waited a moment. “Is this an annual banquet?”

“Yes,” Lydia replied. “There are some people I look forward to talking to, people I haven’t seen in a while. But sometimes I . . .” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

Jo glanced at her in the rearview mirror again. “Ma’am?”

“Do you ever feel like you have to be on, even though you don’t want to be?”

Her gaze went back to the road. “I know what you mean.”

“Did you feel that way in your military career? There were times you wanted to say things, but you knew you couldn’t?”

A smile flickered on Jo’s face. “That happened a lot.”

“I feel that,” Lydia said. More often than not.

She turned to look at the Dallas skyline, the buildings all lit up. It was a beautiful sight, but she couldn’t enjoy it right now. Her thoughts turned to Kline. He didn’t trust Jo, and Lydia wasn’t sure why. He would’ve done a thorough background search on the woman, overturning every rock in her past. She never would’ve gotten to an interview if she hadn’t passed all the criteria. If her background had shown anything fishy, he would have stopped right then.

So why did she get the feeling he didn’t like Jo?

The woman seemed competent, like she knew what she was doing. Then again, she hadn’t seen Jo in action yet. She needed to see how the woman reacted tonight, how she was with crowds, with all these people around. Lydia wasn’t worried that anything would happen to her, but as JD said, she could never be too careful. Especially now, with him focusing on his political career.

Lydia sighed. She missed the days when she could go shopping or to the grocery store and didn’t have to worry about anyone around her. But as JD’s wealth had grown, they’d had to be more careful. Nothing could happen to her or the boys.

Her thoughts roiled. Old feelings that she’d suppressed for a long time had been bubbling to the surface. She and JD had gone through a time several years ago when he’d been incredibly stressed. He hadn’t told her anything, but she’d known something was off. She had that same sensation now, a tingling at her nerve endings, leaving her shrouded in confusion. She talked to the boys some, but they always told her everything was okay. That was to be expected. They loved their father, and they’d always been loyal to him. They almost idolized him. And maybe, for a time, she had too. But marriage taught you things, and you saw your partner in a new light. You saw the good and the bad. Some things you didn’t want to see at all, so you pretended you didn’t.

JD could be unscrupulous in his business, but she’d never heard of him being outright dishonest. And as his wealth had grown, she’d felt as if she were doing good. What was the point of money if you couldn’t help others? Lydia had helped others a lot.

But what good was all that if she couldn’t help herself?

They were near their destination, and she drew in another breath and focused. They drove to a sprawling hotel property, lights ablaze, people heading up carpeted steps to glass double-doors. Her new driver followed a line of other vehicles, then pulled up to the curb near the front of the building. She hopped out and hurried around the front of the SUV, then opened the door for Lydia.

“Thank you,” Lydia said.

Jo nodded politely, and she handed keys to a valet with instructions to let her know where the vehicle was parked before walking Lydia inside.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Jo was wary as she followed Lydia into a humongous foyer filled with people. A chorus of raised voices, clinking glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter floated to elegant crystal chandeliers that scattered light like diamonds. Lydia immediately recognized someone and strode over, kissing the woman lightly on the cheek. Jo held back, close enough where she could intervene if necessary, but far enough away to allow Lydia freedom to engage with the other guests.

Jo scanned the room, assessing any potential threats. Two uniformed security guards stood by the main doors. She mapped out the space, then moved to her right and saw another exit door at the far end of a wide hall. If she had to get Lydia out of there quickly, her options were limited.

She focused on the crowd next. They were well-attired, the men in suits or tuxes, the women adorned in a colorful and elegant array of dresses and pantsuits. Jo spotted a few men she pegged as bodyguards, given the distinctive bulges under their shoulders. Just like Jo, they stayed back at a discreet distance. However, if anything happened, they would move at the speed of light to protect their clients.

She was trained to look for signs of danger, not just people carrying weapons. She paid attention to the nuances of conversations and body language, watching for anyone acting strangely. This crowd was merry, everyone enjoying themselves. No one seemed particularly focused on Lydia, but Jo remained vigilant.

Waitstaff moved like ghosts between the clusters of people. Lydia took a champagne flute from a tray offered by a tall waiter, and she sipped it as she engaged in conversation, a smile plastered on her face. She waved at a couple that passed, her fingers flitting lightly, and then she turned to yet another pair. She began to work the room, floating between people, engaging in chitchat, always with that smile on her face.

Lydia may have been fooling them, but not Jo. Her blue eyes held a strain that she was keeping in check.

After a while, the crowd moved into a grand ballroom with round tables draped in cream-colored tablecloths, with various wild animal sculptures as centerpieces. The silver shined, and the china was gold-rimmed. Lydia sat at a table near the center of the room with a woman wearing a white pantsuit, gold rings on her fingers, and heavy eye makeup. Jo took a perimeter position, her back to the wall. The guests sat through a short introduction and then were invited to buffet tables set up on the left side of the room. Jo stayed back, keeping a careful watch on Lydia all the while. Once people had served themselves and returned to their tables, the room filled with the sounds of voices and silverware clanking on plates. Lydia ate demurely, her plate only half full. The woman in the pantsuit sat with her husband, but he engaged in conversation with another man next to him, so she turned to talk to Lydia.

At first, their conversation seemed to be light—both smiling, their demeanor relaxed. Then the other woman leaned over and murmured something, her lips moving rapidly. Lydia’s shoulders stiffened, and her champagne flute stopped halfway to her mouth. The woman said something else, and Lydia’s jaw tightened sharply as she put down her champagne glass.

The other woman seemed to realize she’d gotten a rise out of Lydia, and she punctuated her next words by tapping on the table. Lydia stared at her for a moment, her face like granite. Then she forced a smile, said something, and stood up. The woman looked at her, clearly surprised. Lydia put her napkin on her chair and, still smiling, snatched up her purse and stepped away from the table. The rest of the group didn’t notice anything as she walked away. A few other people mingled about, but no one paid attention as Lydia sidled between tables, making her way to an exit across the room.

Jo hurried along the edges of the tables, following her out the doors. She glanced around and saw her boss disappearing into a bathroom. Jo hurried after her, stepping into a sitting area with two benches in front of large mirrors. In the next room, Lydia had disappeared into a stall.

Jo waited by the door. Lydia emerged a minute later, and as she headed for a bank of sinks, she glanced to her left and saw Jo. She was startled but didn’t say anything. She took a moment to wash her hands, and then she walked into the sitting room. Another woman emerged from a stall, washed her hands, and smiled at Jo and Lydia as she exited the bathroom.

Now they were alone.

“Are you okay?” Jo asked.

Lydia sat down at a bench and stared at herself in the mirror. She reached into her purse, pulled out a lipstick case, and fixed her lips. She drew in a breath and let it out slowly, then looked at Jo in the mirror.

“Do you know who that woman at my table was?”

Jo shook her head. “I’m new to the area.”

“That was . . .” She waved a hand around. “Never mind. It’s immaterial.”

She seemed to want to talk, and Jo wanted to earn her trust. She perched herself on the end of the bench.

“She wasn’t nice to you, was she?” Jo asked.

Lydia stared at herself in the mirror. “You caught that.”

“Yes,” Jo said softly. “You handled yourself well. I don’t think anybody knew you were upset, except for the woman you were talking to.”

“It doesn’t matter what she thinks. I wasn’t prepared for what she said, though.”

“Oh?”

“It was about my husband.”

Lydia was about to say more, but the door opened and a woman in a blue dress entered. She gave them a polite smile as she walked past and into the other room.

“Well, it’s nothing,” Lydia said.

Jo cursed to herself. It had seemed she might get Lydia to open up—even if just a little—but the opportunity had been snatched away. Lydia dabbed at her eyes with a pinky finger. She looked dejected.

“Would you like to go home?” Jo asked.

Lydia’s eyebrows shot up. “The event isn’t over,” she said. It seemed as if she needed permission to leave.

“You don’t have to be on all the time,” Jo murmured. “You made your appearance. Isn’t that enough?”

Lydia continued to stare at herself, and then she nodded. “You know what? I think you’re right. I’ll go back in and make my excuses, and we’ll go. I’m tired.” The pinky finger now touched her lips, and then she smiled at Jo. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Jo stood and stepped back as Lydia got up as well. She followed her boss back into the dining hall, where Lydia marched purposefully back to her table, her head held high, her shoulders squared. She whisked her napkin off the chair and sat down, then smiled at the woman next to her. She chatted for a few minutes and then stood again, still all smiles.

After flitting her hand in her special wave, she made her way back toward Jo. The woman at the table stared after Lydia for a moment before her husband engaged her in conversation.

After they left the grand ballroom together, Lydia waited with security near the doors as Jo went outside for the SUV. She parked in front of the building, then hurried up the steps and escorted Lydia to the car. She held the door for her and got behind the wheel, and they drove away.

Lydia stared out the window, her lips pressed together firmly. After a minute or so, she surprised Jo with a question.

“Who do you care about most?”

Jo didn’t need to think long. “My family.”

“I understand that.” She paused. “Tell me about them.”

Jo did, trying to find a balance between connecting with Lydia and not sharing too much. She told her boss about Will and his love of cars, and how he’d taken her and her sister on camping trips. When she spoke about Avery, Jo gushed with pride at how well her sister had done in school, and how she was forging a career for herself.

“You’d do anything for them?” Lydia asked when she finished.

Jo nodded, thinking about her current situation. “Yes.”

“That’s an honest answer.”

How ironic, Jo thought. Here she was, being told she was honest, and yet she was lying about her present circumstances and about why she was driving for Lydia. But she’d told Lydia the truth in one regard—she would do anything to protect her father and sister.

“Is there something you’d like to talk about?” Jo asked.

Lydia looked at her. Her lower lip was trembling, barely discernible in the shadowy dimness in the car. She did seem to want to talk. She seemed desperate to divest herself of something that troubled her. Jo thought she was going to, but then she shook her head.

“No, thank you.”

Lydia was quiet the rest of the drive home. Jo hoped she might say more, but the woman only stared out the window. She didn’t want to push her luck—better not to risk irritating Lydia in any way. Sometimes silence was the best option.

When they returned to the mansion, Jo hopped out and opened the back door for her. Lydia got out and paused, searching Jo’s face. Then she forced a small smile.

“Thank you—and not just for the drive. I appreciate . . . being able to talk to someone.”

“It was a nice conversation,” Jo said. “If you need anything else, let me know.”

“Thank you,” Lydia repeated, then strode away from the car.

Jo waited until her boss went inside, then sat for a moment, wondering what the other woman had said that had upset Lydia so much.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

“It’s not what you think,” JD called out as he walked down the hallway toward his office.

“Really?” Kline said, the sarcasm like fire in his tone.

JD glanced over his shoulder. He didn’t like the tone he was hearing. He’d never seen his second-in-command so mad. Well, at least not recently.

“I’d be careful if I were you,” JD said, although he knew he would never do anything to Kline.

“Do you know how foolish you were?” Kline said. “If you’re going to go out like that, I need to know about it. I have to be able to cover things.”

JD’s hand shook as he unlocked his office door. Kline was furious, but so was he. In part at Kline, but also because he knew the man was right. He shouldn’t have sneaked away from his dinner engagement like he had. Still . . .

“How dare you talk to me like this.”

He pushed open the door and stepped back. Kline walked past him and into the office, then whirled around.

“I can’t protect you if you’re going to do things like that,” Kline said. “It’s not that simple. You have no idea what goes on behind the scenes. You just meet with them, do your thing, and then you come home like it’s no big deal. But it is. And it’s only going to get worse as your political career rises. Do you know how many people want to come after you now? And that number is only going to grow. You screw up, and people are going to see dollar signs, a way to get at you. If you keep up this behavior, the coverups are only going to get more complicated.”

He had his back to JD, which was probably good. Right at that moment, JD didn’t want to see Kline’s face—he probably would hit him. Kline may have understood security, but he didn’t understand the pressures JD was under. It was worse right now, given the situation with Fontenot, and the bank. He stood with his fists balled at his sides, taking a deep breath so he wouldn’t say anything rash.

“Did you get the woman to sign an NDA?” Kline asked, his back still toward JD.

He nodded as if Kline could see him. “Don’t worry, I took care of it.” He felt the papers in his pocket. “She’s not going to talk.”

“We’ve heard that before.”

“It’s going to be okay,” JD said. “You’re taking care of everything, just like before.”

He flashed to that time long ago. He didn’t think he could ever be that stressed again. But then, he’d never made such a drastic choice to resolve a situation, either.

JD had been different then, less able to control his emotions. He’d been stressed when he was around the house, and he’d snapped at Lydia more than he should have. But he’d gotten it together, and things had been running smoothly. Lydia hadn’t known a thing.

Right?

Lydia. The tension around the house was like black smoke now, and he was working hard to make sure he acted nonchalant so that she didn’t suspect anything. At least the boys didn’t live at home anymore, so they wouldn’t see their parents together. Lydia would never tell them there were problems between the two of them. Still, Kline had a point. JD shouldn’t have seen that woman, shouldn’t have done anything tonight. He swore silently.

Why did he keep making those choices?

“Did you at least get rid of the drive?” Kline asked, his voice a little calmer.

“Not yet,” JD said.

Kline whirled around. “Why the hell not?”

He shrugged. “We might need it?”

“You want to keep the evidence lying around? What are you, some kind of common crook, wanting to look at the mementos from your crimes?” Kline’s jabbed a finger. “Shut the damn door.”

JD was still standing in the doorway, and he hadn’t even realized that in his anger, he had left it open. He leaned back and glanced up and down the hall, then stepped into the room and quietly shut the door. He stared at Kline.

“Don’t worry, no one was out there.”

“As I’ve said many times, I get paid to worry.” Kline raked a hand through his hair. “Look, boss, I shouldn’t have yelled at you, but I’m worried.”

JD went to the coffee table for a cigar. He clipped the end, lit it, and puffed slowly as he sat down. He contemplated the red, burning tip of the cigar, then looked at Kline.

“What’s going on?”

“I looked into that employee from the bank,” Kline said. “I can’t figure out why she would talk to the police. She was paid well. My guy threatened her—and her family, too. She never should’ve opened her mouth.”

“Even if she talks, what can she tell them?”

Kline paced. “That’s the problem—I don’t know. But she could’ve seen something that she’d end up telling the police, and it would lead back to my guy.”

“He won’t say anything.”

“No,” Kline said. “It’s still a risk. If the police find him and start asking questions, you never know if it’ll come back to us. No matter how much you think you’ve covered your tracks, you can be tripped up.” He stopped and turned to face JD, hands on his hips. “That’s why I want you to be careful. You don’t know what might happen.”

His words, and the slow and careful way he said them, sank in. JD puffed on the cigar and blew smoke into the air. He was trying to appear calm, but inside, his nerves were like shattered glass, the shards cutting at him. He never should’ve met the woman tonight. Why? he chided himself. It was a double-edged sword. He knew he shouldn’t be doing those things, but they were the very things that seemed to ease the burdens on him.

At least until he had to face Kline. Then the pressures were back. He puffed on the cigar again, and when he knew he could keep his voice calm, he spoke.

“Still nothing from your contact at the police department?”

Kline shook his head. “I don’t like it. I’m asking around, but I’ve got to be careful. Something’s going on, though.”

“I’m sure you’ll get to the bottom of it.”

The man nodded. “In the meantime, you need to destroy the evidence.”

“I will,” JD said. “What’s going on with Lydia’s new driver?”

“I’m watching her.”

“Any issues?”

Kline shook his head. “She’s doing everything as I’d expect.”

“Good. Let’s see what Lydia thinks of her.”

“She shouldn’t be the final judge,” Kline said. “If I suspect something with Ms. Gunning, she’s gone.”

“But you don’t.”

“Not so far.”

JD stared at him, then changed the subject. “Why don’t you go get some rest. I’m sure tomorrow will be a long day.”

“Aren’t they all?”

Kline headed for the door, letting himself out. After it clicked shut, JD sat and smoked for a long time, and then he put the cigar on a crystal ashtray and went to his desk. He sat down heavily, then unlocked a drawer and pulled out a USB drive.

He drew in a breath as he inserted the drive into his computer and opened the contents, then began looking at photos and notes that Trent Fontenot had gathered. As he did so, he thought about what Kline had said. Keeping the USB drive was like looking at a trophy from his crimes, and he did get a certain thrill out of it. However, as usual, Kline was right. JD needed to get rid of this evidence.

After looking at notes for a few minutes longer, he ejected the USB drive and put it back in the drawer, which he locked. Then he sat back, staring into space. He’d get rid of the evidence.

But not yet.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Lydia stood at the end of the hallway, hearing her husband and Kline arguing. Their voices were raised, easily carrying to her. Was something going on at JD’s work that had him so frustrated?

Then she heard something about an NDA agreement. What for? Wait, what else had he said? Something about a woman. Lydia’s eyes widened. The NDA agreement was with a woman?

She kept listening, now about how the woman wouldn’t talk. Lydia put a hand to her mouth and choked back a sob. JD wasn’t talking about his work. This was something else, her worst nightmare realized, all her denials coming to the forefront.

Her husband and Kline kept arguing, now about a drive. Or a driver? Her mind was a jumble, trying to understand what they were discussing. Did Kline mean Jo? She hoped he wasn’t trying to talk JD into letting her driver go already. In the little time she’d spent with Jo, the woman seemed like a person she might be able to trust—maybe the only one she could trust. No one else around her had been kind lately. Even JD had been cool and distant.

Their voices broke through her thoughts again—something about evidence. What evidence?

Lydia narrowed her eyes. JD was covering up something, obviously. She could ask him about it, but then she snorted. He’d never tell her anything. It was always “Things are fine. Don’t worry about it, love.”

As if him saying that could work now.

Kline swore and said to shut the door. Lydia darted around a corner and tiptoed toward the kitchen, her heart beating a furious staccato. If JD had seen her, he would come after her. She took in deep breaths, waiting. But he didn’t come.

She quietly took a glass from a cupboard and got water from the refrigerator dispenser. Taking a drink, she swallowed, then moments later spit it up, her stomach sour. Lydia set the glass down and gripped the edge of the sink, feeling lightheaded. It felt as if a bulldozer had knocked her senseless.

She’d been right to suspect JD. He’d been seeing other women. Lydia looked at her reflection in the kitchen window, not liking who stared back at her. She’d turned a blind eye to his behavior, but she couldn’t deny it anymore.

But what had he really done? There had been rumors, of course, things that she’d dismissed. Even tonight, at the banquet, she’d had to fend off the gossip. That was what the new driver had seen. Mackenzie Potts had hinted that JD had his eyes on someone. Lydia wouldn’t have expected anything else from Mackenzie. The woman delighted in rumors, and specifically in taking others down. Lydia thought she’d handled it well. She’d told Mackenzie that she was wrong, but the encounter had gotten under her skin. When Mackenzie had continued to heckle her, she’d excused herself to go to the bathroom. With Jo’s encouragement, she returned and let Mackenzie know that everything was fine with JD before she left.

Except that it wasn’t.

Now she would look like a fool in front of Mackenzie and others—if she wasn’t already being mocked behind her back. They’d probably been laughing at her for years, as she continued to make excuses for JD. Lydia’s eyes narrowed. She had lived a long time in a lie, not wanting to deal with the reality of her marriage, of who her husband was. She had her own excuses for that. Someday, she would look at her choices more closely, examine why she had allowed her husband to run around behind her back. Regardless, she wasn’t going to put up with it anymore.

Lydia drew in a deep breath, smelling the roses in a vase on the island counter. The scent did nothing for her. She thought about storming back into the office to confront JD, but she stopped herself for a couple of reasons. One, she wasn’t going to air her dirty laundry in front of Kline. He probably knew too much as it was, and he got paid to smooth things over. And two, JD would lie to her, as he seemed to have done all this time. She shook her head. No, before she did anything rash, she would gather evidence. She was not going to give JD any kind of an out. She would know for sure what he’d done before she talked to him.

And if he was doing what she suspected, she would take him down.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

When Jo reached her apartment complex, the parking lot was full, and she found a space several down from her building. It was almost ten o’clock, and although there were lights on in numerous apartment windows, she didn’t see anyone out and about. However, as she walked to her building, she noticed a dark sedan backed into a parking place thirty yards from her building.

Was someone in the driver’s seat?

Moonlight lit her way as Jo walked to her door and let herself inside. She flicked on a light and looked around. The room appeared just as she’d left it.

She took in a deep breath. Was there something in the air, an odor that hadn’t been there before? She went to the living room window and closed the blinds, then tuned the TV to a news station, turning up the volume. With that cover in place, she began a check of the apartment.

The kitchen and living areas seemed the same. However, when she went into the bedroom, she noticed something off. The one listening device remained behind the headboard of her bed, but when she checked the drawers, she saw that her clothes had been moved. Slightly, but enough that she noticed.

Jo smiled. As she’d suspected, Kline had searched the apartment while she’d been gone. She finished with the bathroom and didn’t find anything else out of place. Then she returned to the bedroom, changed into running clothes, and spent a few minutes stretching. After that, she shut off the bedroom light and stood by the window. She carefully parted the blinds and peeked out, staring at the dark sedan in the parking lot. A few minutes of watching left her certain that somebody was in the vehicle.

Kline, surveilling her?

If that was the case—and Jo was pretty sure it was—she would need to remain cautious. She went into the kitchen for a drink, then shut off the TV and stepped outside. She’d told Kline that she liked to run, and that was true.

She started a slow jog down the middle of the parking lot, passing in front of the sedan. She kept her gaze forward, but out of the corners of her eyes, she saw the driver slink down low. Pretending not to notice, she kept running, loving how she felt. Not only was running empowering to her, she liked the solo endeavor. Jo didn’t do marathons, didn’t want to be around people when she ran. She never wore earbuds—no music, no distractions, just her. One foot in front of the other, setting a rhythm. A good feel in her legs, the air sucking in and out of her lungs. Tonight, though, that rhythm eluded her. Too much on her mind, too much to be wary of.

As her heart rate rose, she cut between a truck and another dark vehicle, then started down the sidewalk.

Kline wanted to keep tabs on her, but her saying that she liked to jog had put him in a dilemma, especially if she ran at night. Her tail had several choices to make, none of them good. If the driver left his position and followed her with headlights on, she would easily see him. He couldn’t very well drive slowly behind her without her knowing. Conversely, if he tried to follow her with the headlights off, she would still likely notice him, and she’d be even more suspicious of the car.

He could try to tail her on foot as well. However, nothing would draw more negative attention to him than him trying to keep up with her, stalking her in the darkness. In any of the scenarios, he would risk her calling the police, or Kline. She tried to think as he would, and she figured he would stay put, probably just reporting to Kline that she was out for a run.

Even with that, she didn’t trust that Kline had left surveillance of her to only the one driver. There could be someone else watching her. It also would’ve been easy for him to place cameras in trees around the apartment complex, or on one of the buildings. He was a man with resources, and he probably got away with a lot.

She kept running, feet pounding the concrete at a steady pace. She paid attention to the vehicles, noting makes and models, looking for the kind of small details that the average person would miss. That type of training had kept her alive on many missions.

When Jo reached the end of a long block, she hadn’t noticed anyone in the cars parked on the street. There were a few lights on in houses, and the sounds of road traffic carried from the surrounding streets.

Jo kept running, and a few minutes later, she approached a wooded area. She ran along the edge, then darted off the street and into the trees. After a moment, she glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone was following. The trees clawed toward the sky, the moonlight a gray glow. She ran for thirty more seconds, then stopped by a large tree and stretched.

Taking a deep breath, she ran for another minute and stopped again. In the distance, a bridge spanned a small creek. Jo kept to the shadows, still not seeing anyone. She hooted softly, and three figures materialized out of the darkness to her left. Jo checked behind her again. Only the trees. The figures approached and halted several feet from her. Jo didn’t recognize the two big men—both with crew cuts and an ex-military look. They acted as if they knew how to take care of themselves. The third person was a tall woman with long hair pulled into a ponytail. All three wore dark clothing and light jackets, and all three had guns in shoulder holsters. The woman drew near and spoke softly.

“Were you followed?”

Jo shook her head. “We’re okay, but we need to hurry. I should get back before anyone gets suspicious.”

The woman nodded. Jo looked at Special Agent Kelsey Camacho, thinking how she’d gotten to this point.

***

When she’d left the police station Thursday night, Jo had been frustrated that Detective Holton hadn’t believed her story. His sole focus had been that she was interfering in his investigation, and that the things she’d discovered didn’t have merit. She’d gone back to her to hotel, not sure what she was going to do.

She’d been sitting on her bed when a knock sounded at the door. She’d answered and found Kelsey standing in the hall with another man. They had a look—not just their attire, but their manner—that made it easy to tell they were with some government agency.

Kelsey introduced herself to Jo with the flash of a badge and told her she had questions about the bank robbery. Jo knew there was more than that, but she humored the woman and told her what had happened.

The discussion had gone on from there, and Jo realized that the agent had talked to Detective Holton. Kelsey then swung the conversation to what Jo had been doing since the robbery, all her stakeouts and conversations. When Jo finished going through it, she wasn’t surprised at what Kelsey said next.

“We’ve had JD Babineaux under investigation for several months now.”

“What did he do?” Jo asked.

Kelsey blinked a few times, as if contemplating how much to share. She didn’t disguise the way she studied Jo, and then she asked about Jo’s background. Jo told her, but it was obvious Kelsey had heard it all before.

“We think Babineaux is behind the murder of two local women several years ago,” the woman explained.

“Women he had affairs with?”

“Yes. Well, one of them, anyway.”

“Why kill them?” Jo asked. “A lot of people have affairs, and it doesn’t go anywhere.”

“Babineaux doesn’t just have affairs. He has . . . certain sexual preferences, deviances . . . that were not acceptable back then, and maybe still wouldn’t be now. He’s a rich and powerful man, and he wouldn’t want that information to get out. He spent some time with that woman, and even though he was careful, and he had his partner sign an NDA, she broke the agreement and told a friend about what she’d done with Babineaux.”

“The second murder.”

“Yes. This friend—I’m not going to tell you her name—went after Babineaux and tried to blackmail him. She had the kind of information that would certainly ruin not only his marriage, but his reputation. You know Babineaux has political aspirations?”

Jo shrugged. “I read something about that.”

“People will overlook a lot, but not murder. He had both women eliminated. If that comes to light, he could go to prison. Even if he’s able to defend himself in court, at bare minimum, it will ruin his career.”

“Babineaux wouldn’t be stupid enough to commit murder himself.”

“No, and neither would his right-hand man, Donald Kline. He takes care of security for Babineaux and his family. Kline would’ve arranged everything so that Babineaux’s hands are clean.”

Jo thought fast. “But Trent Fontenot had uncovered all this.”

Kelsey nodded. “Trent approached us recently and said he had information about Babineaux. He had details, proof that Babineaux was behind the murders, but Trent didn’t tell us what. We were about to meet with him again when he was murdered. We think he had that proof—his research—in a safety deposit box at National Bank, and Babineaux knew that as well.”

Jo stared at the Special Agent, thinking she’d been right in her suspicions. She thought back over everything others had told her.

“No one knew what proof Trent had?” she asked.

Kelsey shook her head. “He was too scared to tell anyone. It took him a long time to approach us. He was worried about what Babineaux would do to him.” Her eyes momentarily went sad.

“Babineaux’s behind Trent’s murder?”

“We think so, but we can’t prove it. The people we’re dealing with are extremely good at what they do. They’ve covered their tracks well.”

“Except for whoever talked to Trent.”

“Yes. Once some time has passed, people sometimes talk.”

Jo looked at Kelsey. Amid all this, the woman still hadn’t explained why she was talking to her.

“What do you want from me?” Jo asked.

“We need to get somebody on the inside, into the Babineaux mansion.”

Jo raised her eyebrows. “You think I can do that? How?”

“Lydia Babineaux has a driver assigned to her, but she’s picky about who she wants. They’ve been having trouble keeping someone, and they’ve been interviewing new candidates, all women.”

“Her driver has to be a woman?”

Kelsey nodded. “Lydia doesn’t want a male driver.” She pointed at Jo. “We’ll arrange for you to get an interview. If we can get you in that way, you might be able to hear what’s going on.”

Jo narrowed her eyes. “You want me to befriend Lydia to see what she knows, and to see if she’ll turn on her husband.”

“There have been growing rumors about Babineaux, and we think Lydia’s getting suspicious.”

“She doesn’t know what Babineaux’s been doing?”

“Not entirely. We don’t think she’s been involved in his dealings in any way.”

“Does she know about the murders?”

“She might think Babineaux’s behind something illegal.”

“What do you want from me?” Kelsey glanced away. “With your background, your communication skills, you might be able to turn Lydia, get her to help us.”

Jo thought long and hard about what Kelsey was proposing. There were a lot of risks, and she would be in danger.

“What if Kline figures out I was at the bank?”

“You’ll need to act fast, before he realizes anything.”

“You can’t protect me.”

Kelsey shook her head. “No. I wouldn’t blame you if you walked away.” Then she dropped a bombshell. “What if Kline figures out you were involved with that biolab in Colorado? What if others know that as well?”

Jo’s muscles tensed. “What do you know?”

“You need to keep your name out of this. I can help.”

Jo stared at her, but she knew the woman was right. And that left her with only one option.

***

Everything had worked out as Kelsey had planned. She’d arranged the interview with Kline, and Jo had been hired. Jo had managed to fool him, so far, but she only had so much time.

“I got hired as Lydia’s driver,” Jo announced.

Kelsey smiled—the first time Jo had seen it on the woman. “What’s happened so far?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

“It’s been smooth,” Jo said. “Kline had a lot of questions when he interviewed me, and so did Lydia. I drove her to a charity event this evening. I don’t know how she acted with her other drivers, but she talked to me on a more personal level than I expected. Her mother died of cancer, and so did mine.”

Kelsey nodded with satisfaction. “I thought that might happen.”

Jo didn’t say anything, but she was impressed. Kelsey had thought through a lot of things.

She didn’t tell Kelsey that some parts of the conversation had been difficult. Jo didn’t like to think about her mother’s cancer, about her vulnerability when she’d gotten sick. She preferred to keep the strong image of her, that woman who could overcome anything.

Jo dismissed those thoughts and continued.

“Lydia’s vulnerable right now.”

Kelsey listened intently as Jo spoke in a low voice, telling her about Lydia’s pensive behavior on the drive to the banquet. The two men stood sentry, faces ashen in the moonlight, but she knew they were taking in the surroundings, not the conversation itself, alert to any sounds around them. She guessed that Kelsey was about forty, with a soft face that belied her hard stance. The woman hadn’t told Jo much about herself, except that she’d been with the feds for several years. It was clear she wanted to take JD down, to successfully seal her investigation.

Jo finished by describing how Lydia had gotten into an upsetting conversation with a woman at the banquet.

“Mackenzie Potts,” Kelsey said.

Jo cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve been planting some of those rumors.”

“I’ve had someone working on Mackenzie. She has a reputation as a gossip, and she’s a jealous person. We figured if the opportunity presented itself, she would want to dig at Lydia.”

“Which would make Lydia question her husband.”

Kelsey tipped her head in assent.

Jo glanced toward the stars above her in the black sky, feeling momentarily guilty. Unless there was something Kelsey and her people didn’t know, Lydia was an innocent pawn in what was happening, and she was being hurt in the process. However, Jo had to think about herself and her own family.

“Any worries with Mackenzie, that she might know what’s going on, that you’re after JD?” Jo asked.

Kelsey shook her head. “Don’t worry about that. I’ve been working this investigation for a long time, and we’ve been extremely careful.”

“Good,” Jo said, “because I’m vulnerable. Lydia likes me, but Kline doesn’t.”

“He said something to you?”

“Just a gut feeling. I could see something in his face when I talked to Lydia. He didn’t like the questions she was asking me, and he didn’t like that we had a more personal conversation. Later, as he showed me around the apartment and the car, he was wary. Right before he left, he asked more questions about my background. He was trying to trip me up and see if he could catch me in a lie.”

“He wasn’t suspicious about the window blinds?”

“It’s worked so far,” Jo said.

Among the many things Kelsey had arranged was a signal for Jo to let her know she wanted to talk. Kelsey had done her research, and she’d known that Lydia’s driver was provided an apartment. When Jo wanted to meet, Kelsey told her to open the living room blinds. An agent would be watching the apartment and would relay the signal to her. They’d also discussed how Jo would tell Kline that she liked to jog, and although it was a guess, they figured Kline wouldn’t tell her she couldn’t. Bodyguards, after all, needed to stay in shape.

Once Kelsey got the message, whoever was watching the apartment would tell her when Jo left for a run. The meeting site had also been prearranged. She and Jo had studied the area near the apartment complex and chosen the nearby woods. They decided to meet near the bridge, and if either suspected Kline, or his associates, were watching, they would abort and try another time.

Jo glanced around, knowing they had fooled Kline, at least this time.

“Kline has someone watching me,” she said, then explained the sedan in the parking lot.

Kelsey nodded. “My guy spotted the man in the sedan. Nothing we didn’t expect. Kline’s had surveillance on other drivers as well. Once he feels comfortable with you, he’ll get rid of the tail. In the meantime, use the blinds as a signal.”

Jo also had Kelsey’s number. In an emergency, she could call. Hopefully, she wouldn’t need to.

“Can you befriend Lydia?” Kelsey asked.

“I think so,” Jo said. “She wants to talk.”

“She’s wondering what’s going on with her husband.”

“I would assume so. I’ll keep working on her.”

Kelsey glanced around, then said, “You need to find whatever evidence Trent had.”

“If JD has it.”

“He does,” Kelsey said forcefully.

“What if he got rid of it?”

“Then see what Lydia will tell you, or any of the staff. Maybe someone overheard something, a piece of information that we can use against JD.”

Jo let out a breath slowly. “What about Kline?”

“He’s a slippery eel. I try to keep surveillance on him, but he loses them. We haven’t been able to tap into his phone or other electronics, either.”

“He can’t figure out who I am, or I’m dead.”

Kelsey put her hands on her hips. “If I hear anything, if I think you’re in any danger, I’ll use the note. Or call, if I have to.”

That was another arrangement. If need be, Kelsey would leave Jo a note, something that looked like a notice from the apartment complex, but it would tell Jo that her cover was blown. They’d figure out how to meet up after that, but at least Jo would know to watch her back.

Jo was aware of the minutes ticking by. “I need to get back.”

“Be careful, and if you get anything on JD, call me and we’ll get you out of there.”

That’ll be easier said than done, Jo thought. She glanced at the two men, who were still alert. She locked eyes with Kelsey, then spun on her heels and jogged back through the woods.

Over the sounds of her soft footfalls on the dirt, she listened for anything else. It was a quiet evening, though, and she made it back to the road without encountering anyone. Her heart rate was up, and she was sweating when she passed by the sedan in the apartment complex parking lot. The driver wasn’t there, and she wondered where he was hiding. She didn’t think he’d been in the woods, but she couldn’t know for sure. Her palms grew sweaty at the thought of him seeing her with Kelsey. If he had, the special agent wouldn’t be able to help her now.

Jo unlocked the apartment door and slipped inside, briefly thinking about Dack. She’d talked to him before she’d agreed to work with Kelsey, and they had discussed her options, deciding she needed to move forward with the agent’s plans. Dack arranged to get the Ford Escape from her hotel, and he would be available if she needed him. He knew, however, that she couldn’t risk updating him unless absolutely necessary. Even though her phone was safe, Kline was likely monitoring her correspondence, and she didn’t want to draw any more suspicion to herself.

Jo got a drink and went into the bathroom. She peeled off her clothes and took a cool shower, then dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. She turned off the bedroom light and stood by the window, watching the sedan. Fifteen minutes later, she saw a figure in dark clothing slink between vehicles and up to the sedan. The door opened, but no dome light went on. The man got in and stayed put. She waited and watched. If he’d grown suspicious and alerted Kline, she didn’t think Kline would wait through the night to confront her. Still, she stood guard at the window for a long time.

Finally, she yawned and stretched, then went to bed.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Kline could tell that his boss was still frustrated. They were in his office downtown for a morning meeting, and JD’s tone was clipped. Kline briefly wondered if he’d overstepped his boundaries the previous night. If he’d pushed things too far, though, JD was smart enough to realize that he couldn’t get rid of him. Kline knew too much and was too valuable.

That didn’t mean his boss couldn’t stay angry.

“I trusted that you could handle everything,” JD said. “If you planned for all possibilities, then why are we worrying about this woman at the bank talking? It shouldn’t be a big deal.”

“It probably isn’t,” Kline said with more confidence than he felt. The air freshener in the room was strong, and he wrinkled his nose. It—along with everything else—was giving him a headache. “But until someone can talk to her to find out exactly what she told the police, we can’t be too sure.”

“Shouldn’t you have planned for something like this?”

Kline nodded. “Yes, and normally I’d be getting more information. I still don’t know what’s going on with my contact at the station.”

JD tapped his fingertips together as he contemplated Kline.

“What happens next?”

“I’m going to follow up with my guy,” Kline replied. “Just as a precaution. I want to make sure there isn’t anything we’ve missed.”

“Be careful,” JD said.

Kline looked at his boss, searching his face. Was JD finally getting it, realizing that the situation was serious? He hoped so. The last time, things had gone smoothly, and most of the times since then. Maybe they’d grown complacent—they were used to everything working out. Kline figured it would in this case, too. But he hadn’t planned on . . . whatever was going on with Sabrina. The woman shouldn’t have talked. Damek had said she’d been too scared. So why would she suddenly have gone to the police?

“Did you destroy the evidence?” Kline asked.

JD glanced out the window. “I did. You don’t need to concern yourself with that anymore.”

Kline couldn’t tell if he was telling the truth. The man didn’t often lie to him, but Kline knew how much that evidence meant to JD, that he got some kind of thrill keeping it around, looking at the stuff the reporter had on him.

“You’re sure it’s destroyed?” Kline asked. “There’s no way the drive could be accessed?”

JD flicked a hand at him. “The drive is demolished. I swear to you, there’s nothing.”

“Good,” Kline said, although he still wasn’t sure.

“How was the new driver’s first day?”

“It seemed to go well,” Kline said, accepting the change in subject. “Did Lydia say anything to you?”

His brow furrowed. “I didn’t see her until I went to bed. She seemed a little upset, but she wouldn’t tell me why, just that there was something with one of the ladies at the banquet. You know how that can go, though. There’s gossip at those things. I don’t know how Lydia handles herself with such grace. Anyway, I was up early this morning, and we didn’t talk. I don’t know what her plans are for today.”

“As far as I know, she’s at the house now,” Kline said.

“She’s got the driver with her,” JD said. “That’s one less thing to worry about.”

Kline wasn’t so sure. He had Jo under surveillance, and his man had told him that she’d gone for a run the previous evening, but that he couldn’t follow her without being detected. She’d been gone about thirty minutes, though, and had returned looking as if she’d been running, sweat on her face, breathing hard. She hadn’t done anything this morning except report to the mansion at the expected time.

“I’ll ask Lydia about the driver tonight,” JD said. “My guess is it will be fine. Lydia would’ve said something to me if she didn’t like her.” He glanced at his watch. “I need to get to a meeting. Keep me posted as you see fit.”

Kline nodded and left the office. He had a lot to do as well, following up with his people. As he walked down the hall, he messaged Damek. They needed to talk.

CHAPTER FORTY

Jo checked the back seat of the SUV, thinking about her morning.

She’d gotten up early, and the first thing she’d done was peek out the bedroom window to see if the apartment was under surveillance. The dark sedan she’d seen the previous evening was no longer in the same parking place, and it wasn’t anywhere she could see it from her window. She went to the living room window and checked, but she still didn’t spot it. However, after watching for a while, she thought she saw someone in a light-colored SUV parked down the block. The man was hunched down, so she almost missed him.

She didn’t think it was any federal agents. Kelsey and her team would be extremely cautious not to blow their cover and jeopardize their investigation. Or hers. If it was one of Kline’s people, though, she didn’t care. She didn’t have any clandestine plans today.

Jo showered and dressed in another pair of slacks and a blazer provided by Kline, and then she ate a quick breakfast and was parked outside the mansion at nine.

Kline had already gone, and so had JD. Although it hadn’t been on the schedule, Lydia had Jo drive her to a high-end shopping center, and on the way, they chatted. It felt as if Lydia was trying to get to know Jo better, asking more direct questions about her background, trying to build some trust. Jo was still careful with what she shared, but she did her best to appear open with her boss.

After shopping for a while, Lydia had lunch by herself while Jo grabbed a bite at a food court. One thing she’d noted: As she’d driven Lydia around, Jo hadn’t seen anyone tailing her. That, at least, was good.

When they’d returned to the mansion, Lydia hadn’t needed anything from Jo, so Jo found rags and car-cleaning supplies in a six-car garage, then went out to the SUV to make sure it was ready to go. She was killing time, because the SUV was spotless. Still, she made sure there would be nothing for Lydia to complain about, no dirt on the floor or mats, no smudges on the windows. While she worked, she studied the mansion, trying to figure out the layout. There were windows to the left of the main doors, where the living room was. Another room near the garage, and more rooms she couldn’t identify. She couldn’t be sure, but it looked as if there was an office or a library to the right of the portico.

JD’s? she wondered.

She couldn’t tell what other rooms were on that side of the house. There was no shade where she was working, and she wiped her brow as she finished, then gathered up the cleaning supplies and went inside. The mansion was enormous, and she had to traverse a series of hallways to get to the garage. She didn’t see anyone as she put everything away and went back into the house.

Jo didn’t know where all the staff was, so she tried the security room first. The door was closed. She knocked, and no one answered. She wasn’t sure if she believed Kline when he’d said there was no other security personnel, but if someone was in the office, she would’ve thought they’d answer. She waited a moment, then wandered into the kitchen, where the cook, Alice, was working on a grocery list.

“Do you need something to eat?” she asked.

Jo shook her head. “I ate while Lydia was at lunch.”

“How do you like things so far?”

She got a glass from a cupboard. “It’s fine, so far.”

Alice smiled. “The days would be too long for me. Plus, sometimes you’re just waiting around.”

Jo got water from a refrigerator dispenser and took a drink. “I guess so.” She glanced around. “Where is Lydia now?”

Alice pointed with a pen. “Out back. I’ll be heading to the grocery store in a minute. Is there anything special you’d like? I can get you whatever you want.”

Jo finished her drink and put the glass in the sink. “No, I’m fine. I’m not a picky eater.”

The woman laughed. “Sounds good.”

Jo left her there and wandered toward the foyer. She didn’t see Samual. Upstairs, she could hear a vacuum running. She was tempted to check the second floor, but there could be more people up there, and she couldn’t think of a viable excuse for her presence if someone saw her. She didn’t want to draw suspicion to herself, so she acted casual, as if she had a purpose, as she walked down a hallway to the right of the main doors. There was a large, empty laundry room to the left, a sitting room to the right, and past that, some large wooden double-doors. She glanced around, then tried the knob.

Locked.

She turned and headed back down the hallway before she encountered anybody who might ask what she was doing. Another hallway led to a game room, then a large den with leather couches and a TV. Jo sat for a while, listening to the sounds of the house. Alice hummed in the kitchen, the sound fading away as a door opened and closed. Still no sign of anyone else.

Jo wandered around and ended up back in the den. An hour later, Alice came back, the sounds of her bustling about the kitchen soft in the background. Jo grew bored, and she went into the sitting room where Lydia had interviewed her. Early-evening sunlight filtered through the windows, and Jo looked out to the backyard. Lydia was standing near a large swimming pool, a troubled look on her face. Jo stood to the side of a window and watched.

The woman stared at the aqua water, the surface like glass. She wore baggy white slacks, a loose-fitting yellow blouse, low heels, gold jewelry reflecting the sunlight. She frowned and took another step toward the edge of the pool, near the deep end. A hand went to her mouth, and she appeared to be biting her finger. Then her hand dropped to her side. She took another step forward, a foot from the water’s edge.

Was she going to jump?

Jo moved to the door, and just as she opened it, a musical tone filled the air. Lydia startled and pulled her cell phone from her pocket. She kept her back to Jo as she answered the call.

“Hello? Oh, hi, Mackenzie.”

Mackenzie Potts, from the party?

Jo kept a hand on the knob, listening. Lydia’s sigh carried across the patio to her.

“As I explained, I needed to leave,” Lydia said. “Something came up.” She listened, nodding. “Yes, the food was excellent.” Another nod. “I’m sorry I missed that. Perhaps next year.”

Jo glanced over her shoulder, making sure no one saw her spying on Lydia. Then she eased the door open wider so she could hear better. The rest of the yard was calm, peaceful, as the woman continued her conversation.

“Oh, you don’t need to apologize. It was nothing.” Then her back stiffened. “What do you mean?” The words were sharp. She listened for a moment, the phone pressed to her ear. Even at a distance, Jo could see that her knuckles were white. “Where did you hear that?” She drew in a jagged breath. “I’m sure you must be mistaken. No, I—” Another pause, then, “It’s not your husband. It’s mine.”

Jo thought she heard something, and she spun around. Just the empty hallway. She needed to be careful, so she took a step back and started to close the door. Lydia raised her voice even more.

“Why didn’t you say something before?”

The answer must not have been satisfactory, because Lydia snapped at Mackenzie, and then apologized.

“You know, I appreciate the call, but I do need to go.” Lydia’s voice dripped a pleasant tone that was clearly forced. “Will you be at the dinner next Saturday?” She shook her head. “Okay, thank you for the call, and the apology. It’s appreciated.”

She listened for a moment, then pulled the phone away from her ear and swiped at the screen. After shoving the phone forcefully into her pocket, she stared at the pool, a hand on her forehead. Then she spun around and saw Jo. She gasped, then cleared her throat. Jo acted as if she had just been coming to the door. She smiled and stepped outside.

“I wanted to see if you needed anything,” Jo said. Lydia’s mouth was downturned, and she looked as if she might cry. “Is everything okay?”

Lydia touched her hair and cleared her throat. “It’s fine.” She sucked in a breath, and her demeanor suddenly changed, a determined look spreading across her face. “You know what? I’d like to go out again. JD has a dinner engagement tonight, so I’m free. Could you have the car ready in ten minutes?”

“It’s ready now, ma’am.”

Jo moved back as Lydia stepped past her and into the house. Her heels clicked on the marble floor as she headed for the foyer.

“I’ll be ready in a few minutes,” she called over her shoulder.

She walked with purpose toward the staircase, then ascended, one hand firmly on the rail. When she reached the top, she disappeared down a hallway.

As Jo headed toward the front door, she wondered what had so suddenly changed Lydia’s demeanor.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Kline had had a busy day, working on various security issues for JD, chasing down leads, coordinating with his people. One of the many things he’d done was to arrange a meeting with Damek. Kline had chosen a different place to meet him this time, northeast of Dallas, in the middle of nowhere. Even less chance of anyone seeing them than when they’d met in the parking garage.

The man had clearly been surprised that Kline had requested an in-person meeting. When Damek drove up in a different vehicle—something equally as mundane as the previous car he’d had—he got out, a concerned look on his face. But he tried to play it cool.

“What’s going on? You didn’t want to talk on the phone.”

His accent seemed slightly more pronounced, maybe a sign of his worry. Kline approached and leaned against the side of the car, then crossed his arms. The late afternoon was beautiful, about seventy degrees with a slight breeze blowing. He looked across the plains to the distant horizon. It had never bothered him to live in Texas before, but for some reason, right now, he wanted nothing more than a drink at a beach. The pressures were getting to him. Kline gestured to Damek’s shirt.

“Lift it up.”

Damek’s eyebrows shot up. “What’s going on? You don’t trust me?”

Kline looked around. He did trust Damek—or had, at least until these latest developments. He didn’t think the man would turn on him, but he couldn’t be too careful.

“Just checking.”

Damek pulled up his shirt to show that he wasn’t wearing a wire, and for good measure, he turned his pockets inside out, then raised his pant legs. When he finished, he was careful to hold his hands at his sides. Kline took that to mean Damek was showing he wasn’t a threat, that he didn’t have a weapon. The man didn’t appear perturbed—he seemed to be taking it all in stride, but he also seemed curious.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Tell me about the woman at the bank,” Kline said.

“Sabrina?”

Kline nodded. “Yes.”

Damek didn’t waste any time, or any words. He went over everything with Kline, told him what had happened right from the start. He was thorough, yet succinct. Kline had heard all of it before. He had a good memory, and he didn’t think he’d missed anything from their research on Sabrina. Still, when Damek finished, he began asking questions.

“You had her scared into doing what you wanted, right?” Kline asked.

The man held up his hands. “Yeah, sure.” His accent was still heavier than usual. “She seemed interested in the money I offered, but maybe not enough to help. We knew about her and her boyfriend, and that loosened her lips. Later, when I wanted to meet her again, she tried to get out of it, so I told her we’d go after her mother and younger brother. That seemed to convince her.”

“She was truly scared, not playing you?”

Damek narrowed his eyes. “You know me. I can’t be fooled like that.”

“She wouldn’t have gone to the police? Maybe once you approached her, she worked with them, telling them what you were planning?”

“No way. I was watching her, and so was one of my men. That woman was scared into doing what we wanted.” He held up a hand. “How about telling me what’s going on.”

Kline studied him, making sure Damek wasn’t fooling him. The man seemed genuinely surprised by the questions, which Kline thought meant he hadn’t had more contact with Sabrina since the robbery. He didn’t seem to know what was going on. Kline looked past him to the sun, then spoke.

“She went to the police.”

“What?”

He nodded. “Thursday, and I haven’t seen her since.”

Damek started pacing, cursing with each step. He said something in another language before addressing Kline again. “Man, you gotta believe me. It was all good. I had her scared. I don’t know what happened. You’re sure she went to the police, not that they questioned her at the bank, got her talking?”

Kline shook his head. “They talked to her that day, like they talked to everybody after the robbery. She went home, and from what I’ve gathered, nothing was unusual until Thursday morning, when she met with another woman. Then Sabrina went to the police and talked. I don’t know what she told them, though.”

“Nobody’s come to me or my men. They haven’t discovered us.”

“When you were planning things, you watched her, right? She didn’t talk to anybody else, didn’t go to the police then?”

“We tailed her, and no, she didn’t go to the police. When I met with her again, I asked her if she talked to them, and she denied it.”

“You believed her?” Kline asked, even though he knew the answer.

“Of course. We wouldn’t have worked with her if I was suspicious.”

“Any idea where she might’ve gone after she talked to them on Thursday?”

“You checked with her friends?”

“Yes.”

Kline’s people had already talked with the friends they knew about, and none of them had any idea where she was. His people were still working on that angle, and Kline was confident they would find Sabrina. He only wished it would happen faster. Kline drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Tell me what Sabrina was like during the robbery,” he said.

“I wasn’t paying that much attention to the people, but she acted scared, just like everyone else.”

“What happened with Rico?”

Damek grunted. “I told you before, he was trying to play the superhero, and my man hit him once. It was no big deal.”

“Any chance he and Sabrina talked, or that she told anyone else about her involvement with you?”

“No.” Damek scrunched up his face, thinking. Then he shook his head emphatically. “No way. She did a pretty good job of acting scared, but she wasn’t running her mouth. At least when I was around the hostages.”

“Who else did she interact with?” Kline asked.

Damek stared at the sky as if picturing the scene. “Nobody that I saw.”

“Was anyone else acting odd?”

“Nothing like that, but another woman tried to talk to one of my guys. She said he didn’t want to get anyone hurt, and my guy told her to shut up.”

“Did he describe her?”

Damek took a second, then said, “Longer hair, lighter-colored, like blond.”

“Tall or short? Fat or thin? Eye color?”

Damek snickered. “Hell, I don’t know what color her eyes were. I was too focused elsewhere. But she was thinner, and looked fit.” He thought some more. “She seemed calm throughout the robbery, though. One of my guys said she tried to help after he hit Rico, and he told her to shut up again.”

Kline thought about his description of the woman. Was this the same woman Sabrina’s neighbor had seen the morning she’d gone to the police? He couldn’t be sure, and he kept peppering Damek with questions, trying to get more information about the woman.

The man finally threw up his hands. “Man, I know you want me to tell you more, but I can’t. You know how a bank robbery goes. There’s a lot of running around, everything happening fast. We had to make sure we did everything right.”

Technically, Kline didn’t know how one went. He’d committed a lot of crimes, but a robbery and hostage-taking at a bank wasn’t among them. He got the gist of what Damek was saying, though. And he had paid the man more for his expertise in the robbery then for attention to every detail of the hostages.

“You’re sure you didn’t miss anything else at the bank? No one else acted suspiciously, as if they knew something they shouldn’t have, or that Sabrina was involved?”

Damek shook his head. “No, or I would’ve taken care of it. And I would’ve told you.” He again muttered in his native tongue. “I can’t believe Sabrina turned. She seemed the perfect mark, the best person to work with us.”

“You and your men need to be careful. You need to stay low. Now more than ever.”

“Don’t worry about us,” Damek said. “We weren’t doing anything anyway, and we certainly won’t now.” He grimaced. “What are you going to do about Sabrina?”

Kline thought about that. “I have to find her, and then I’m not sure.”

“If you want her gone, we can take care of it.”

Kline had already considered that. It would take quite a sum of money to get Damek to get rid of the bank employee, and it might be the best thing to do. Kline couldn’t afford to get directly involved in that murder. It would make sense to have Damek kill her, though. If he did, and the police ever came back to him, it would look as if he was eliminating someone who could tie him to the robbery.

Before that, though, Kline wanted to talk to Sabrina himself. There were some things he couldn’t trust to others, and he wanted to hear what she had to say. He would be thorough with her in a way that no one else would be.

But he had to find her first.

The two men stood in silence for a long while, and then Kline spoke.

“There’s nothing else you need to tell me?”

“No,” Damek said. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything, like I told you I would. You know me.”

Kline did. On the one hand, he hated having to drill the man as he’d just done. Then again, he hadn’t expected Sabrina to turn, either. That changed everything.

“Be careful,” Kline said.

He stepped away from the vehicle as Damek slid behind the wheel and headed down the road. When the car was just a speck on the horizon, Kline walked slowly to his rental and drove off in the other direction.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

When Lydia walked outside, her driver was standing by the back door of the SUV, the engine running. As she approached, Jo opened the door with a smile.

Lydia still felt on edge, and she knew she looked it. Upstairs, she’d touched up her makeup, but she couldn’t hide the paleness of her skin, the worry lines flaring from the corners of her eyes. Large sunglasses covered that now, but there was only so much she could do. She got into the back seat and waited for Jo to get behind the wheel. The driver glanced in the rearview mirror.

“Where to?” Jo asked politely.

Lydia had been thinking about that. She wanted to go someplace where no one would know her, where Kline and his people wouldn’t expect her to be. She glanced out the window to the house—she wanted to be far away from here.

“There’s a bar called Remington’s, in Irving.” She glanced at her phone and told Jo the address. “Go there.”

She’d heard her son, Bryce, mention Remington’s, but she’d never been there herself. It wasn’t the type of place she would normally go to, and neither would any of her friends or associates. Which was exactly what she wanted.

Jo nodded and put the SUV in gear. The air-conditioner was running, and it was cool. It should have been refreshing, but Lydia was too focused on other things. She wrung her hands, thinking about the phone call she’d received when she’d been near the pool.

Mackenzie Potts had called, ostensibly to apologize for her words the previous evening. At first, she’d sounded sincere, and had told Lydia she shouldn’t have mentioned anything about JD. But the woman wouldn’t let it go, saying that if something was going on with her husband, she’d want her friends to let her know.

Lydia snorted at the thought, and the driver glanced in the rearview mirror.

“Ma’am?”

“I’m sorry, I’m upset,” Lydia said.

Jo hesitated. “Anything you want to talk about?”

Hell yes, Lydia thought, shocked at the intensity of her feelings. Her mind went back to Mackenzie. She wasn’t sure what to believe, whether the woman really cared about what JD might’ve done, or if she only wanted to pile on from last night. Because she had pointed out more, had said that something had gone on with JD years ago, that there was talk of something illegal. Lydia had no idea why Mackenzie wouldn’t have said something at the time, but she wasn’t going to ask that now. She also didn’t know how Mackenzie had gotten this information.

However, Lydia wasn’t going to give the woman the satisfaction of knowing that she was getting under her skin. Nor was she going to say that Mackenzie’s phone call was a slap in the face, the final thing that made her drag herself from the denial she’d been in.

It was all right there. She’d heard JD with Kline, and she knew he was up to something bad. She desperately wanted someone to talk to, but who? She had friends, but no one as close as her mother had been. Who could she trust that wouldn’t turn on her, creating more rumors, fueling the likes of Mackenzie?

The thought of her mother made Lydia choke back a sob. That brought another concerning look from the driver.

“Do you need a moment?” she asked. “I can pull over and give you some privacy.”

“I’m fine,” Lydia said, knowing her tone didn’t match the words.

Jo kept driving, but she kept an eye on Lydia. Then she spoke again.

“Ma’am, forgive me if I’m overstepping my boundaries, but you don’t look okay. I was worried about you when I saw you by the pool.”

Lydia’s head jerked up. “What did you think I was going to do?”

Jo shrugged. “I don’t know. But you kept getting closer to the edge.”

She laughed bitterly. “I wasn’t going to . . . harm myself. I was . . . deep in thought. There are some things going on, and I’m not sure what to do. You don’t know this about me, but I like the water. It’s calming for me. That’s why I was out there.”

“And then you received a phone call?”

“Yes. I . . .”

Lydia didn’t know how much she should share. She felt drawn to this woman, and she couldn’t explain why. Was she being foolish, not seeing something about her driver? Kline seemed to think so. But then, she couldn’t trust him.

She again went over her list of friends, pondering who she could talk to. She dismissed each person for one reason or another, and a hopeless feeling crept into her brain. She didn’t know what to do. The driver remained silent, focused on the road. The miles flew by, and then they pulled into the Remington’s parking lot. Lydia stared out the windshield. The place was big, with a brick-and-stone exterior, plenty of windows, and tables under covered patios. No, not the type of place Lydia would go. She scanned the parking lot, not recognizing any vehicles.

“Do you want me to drop you off at the door?” Jo asked.

Lydia met her gaze in the rearview mirror, and she made a sudden decision.

“No,” she said. “Park the car and come inside with me.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Jo pulled into the first space she could find, and as she hopped out, she looked to see if they’d been followed. She hadn’t seen anyone, which was good. As she hurried around the front of the vehicle, Lydia was already getting out of the back seat.

“Let me help,” Jo said as she shut the back door.

Lydia barely acknowledged that, already heading toward the bar entrance. It was as if she didn’t want anyone to think she had a driver with her. Jo caught up and opened the door to the bar. Lydia stepped inside, Jo at her heels.

Remington’s was open and spacious. Several people sat at stools at a huge bar that dominated the room. People filled booths and tables to the left and right of the bar, their conversations echoing loudly throughout the space. Large TVs mounted to the walls and in upper corners of the room showed a wide selection of sporting events. Lydia stood by a hostess stand, hands clasped in front of her.

“Do you come here often?” Jo asked, trying for casual conversation.

Lydia shook her head. “I wanted someplace different, where . . .” She didn’t finish the sentence.

Where no one would know her, Jo thought to herself.

A hostess approach with a big smile. “Hello, ladies,” she said. “Would you like a table, or would you prefer to sit in the bar?”

Lydia pointed to the right. “A booth, if you have it.”

“Of course,” the woman said. She grabbed two menus from the stand. “Follow me.”

Lydia’s back was ramrod straight as she followed the hostess between tables toward the back of the room. As she paused by a booth, Jo instinctively moved past Lydia so she could sit where she had a visual of the bar entrance. Lydia slid into the booth, and Jo sat opposite her.

“Your server will be with you in a moment,” the hostess said, the smile still etched on her face.

Lydia nodded, and the woman walked away. Music played loudly, forcing people to raise their voices. Fried food smells wafted through the air. Lydia looked around at her surroundings, and then at Jo.

“My son, Bryce, told me about this place.” Her embarrassed laugh was almost drowned out by the noise. “I can see why he likes it here. He likes sports, and he enjoys having a drink or two while he watches a game.”

“It’s not what you would normally choose,” Jo said.

“No.”

Lydia seemed about to explain why, but a server—a stocky young man with curly hair—walked up. He plopped two thin, cardboard coasters on the table, along with menus. Lydia pushed hers aside and looked at him.

“A dry martini, please,” she said.

“Of course.” He glanced at Jo.

“Water for me,” she told him.

“Of course,” he repeated.

He turned and walked away, and Lydia studied her fingernails. Then she looked all around again. Jo waited on her. The woman was uncomfortable, her mouth pinched with strain, her hands fidgeting. She tipped her head when a new song came on.

“I recognize this one,” she said. “It was something the boys would have playing in the car. I have no idea who the artist is, though.”

Jo didn’t know the song. “I missed out on a lot of cultural things when I was in the military. I was too focused in other areas.”

“Why did you choose the Army?” Lydia asked.

“That’s a good question.” Jo gave it some genuine thought. “In high school, I knew I wanted a military career, and ROTC seemed like a good way to go. I liked what the Army offered.” She smiled. “Maybe the recruiter just talked a good talk with me.”

“You became an officer?”

Jo nodded. “It was a way to get a college education, and some experience and training at the same time.”

Lydia studied her. “You were good at what you did?”

“Yes,” Jo said. She wasn’t bragging; she had been good.

“You went into Civil Affairs?”

“That came later.”

It felt as if Lydia wanted her to talk more, and Jo saw the woman’s curiosity as a way to build more rapport. So she opened up more than she might have under different circumstances, sharing how her career had evolved. She was an overachiever and had excelled in the Army—she’d been an expert markswoman, and she was gifted with foreign languages. Jo had developed a reputation as a skilled asset on intelligence operations, which led to more missions. All that had been a good fit with CA.

She finished right as the server brought their drinks.

“I’m not hungry,” Lydia said. She looked at Jo.

“Nothing for me,” she said, following her boss’s lead.

Lydia looked at the server. “We’ll stick with our drinks for now.”

“Of course,” he said, and backed away.

As Jo took a drink of water, Lydia sipped her martini, then set down the glass.

“You never know where things are going to go,” she said. “I went to college, and that’s where I met JD. I’d gone to a party and then for drinks, and he was there. It wasn’t love at first sight, but there was an attraction, and we started dating. Even though we came from different backgrounds, I knew he was something special. I knew he would go places. He did, and I was proud of him. And he was fine with me focusing on charities, trying to do things to help out.” She took another drink. “I never thought I would end up . . . here.”

Jo knew she didn’t mean at the bar, rather at this place in her life. She contemplated her new boss, seeing a woman who desperately needed a listening ear, someone to offer some comfort. Jo was tempted to reach out and touch her hand, but she didn’t. Instead, she spoke as softly as she could over the din around them.

“Is there something you want to talk about?”

Lydia pressed her lips together firmly, and the muscles in her jaw worked. She seemed at war with herself, not sure what to do or say. But whatever load she was carrying had become too much to bear. Her eyes watered, and she glanced toward the window, where no one could see her face.

“You can talk to me,” Jo encouraged her.

Lydia thought long and hard, and then she turned back to face her.

“My husband is having an affair,” she said. She sucked in a breath as if saying the words had been like someone hitting her. Then she took another drink, her hand shaking. The glass rattled when she set it back down. “Oh, who am I kidding? He’s had multiple affairs.”

“I’m sorry,” Jo murmured.

Lydia flicked a hand at her. “No, don’t start with apologies. It is what it is, and I’ve pretended like it wasn’t happening for far too long. Like, if I didn’t acknowledge it, it wouldn’t be true.” She gulped. “But it is true. All of it’s true. Everything Mackenzie said, and probably everything that happened . . . way back then.”

Jo kept a straight face, not showing the exhilaration she felt. She couldn’t blow it now. She nodded, trying to look sympathetic. Sometimes it was better to wait. People liked to talk, and Lydia was someone who desperately needed to tell her story.

The woman squirmed in her seat for a moment, and then went on.

“There were rumors of something going on with JD, a long time ago. Mackenzie brought that up last night.” She blinked back tears. “Back then, I knew something was up. JD didn’t act like himself, and it was obvious there was some kind of strain on him. I told myself it had something to do with his work, because I knew that could be stressful for him.” She covered her eyes for a moment and then dropped her hand. She looked out the window. “What a fool I’ve been,” she said forcefully. “I should’ve seen things, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to believe JD could be capable of anything wrong.”

Now Jo hazarded a question. “There was more than the affair?”

“I think so. I don’t know what, but something illegal. Something he and Kline covered up.” She stopped talking, and her face went tight. She stared hard at Jo. “Let me tell you, I’m not putting up with it anymore. He may be worrying about what others would do if he gets caught, but he should be worrying about me. He is not going to drag me through the muck. I’m going to find out what’s going on, one way or another.” She tapped the table for emphasis. “This ends right now.”

“If you’re right, how would you prove what your husband did?”

She fixed her gaze on Jo. “You’re going to help me.”

Jo feigned surprise. “What? How?”

“If there’s proof that JD did something wrong, it might be in his office. That’s a starting place, anyway.”

Jo pretended to be uncertain, but she couldn’t believe Lydia had given her the exact opportunity she desperately needed. She held up her hands to her boss.

“I don’t know. I just got here, and I barely know you. I’m just your driver.”

“You’re my driver, and my confidant,” Lydia said. “You’re supposed to help me where I need it. This is where I need it.”

Jo took a moment, playing it up, and then she said, “What do you want me to do?”

Lydia downed the last of her drink slowly, as if giving herself time to think. “We need to search JD’s office. I know he has a locked drawer in his desk. If we can get into it, maybe we find something.”

“You have a key?”

The woman shook her head. “We’ll see if he hid one somewhere. If not, you’ll have to break the lock.”

Jo sat back. “Me?”

“Please,” Lydia begged her. “If something goes wrong, and you get caught, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll smooth things over with JD and Kline, and I’ll pay you handsomely for your troubles.”

“I don’t know.”

“I need your help,” Lydia said. “Please.”

Jo looked at her, knowing what her answer would be. She acted hesitant, resisting as much as she dared to without losing the break she’d been given.

Then she looked down and sighed, before making eye contact once more. “I’ll do what I can.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Kline was speeding toward downtown Dallas when one of his people called.

“Talk to me.”

“We found the woman.” He didn’t say Sabrina’s name. “She’s with an old family acquaintance named Rosa Gutierrez. Apparently, she hasn’t talked to Rosa in a long time.”

Kline gripped the wheel hard. He didn’t ask for details; how and why Sabrina had ended up there didn’t matter at the moment. “Where?”

His man gave him an address and told him how to get there. Kline wouldn’t put it into the car’s GPS, just in case someone did track the car to him. Highly unlikely, but why take chances?

“I drove by there, and it’s under surveillance,” his man said. “There’s a guy in a car down the block, and one out back, in the alley. They’ve been there for a while.”

“Did either one make you?”

The guy laughed. “No way. They had no clue I was there. When I left, they stayed put. No one followed me. You want me to head back over there?”

“I’ll handle this,” Kline said.

The man hesitated. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

Kline ended the call without another word, then drove to a Walmart. He parked, pulled out his phone, and got on Google maps. He studied the area where Rosa lived and quickly devised a plan on how to approach. Then he went into the Walmart and paid cash for a black ski mask and gloves.

Back in the rental, he drove to a park over ten blocks away from Rosa Gutierrez’s house. If the police—or any other agency—searched for him later, trying to find surveillance video on the surrounding houses, they wouldn’t look this far. He found a place where no one was around, left the car, and jogged down the block, keeping his head low. A lone car drove past him, but it didn’t stop. The driver probably barely noticed him; he was just someone out for a run.

Kline stole into the park, thick with trees that cast long shadows. He ran fast in the stillness, and once on the other side of the park, he went a few more blocks, then cut into an alley.

He stayed low, using trash cans and dumpsters to shield himself from view. He was alone, so he donned the ski mask and gloves as he sneaked along. This was all the kind of thing he’d done before, and he knew how to keep quiet. As he drew closer to Rosa’s backyard, he spotted a dark vehicle parked near a garage next door to her house. He crouched down and immediately saw a man sitting in the driver’s seat.

Kline knew about surveillance. The man had probably been there for hours. He would be tired and bored, not paying as much attention as he should have. He’d be looking for obvious movement, obvious signs of someone approaching. Kline eased back carefully, his actions quick and efficient. Once out of sight, he hopped a fence and went into a back yard, then quietly sneaked into the yard next door to Rosa’s. There was no fence here, doing him a favor. He watched the house for a moment. It was still, no one home.

He crossed the yard and pressed himself against the side wall of the garage. His movements brought no action, so he took out a Sig Sauer P229 from his pocket, stole to the edge of the garage, and peeked around the corner. The man was still in the driver’s seat, his gaze focused on the alley. Kline crab-walked around the back of the vehicle, so low to the ground he wouldn’t be seen. He edged around the corner of the sedan, and in one quick motion, he flicked open the door and pressed the pistol to the man’s forehead.

“Don’t move,” he hissed. “Hands on the wheel.”

The man did as Kline ordered. He started to say something, but Kline quickly reached in and put his forearm around the man’s neck. He squeezed hard, choking the man until he was unconscious. Then he pulled him out of the vehicle and used his shoelaces to tie his hands behind his back. He bound his feet next. Lastly, he stuffed the man’s own sock into his mouth.

Kline shoved him face down into the car and eased the door shut. The whole process had taken less than sixty seconds. The man would be out for several minutes, and when he came to, Kline would be long gone.

He listened for a moment, the stillness in his ears. He wasted no time sneaking into Rosa’s back yard. The neighborhood was quiet as he ran to a back door and tried the knob. It was locked, so he used a knife to jimmy it. He got the door open, and he stepped inside just as Sabrina came around a corner. She must’ve heard something.

He pointed the Sig Sauer at her with one hand and put a finger to his lips with the other. Her jaw dropped, but she didn’t let out a peep. He took a couple of quick steps toward her, spun her around before she knew what was happening, and pinned one arm behind her back. She gasped as he held the pistol to her forehead.

“Who else is here?” he whispered in her ear.

“My mother,” she said. She raised her free hand and pointed to a doorway.

Kline propelled her down a short hall to an open door. A woman with salt-and-pepper hair was lying on a bed. When she saw Sabrina and Kline, she started to yell. Kline pointed the pistol at her.

“Shut up.”

The woman stopped, her mouth still open, her eyes as wide as half dollars. Kline shoved Sabrina into the room.

“Sit down.”

She sank onto the bed next to her mother, who still lay prone. Kline glanced down the hall.

“Who else is here?” he repeated.

Sabrina was shaking. “Just us. My friend isn’t home from work yet.”

Kline moved the pistol slightly. “If you’re lying, I put a bullet in your mother’s head.”

“I’m not lying!” Sabrina whined.

“Why did you talk to the police?” he snapped at her.

“What?” Sabrina asked, as if having trouble finding words. Her mother kept quiet.

“We told you if you talked to anyone, you’re dead,” he said.

Sabrina’s hands were up, trembling. “I wasn’t going to, but a woman from the bank came to talk to me. She said she could help me, and that I should tell the police what I know. I shouldn’t have talked to her or the police, but I didn’t know what to do.”

“What woman?”

“She was in the bank during the robbery.”

“A hostage?”

“Yes.”

Kline thought about the men outside. “The police offered you protection?”

She nodded. “They did, but by then I was scared. If the man who wanted my help saw me with them, he’d know I talked. I figured I’d hide out until . . .”

“Until the robbers got caught?”

“Yes,” she murmured.

He snickered. “You thought taking your chances with us was best?” She had severely underestimated what might happen.

“Please,” Sabrina’s mother said. “My daughter made a mistake.”

Kline ignored the older woman and stared at Sabrina. “Tell me about the woman who came to your house.”

“She found the money I was paid, and she knew I’d sold information to somebody. I was scared, and I didn’t know what to do, so I told her what happened. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.” She put her face in her hands and wailed. “I made a mess of everything. Oh, what am I going to do?”

“Who are the men outside with?”

She stopped crying and looked at him. “What men?”

The woman seemed genuinely surprised. Kline thought fast. She’d said she turned down police protection, but they must’ve followed her anyway. He would’ve done the same thing, to see what she was up to after she talked to them. And they would be making sure she was safe.

“Weren’t you suspicious of the woman who came to talk to you?” he asked.

She shrugged. “At first, but she seemed to know what she was doing. She used to be a cop or something, and she stayed with me, made me feel protected. Look, I’m sorry.”

“What was her name?”

“Jo.”

Not a lot of things surprised Kline, but that did. He stared at Sabrina.

“Last name?”

She shook her head. “She didn’t tell me. She seemed nice, though. She was scared for herself.”

“Describe her.” She did, and a sinking feeling crept into his stomach. He swore. “What did you tell the police about Jo?”

“Just what I told you,” Sabrina said. “I don’t think she was working with them.”

“She hasn’t been back to talk to you since?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. We’ve been hiding here. Rosa’s getting us everything we need, and we haven’t left the house.”

Kline wondered why he hadn’t caught up to her sooner. She’d done well in that regard, especially if she hadn’t been working with Jo or the police.

“Please don’t hurt us,” Sabrina’s mom said.

He stepped forward and looked at the older woman then hit her with the Sig Sauer—one quick, efficient move. She lay still, knocked out.

“Mama!” Sabrina cried out.

“I’ll do more to both of you if you say anything about me,” he said.

Sabrina started to raise a hand, and Kline hit her as well. She slumped over, falling half on her mother. He sneaked back through the house, carefully checking windows as he went. There was no activity outside. The agent down the street apparently hadn’t seen or heard anything to arouse his suspicions.

Kline crept toward the kitchen, then knelt down and opened the back door, listening. Just the stillness of the evening, so he slipped outside and ran through the yard, stopping to make sure the man in the car was still unconscious. Kline hurried down the alley and crossed the street. As he ran through the park, he tore off his mask and gloves. He didn’t think anyone had seen him, and even if the police managed to trace his movements back to his car, it was a rental in another name. He got in and drove slowly out of the neighborhood, careful not to draw attention to the vehicle. His heart thudded in his chest as he went over what he’d learned. It was bad. So bad.

He made his way to the parking garage where he’d left his own vehicle, a garage he’d scoped out many times. There were no surveillance cameras there, nothing to alert anybody to him. He switched vehicles, and as he headed out, he called his police contact one more time. Kline figured the man wouldn’t answer, but for the second time in less than half an hour, he was surprised.

“I was going to contact you,” the man said as the call clicked on, before Kline even had the chance to speak.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Jo and Lydia sat for a moment, the music and noise of the bar around them. Jo knew there were risks in trying to get into JD’s desk, and she wasn’t sure Lydia grasped the true danger they would both be in if they moved forward with their plans.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked. She hoped Lydia would still want to move forward. But she needed to know that the woman could follow through completely. “We can’t do this partway.”

Lydia met her look. “Don’t worry about me. I’m putting a stop to whatever JD’s been doing, once and for all.” She gulped down the last of her martini. “We should get back. We can discuss this more in the car.”

Jo held up a hand. “Does your husband keep tabs on you? Is there surveillance equipment on the vehicle, or listening devices somewhere inside it?”

She shook her head. “I insisted he not do that. My conversations need to be private, and JD knows that. He wouldn’t dare go behind my back.”

Jo wasn’t so sure. “Let’s go over things now. We need to act normal once we’re in the car, and at the house. Just in case.”

Lydia glanced around nervously. “If he figures out I’m here, I can make up an excuse as to why.”

“How are we going to get into his office? Does he keep the door locked?” Jo asked, pretending she didn’t already know the answer.

“The door’s locked, and my husband and Kline have keys.” A sly smile crossed her face. “At least, that’s what they think.”

“You have one?”

“Yes,” Lydia said. “I had one made without JD knowing.” She frowned. “Well, I think it still works. If it doesn’t, we’ll break into the room.”

“I don’t know,” Jo said. “That’s dicey.”

“You could pick the lock,” Lydia said.

Jo knew she could, but there was more risk of someone seeing them. “Let’s try the key first.”

“Once we get into the office, you can look around,” Lydia said. “JD keeps at least one desk drawer locked, and I’m sure he has a key with him, but he might’ve hidden one somewhere. While you search the office, I’ll look around the rest of the house.”

“I doubt he hid a key,” Jo said. “If it’s important to keep things locked in a drawer, he won’t make it easy for someone to get into it.”

“We have to try.”

Jo nodded. “What about the staff?”

“Samual and Alice are off for the evening. They don’t work late unless JD or I need something. The maid wrapped up earlier as well. But I’ll check the house anyway to make sure no one is around.”

“Is there surveillance equipment in his office?”

“He doesn’t have any there. I’ve seen Kline sweep the room to make sure nobody else is listening in, and JD’s said that he can talk freely in his office.”

“We still need to be careful,” Jo said. “We get in and out as fast as we can.”

“Right.”

She thought for a second. “When I park the car, I’ll spend a few minutes in the garage, cleaning up the SUV, killing time. While I do that, you make sure the house is empty.”

“Okay,” Lydia said. She pulled a tiny cash wallet from her purse and dropped enough money on the table to pay for her drink, plus a healthy tip. “Let’s go.”

Jo went with her to the SUV. When she pulled out of the parking place, she glanced at Lydia in the rearview mirror. The woman looked determined, but apprehensive, too. Jo felt uneasy herself. As she drove toward the mansion, her mind raced. Everything they’d proposed sounded so simple, but things rarely turned out that way. There were always problems, obstacles she couldn’t anticipate. And if she did find incriminating evidence against JD, she would need to contact Kelsey as soon as she could.

She soon turned onto the long drive of the Babineaux property and pulled up in front. Both she and Lydia acted normal, as if their evening had been routine. Jo got out and opened the door for her, and Lydia thanked her as she’d done before.

“Once you park the car, meet me inside so we can discuss tomorrow,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jo replied.

Lydia strode up the front porch, and Jo got back in the SUV and drove it around to the garage. She parked and spent a few minutes stalling, cleaning the already clean car, and then went inside. Lydia was waiting in the foyer.

“We’re alone,” she murmured.

She didn’t say anything else, just turned and went down the hall toward JD’s office. Jo quietly followed, and Lydia tried the office door. As they’d both suspected, it was locked. Lydia held up a key. Jo held her breath in anticipation as her boss put it into the lock. A small click sounded, and the door opened. Lydia let out a huge sigh for both of them. She pushed open the door, and they entered the office.

Lydia shut the door and turned to Jo.

“Let’s check the desk.”

“Hang on,” Jo whispered. She hadn’t seen Kline all day, and he popped to mind. “Let me check for surveillance.”

She quickly searched behind paintings and sculptures, the usual places where someone might hide surveillance devices, but she didn’t find anything. She scoped out the rest of the room, then nodded. Lydia breathed another sigh of relief.

“There still could be something,” Jo said softly. “We need to hurry.”

Lydia nodded, and they went to the desk and tried the drawers.

“This one’s locked, of course,” Lydia muttered. “I was hoping we’d get lucky.”

“We can’t count on luck.”

Lydia glanced around. “Start looking around the room. Maybe JD left a key here. While you do that, I’m going to check our bedroom upstairs.”

“Okay,” Jo said without enthusiasm.

Lydia quietly left the room, and Jo began searching for the key. JD had leather-bound books on mahogany shelves, and she rooted around them, noting that most had never been opened. She inspected a few sculptures as well, careful to put things back so that the man wouldn’t know anything had been disturbed. Even as she was doing that, she wondered if she was wasting her time. He wouldn’t have left a desk key around. She grimaced. If they had to break into the desk, he would discover what they’d done. And how long would she have before Kline came after her?

When she finished, she checked sculptures on a credenza, then tackled the furniture, checking around and underneath to see if JD had stashed a key there. She ran her hands around the couch and chair cushions, wrinkling her nose at a subtle cigar odor. Next, she crawled under the desk, and she was running her hands along the wood when she heard a noise at the door. She froze, worried that he or Kline might’ve come in. Then Lydia spoke, to her relief.

“I can’t find a key anywhere.”

Jo backed out of the desk opening and stood up. “I can’t, either. Let’s face it, he didn’t hide a spare key.”

“And we need to hurry,” Lydia said as she approached the desk. She pointed to a drawer. “You’ve got to get into it.”

Jo nodded. It had been a while since she’d tried to pick a lock, and she didn’t know how long it might take her. Could she jimmy the lock in a way where JD wouldn’t notice? Jo sat down, but then she hesitated.

“Come on,” Lydia said.

“There’s no going back now.” She didn’t mention the danger they were both in.

“If we get caught, I’ll handle it.”

Jo wanted to laugh at that. If they got caught, there was no way Lydia would be able to help her. With a frown, she opened the middle drawer and took out a couple of paperclips, straightened them, then inserted the wires into the lock. She worked the wires around, her hands growing clammy as time passed. Lydia’s breathing was loud in the otherwise quiet room.

“Come on,” Lydia said.

“I’m trying,” Jo replied.

She kept at the lock. She was about to give up when she felt movement, and it gave.

“You got it!” Lydia said gleefully.

Jo nodded, pocketed the wires, and put her hand on the drawer handle.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

“Why haven’t you called me?” Kline snapped at his contact from the police station.

“Hey man,” the guy said, talking fast. He clearly knew he’d made a mistake. “I’m pretty sure they were monitoring me at the station. Somebody was suspicious that I might be sharing information. I had to be careful. But hey, I’m contacting you now.”

Kline had his window rolled up, but he heard the sound of a car horn. He looked around to assure that he was still alone. Then he spoke.

“Did you tell anyone about me?”

“Hell no.”

There was fear in his voice, but Kline believed him. He’d worked with this guy long enough to know when he was lying or not. Plus, he knew the man’s gambling habits. The guy needed the money, and he wouldn’t want to blow a good revenue source by pissing off Kline.

“What’s been going on with the robbery investigation?” Kline asked. He had something else to ask, but he’d get there soon enough.

“I told you about that woman, Sabrina Padilla. They let her go, and she didn’t want police protection. But they’re following her, anyway.”

“I figured that out.”

“Oh.” The man didn’t sound happy. He tacked on, “They brought in another woman last Thursday night.”

“Her name is Jo,” Kline said.

“Yeah.” The man sounded surprised. “How do you know that?”

“I’ve been busy,” Kline said. “What’s her last name?”

“Gunning. Her name is Jo Gunning.”

Kline squeezed his eyes shut and swore. He wasn’t surprised, and he was furious. He’d been duped by Jo, but one thing was for certain now. She was going to pay.

“What’d she tell the police?” Kline asked.

“I don’t know everything, but she was conducting her own investigation on the bank robbery, and she was looking into Trent Fontenot. I don’t know how much she knows.”

“Did she figure out who murdered him?”

“I don’t think so. I couldn’t get a lot of information. I had to be careful. She left the station, and I heard she’s been working with some other federal agency.”

Kline swiped at beads of sweat popping onto his forehead. “Who?”

“I don’t know. I’m lucky I got that information. But hey, I’ll see what else I can find out. It might be hard, though.”

Unbelievable. He was hinting for more money. Kline wanted to reach through the phone and punch the man. They had a lot bigger things to worry about.

“What about the Fontenot investigation?”

“No leads.”

That was good, at least. “I’ll be in touch,” Kline said. “When I call, you better answer.”

“Don’t worry, man, I will. And listen, I’m sorry I couldn’t get a hold of you. You know how it is, with everything—”

Kline took the phone away from his ear and swiped at it, emphatically ending the call. His guy had no idea what was coming. When he resolved things with Jo, that man would be dead as well.

He tried Jo, but she didn’t answer. Wiping the sweat off his brow, he dialed another number. After a single ring, JD answered.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

JD was sitting at a table at Nick & Sam’s Steakhouse, one of the most expensive restaurants in Dallas, when his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, seeing that it was Kline. He swore silently to himself. Kline knew he was at this dinner, that this meeting was extremely important to him, and that he wasn’t to be disturbed unless it was an emergency. A driver had dropped him off earlier, and JD was going to have dinner and then move to a room at the nearby Marriott hotel, where there would be more meetings. Kline was supposed to pick him up several hours later.

What the hell was going on? Was Kline going to chastise him not to meet with another woman tonight? JD had told him he didn’t have any plans to, and he didn’t.

“Is everything okay?” another man named Bill asked.

He flashed a charming smile. The table was full of very important people, people who had helped his political career to this point. They were strategizing how best to move forward, and he couldn’t afford to have any of them know things were going haywire on a different front.

“Yes,” JD said with another quick look at his phone. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I have a call I need to take. I’m so sorry.”

The man waved a hand. “Do what you need to do. Once you’re in Washington, that phone will be ringing all the time.” He guffawed.

JD kept the smile on his face as he pushed back his chair and got up. He swiped the phone to answer and said, “Hold on.”

Kline remained silent, but JD could hear his breathing through the phone. Something big was going on. He stepped into a foyer, and as he walked toward the exit, his smile vanished.

“What’s going on? I told you not to disturb me.”

“We’ve got a big problem,” Kline snapped. “Jo Gunning may be working for the feds. Or someone. It’s no coincidence she hired on as Lydia’s driver.”

“What?” JD gripped the phone tightly. “How do you know that?”

“I’ll explain more later, but I talked to Sabrina, and to my police contact. The information is good. We have to get back to the house now.”

“They’re there?”

“Yes. They went to a bar called Remington’s in Irving for dinner, but they’re home now,” Kline said.

“Remington’s? I’ve never heard of the place,” JD said. “Why would she go there?”

“I don’t know,” Kline said. “They’re back at the house now, but Jo isn’t answering, and neither is Lydia. You need to call your wife and see what she’s doing. And tell her to stay there with Jo.”

“I’ll call as soon as I get off the phone,” JD said.

“I’m heading your way now. Wait outside for me. We have to figure out what’s going on, now.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice. Get here as fast as you can.”

JD ended the call. He stood there for a second, aware that he was breathing raggedly. He drew in some deep breaths, straightened his tie, and strode back into the dining room. He walked up to the table with an obligatory smile.

“Everything okay?” a woman from a fundraising organization asked.

JD shook his head and kept smiling. “I’m afraid something’s come up that I need to address. You know how it goes, sometimes people can’t get things done without your input.”

“You have to take charge,” the woman’s coworker said. “You’ll be doing a lot more of that soon.”

“Yes,” JD said. One of the first things he’d do was take care of Jo Gunning. He tipped his head politely. “I’ll be in touch soon.”

He turned away from the table before anyone could ask more questions. He hurried out of the dining room, already dialing Lydia as he stepped outside again. The phone rang and rang, and then went to voicemail. He ended the call, then tried again. Still no answer.

Where was she?

JD paced in front of the restaurant, his mind a jumble of thoughts. He hoped no one at the restaurant was suspicious. They hadn’t seemed so, but he would have to smooth things over later. And what about Kline? The man had told him everything would be okay, and it wasn’t. JD swore to himself. He should have known that the bank robbery would be too big a risk. There should’ve been another way to take care of things with that stupid reporter. Kline should have come up with a better plan. Well, when they got through this, he was going to have a long talk with Kline. If the man was going to follow him to DC, they would have to be more careful.

He tried Lydia again, and as the phone rang, an ugly thought crossed his mind. She’d been acting odd lately, distant. Suspicious even. What if Jo had gotten to her, gotten her to talk? Good lord, what if she was talking to the feds? He stopped pacing, his lungs heavy.

What did Lydia know? Anything?

He tried her another time, but still no answer. He looked around. Where the hell was Kline? They had to get to the mansion, now.

A black SUV sped into the parking lot, halting in front of the restaurant. JD didn’t wait for Kline to open the door, just hopped straight into the back seat.

“Tell me everything,” he said as they screeched away from the curb.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

“What’s in there?” Lydia asked.

Jo rifled through some folders, at first glance not seeing anything that seemed important. Then, at the back of the drawer, she found some printed documents sitting on top of a black box.

“JD’s gun,” Lydia murmured.

Jo pulled out the papers, along with a USB drive. Lydia glanced at her phone.

“JD’s calling. I’m not talking to him.”

She killed the call and looked over her shoulder as Jo read some scanned copies of news articles.

“Trent Fontenot wrote these,” Jo said.

“Who’s he?” Lydia asked, exasperated as her phone rang again. She ignored it once more.

Jo glanced at her. “You don’t know the name?”

Lydia shook her head. Jo studied her, trying to see if she was lying, but she didn’t appear to be. She thought for a moment about how much she should say. She looked to the open desk drawer. She was committed now, so she took a chance.

“Trent was researching your husband, trying to find out about his illegal activities.”

Rather than seeming surprised, Lydia nodded her head determinedly.

“I’ve been wondering what JD was up to,” she said. Then her eyes narrowed. “What do you know?”

“He might’ve been involved in a couple of murders,” Jo said. “I was hoping you would know more.”

Lydia gasped and shook her head. “I . . . suspected something, but not that. And I have no proof.” She jabbed a finger at the open drawer. “I was hoping we’d find something there.”

Jo shook her head, then spent several minutes checking the drawer to make sure she hadn’t missed anything else.

“There’s nothing incriminating in any of the files,” she pronounced, then held up the USB drive. “We should look at this.” She glanced around. “But not now. We need to get out of here.”

Lydia motioned at her. “I have an office upstairs. Come on.”

Jo grabbed the papers and the drive and closed the desk drawer. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t locked. She and Lydia had opened a bag that couldn’t be closed, its contents spilled like so much trash. By the time JD noticed the drawer and its missing contents, the jimmied lock would be the least of their problems.

Lydia dashed to the door and opened it quietly, then poked her head into the hall.

“All clear,” she whispered. Then she jumped and glared at her phone. “He keeps calling.”

She dashed down the hall, Jo right behind her, alert for anything. They hurried up the stairs, not seeing anyone as they went down a wide hallway to a spacious room, completely unlike JD’s office. Where his was all dark tones and a manly feel, this room was open, light-carpeted, with maple furniture and abstract paintings on cream-colored walls. Lydia went to a long desk and sat down.

“Let me log in.”

She typed at a laptop, then muttered to herself. “Dang it, why can’t I get the password right?”

Her hands shook and she typed again, finally logging in, and then she stood up and moved to a big window that overlooked the front drive. Jo took the seat and shoved the USB drive into the port. She grabbed a mouse and tried to open the drive. Then she swore softly.

“What?” Lydia asked.

“The drive’s password-protected,” Jo said.

Lydia frowned. “There must be a way to get past that. I know some of the passwords JD’s used.”

“If this is Trent’s drive, JD’s passwords won’t work.”

“I have no idea who that belongs to,” Lydia said. “Try this.”

She gave Jo a password, and Jo typed it in.

“That didn’t work,” Jo said.

Lydia told her a few more, and still no luck. Jo tried a few passwords she thought Trent might use, combinations involving his name, but none worked.

“We need some software to look at this,” she said.

“Could you get something like that?” Lydia asked.

“It would take some time.”

Jo sat back. She had to get the drive to Kelsey. Her team would be able to break into it. However, Lydia didn’t know who Jo was working with. She thought of an excuse she could make, and she turned to Lydia. The woman still stood in the window, her face pale as she stared at her phone.

“JD keeps calling me,” Lydia said. “I’ll put a stop to that.”

Jo held up a hand. “No, don’t.”

But it was too late. Lydia was answering the call.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Lydia’s hand shook as she put the phone to her ear.

“JD,” she snapped.

She heard the anger in her tone, but she was done trying to be nice, done trying to hide what she’d been feeling. She was going to resolve things with her husband now.

“Why haven’t you answered my calls?” He seethed with anger.

“Don’t talk to me that way,” she said as she looked at Jo.

Her driver didn’t look happy, but right at that moment, Lydia didn’t care. She was fed up with everything.

“I know you had affairs,” she said. He started to protest, but she cut him off. “Stop, stop! Don’t try to deny it. I’ve spent too long doing that, pretending like the rumors weren’t true. But they are.”

“Lydia, you’re wrong,” he said.

“What else have you been hiding?”

“What do you mean?”

“What happened all those years ago?”

His voice immediately became more careful. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“JD, stop lying to me!” It almost came out in a shout.

“You’re wrong. Listen, I’m almost home, and we’ll talk.”

“No. It’s over.” She gulped hard as the words spewed out of her mouth. “I don’t care if all this ruins your career, if it ruins our marriage. You’ve embarrassed both of us, but I’m putting an end to it right now. Do you hear me? I’m leaving the house now, and my lawyer will be in touch.”

“Lydia, you listen to me.” She had never heard his voice sound the way it just had, so threatening. “If you do anything, I’ll see that you regret it. Do you hear me? We’re almost to the house, and you and I will talk. We’ll take care of all of this. Do you hear me?”

Lydia opened her mouth, but she couldn’t find any words. She was as frightened as she’d ever been.

She stared at Jo, who had stood up and was saying something to her. The words were inaudible. Lydia couldn’t hear anything past the roaring in her ears. JD was talking, too. She blinked a few times, and in an instant everything came back into focus, and she heard JD yelling at her.

“Leave me alone!” she screamed into the phone.

JD was still yelling when she ended the call. She glanced out the window and saw headlights coming down the drive. She turned to Jo.

“They’re almost here! We have to leave.”

CHAPTER FIFTY

Jo knew Lydia was right. They couldn’t wait to confront JD. When he found they’d taken the drive and paperwork from the desk, he’d never let them out of the house alive. Jo stuffed the papers and USB drive in her pocket and grabbed Lydia’s hand.

“Come on.”

They ran into the hall. Jo thought fast. The garage was too far, and there’d be no way to get the car out without Kline stopping them. Lydia gestured frantically.

“They’ll come through the front door,” she whispered urgently. “Follow me.” Instead of heading toward the main staircase, she rushed in the opposite direction. “There’s a back stairway.”

“You’re sure Samual and Alice are gone?” Jo asked.

“Yes.”

Jo caught up to Lydia as they reached a narrow stairwell. Jo stopped and held up a hand.

“Let me go first.”

They hurried quietly down the stairs, and Lydia pointed the way to go. They ran down a hallway, turned a corner, and then approached the sitting room. Kline and JD were yelling, their voices coming from the front of the house. Options ran though Jo’s mind like lightning.

“We’ll run to a neighbor’s,” she whispered.

Lydia looked terrified, but she nodded. They crouched down, and Jo darted toward a door that led to the back patio. She turned the knob carefully and eased open the door, then waved Lydia out. Jo started outside and quietly shut the door behind her. She didn’t say a word to Lydia, just motioned. They hurried around deck furniture, past the pool, and into a yard with plenty of trees, but a lot of open space as well.

“Stay low, and stick with me,” Jo said.

They needed to call the police, but she didn’t want to chance being spotted. In the darkness, the phone screen would light like a beacon, giving away their position. Plus, there was no way the police would get there fast enough to help. Right now, they just had to get away from Kline and JD.

She wondered about Kline shooting at them. He and JD were desperate and wouldn’t want their secrets revealed. Kline could have a silencer on his weapon as well, which would mean little noise or attention if he did fire at them. And even if anyone saw what was going on, she had no doubt Kline and JD had ways to cover up what they were doing. Hell, they’d done that before.

With those thoughts racing through her mind, Jo ran to a tree, Lydia so close her quick breaths were in her ear. Jo paused behind the tree trunk and glanced back to the house. Was that someone looking out a window? She couldn’t be sure. She looked ahead. There was a large open area they would have to cross, lit by the moonlight.

“Run fast,” she murmured.

She didn’t give Lydia a chance to argue, just sprinted across the open space. They reached a small grove of trees and ran through that. Another clearing awaited, but they were farther from the house now, where she hoped they wouldn’t be spotted. They kept running, and then Jo helped Lydia over a picket fence and into the neighbor’s yard. A mansion loomed in the distance, lights on in a few windows.

“I don’t know if Bev’s at home,” Lydia said.

“We should call the police now.”

As Jo headed toward the house, Lydia lagged behind.

“I’ll call.”

Jo turned to see her pulling her phone from her pocket. She started to dial, the bluish light of the phone screen piercing the darkness. Then she stumbled, hit the ground hard, and cried out.

“Ow! My wrist.”

Lydia clutched her left arm. Jo rushed to help her up, and as she did so, she looked back.

A dark figure was chasing them, and behind that, another one.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

JD entered through the front door, Kline right behind him. JD’s fury had been building the entire drive home, exacerbated by his phone call with Lydia.

He couldn’t believe she’d threatened him like that, and that she seemed to know everything. He should have known that she’d been suspicious, that she had been putting pieces together. But how much did she really know? How could she know? It had to be the new driver, the plant—Jo. She had turned his wife against him. A string of curses filled his head. If Jo was working with law enforcement, she must’ve turned Lydia against him. More swearing. She’d pay for that.

“Find them!” JD ordered Kline, his voice tearing through the foyer.

The man was already headed down a hallway, not saying a word. JD headed toward his office, glancing in doorways as he went. No sign of the women. He reached his office, and his hand shook as he dug into his pocket for his key. He fumbled with the lock, then pushed open the door. As he went in, he could tell someone had been in the room. He dashed to his desk, and as he started to put another key in the drawer lock, he knew something was wrong. He grabbed the handle and pulled. The drawer was unlocked. He swore as he yanked it open, and as he pulled out the black box, he saw that paperwork and the USB drive were missing. He slammed the box on the desktop, then keyed in the combination and unlocked it. Inside was a Glock. He grabbed it and raced out of the office.

He listened over the rage that thundered in his ears. Jo would not ruin him. He jogged down the hall, away from the foyer, checking rooms as he went, not seeing his wife or her driver. He ran through the sitting room and ended up in a wide hallway that cut through the center of the house. Kline was racing down the stairs.

“No sign of them,” he said.

“Where’d they go?” JD snapped.

Kline dashed past him and peered out a window. Then he pointed into the darkness. “There.”

JD looked past him and saw two figures racing through an open part of the yard.

“Let’s go,” Kline said.

He opened the door and ran out, and JD followed him. He’d never run so fast, but he had to catch up to Lydia and Jo. As he looked ahead, he saw them climbing a picket fence and racing into the neighbor’s yard. He couldn’t let them talk to anyone.

“We have to stop them,” JD snarled.

“I’ll handle it,” Kline called over his shoulder.

We’ll see about that.

As he followed Kline, he stared ahead, the blackness turning to red with his fury.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Jo half dragged Lydia forward.

The woman winced and pointed. “My phone!”

“We can’t look for it now,” Jo said. “Hurry.”

They sprinted through the neighbor’s yard, up to a huge patio. Lydia ran to French doors and banged loudly with her good hand.

“Bev!” she called out.

The door rattled, but no one showed up. Jo cupped her hand on the window glass and peeked into the house. There was a family room full of furniture and a large fireplace, and a kitchen off to the right. Both empty. She glanced over her shoulder. The figures were quickly approaching. No time to try to break in. She grabbed Lydia’s good arm.

“Let’s go. We’ll find another neighbor.”

She pulled Lydia with her, sticking close to the back of the house. They slipped around the corner, the house giving them some protection from the moonlight. They hurried along as quietly as they could.

As they moved, Jo was thinking quickly. The houses in the neighborhood were far apart, which was a disadvantage right now. No one to hear what was going on. No one was out and about, either, no one to call to for help. She looked to the left. It would be a long run to the next-door neighbor, and another picket fence to climb over. Plenty of open space, where they would be exposed.

They reached the front of the house, and Jo peeked out. Moonlight glinted off the asphalt in the quiet street. Lydia breathed heavily, and she clutched her wrist in pain. At any moment, Jo expected Kline or JD to come around the side of the house. She quickly assessed her options.

They could go to the front of the house, but Kline would probably have JD run around the opposite side, cutting off access to the neighbors there. There was also no point in going to the front door, where they’d be trapped. She looked across the street. They’d be visible if they ran to that neighbor’s house, but she didn’t see any other options.

Jo heard something behind her, and she knew she had no more time to waste. She took Lydia’s good wrist again, and they rushed down a driveway and into the street. Lydia was dragging now, and her arm slipped from Jo’s grip. Their footsteps pounded the pavement as they reached the other side of the street.

We just might make it, Jo thought as they moved across the grass.

A distinctive sound rippled through the air, one Jo had heard many times when she’d been on missions. Lydia cried out with a small gasp. Jo whirled around to see her crumple to the ground.

Jo dropped beside her. Lydia was face down. Jo rolled her over. A dark spot pooled on her blouse, and she looked up.

“Don’t let . . . Don’t let him get away with it.” Then she slumped to the side.

Jo swore and looked over her shoulder. JD was standing in the yard across the street, a hand raised. She swung her gaze to the right and saw Kline. Both men started toward her.

She darted behind a large tree and headed toward the side of the closest house.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

JD raced across the yard and started into the street. Ha—he’d shot that damn driver.

“What the hell are you doing?” Kline hissed as he approached.

“We have to stop them.”

“I told you I’d take care of it.”

“Like you handled everything else?” JD said. “I got Jo. She won’t say anything now.”

Kline cursed like JD had never heard before as they both reached the sidewalk across the street.

“We need to get Lydia and get back to the house,” Kline whispered.

They were already into the yard, and they approached the body lying prone on the ground. As JD drew near, his elation vanished—he recognized the figure on the ground.

“Oh no!” he said. He dropped the Glock, horrified. “Lydia!”

Kline was saying something, but he didn’t hear it. He sank to his knees and stared at his wife’s body, and the dark spot on her shirt.

“Oh my God, I shot her.” He grabbed her and pulled her toward him. “No, Lydia. I’m so sorry.”

How could this happen? She was the love of his life. He didn’t want to harm her, he just needed her to understand what was going on. He had to stop Jo, and then he was sure he could make everything right with his wife.

JD rocked with her body. Why did she have to run? Didn’t she know he loved her? He’d protected her from his violent tendencies, the things he’d subjected the other women to. He couldn’t do those things with his wife.

He held her close and wept, not caring about anything else. His world was shattered.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Several trees and thick bushes stood at the side of the house. Jo darted into the thicket, and as she moved forward, she heard Kline and JD behind her. When the voices stopped, she glanced back and saw a shadow near the corner of the house. She pressed herself into the ground. In the stillness, JD’s sobbing reached her.

Jo wanted to cry out as well. Lydia had been shot, and she hadn’t been able to protect her. She began to second-guess herself, wondering what she might’ve done differently. Should she have broken into that house, so they could hide? But the noise of breaking the sliding-glass doors or a window might’ve drawn gunfire from JD or Kline. And who was to say if she and Lydia had hidden somewhere that they wouldn’t have been discovered? Then she would’ve been leading Lydia into a trap. Like the one she was in now.

Where was Kline?

She didn’t move a muscle, her right cheek pressed into damp earth. The smell of the soil was pungent in her nostrils. Something buzzed over her head—a fly or mosquito—but she didn’t swat at it. She was alert, listening for Kline.

And thinking.

She had the advantage. Kline had to search for her. He couldn’t leave JD waiting with Lydia’s body forever. Someone would hear them soon enough. And although Kline had been military trained as well, she wondered if he was on the same level as her. How often had he had to track somebody in a dangerous situation, where any false move meant you were dead? She’d been in places where she’d had to hunker down for hours, where she couldn’t move. She wouldn’t move now, either.

Was he that good, or better?

Her ears strained. JD’s sobs stopped. What was he doing? She was tempted to turn her head, but she didn’t. She could see through the bottom part of the bushes to the grass. The bases of tree trunks dotted the terrain. A couple of feet ahead and to the left, she saw an opening between the bushes. She didn’t think anyone peering in could see her, but she couldn’t be sure.

She listened for the sounds of sirens. Maybe some neighbor had heard commotion outside and wondered what was going on, and they’d dialed 911. Her phone was in her pocket, but she didn’t dare move her arm to reach for it. Kline might shoot her. She continued to wait, hoping to hear sirens.

Only the stillness.

She looked toward the grass, surprised to see black shoes appear in her vision. Kline was moving forward, quickly but very stealthily. She hadn’t heard him, hadn’t even had an inkling he was approaching.

He was good.

The shoes stopped moving. Jo held her breath. He had to be looking around, and she prayed he wouldn’t see her hiding. Then a foot crept slowly forward. As it did, she moved as well, barely perceptible. Kline took another step, his footfall soft on the grass, which barely rustled. She used that small noise to her advantage and inched upward. Then she looked up. Through the branches, Kline was silhouetted in the moonlight. He held a gun, the long barrel signaling a suppressor. If he shot at her, no one would hear the noise.

He took another step forward.

She got into a crouch, the muscles in her legs like springs.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Kline left JD with Lydia. He didn’t have time to focus on that. He had to take care of Jo now.

He darted to the corner of the house and peeked around. Tall trees and shrubs stood dark, and he didn’t see the woman. He listened, cursing his boss for making so much noise. Then he glanced back and signaled to JD, who put a hand to his mouth, muffling his cries. Kline looked forward.

He didn’t see Jo, but he didn’t think she could’ve gone far. No noise came from the back of the house, no sounds of Jo pounding on a door, no voices. She was probably unarmed, so there was only so much she could do against him. He took a few careful steps forward and listened, staring into the bushes, the shadows mocking him. He waited, listened, and watched.

Glancing to the backyard of the house, he didn’t see anything. He had to hurry. If she or anyone else had called for help, he had to take her out and clean up the mess before the police arrived. He moved quietly, faster than he wanted to. Even so, his footsteps barely stirred the grass.

His heart thudded a steady beat.

He took a couple more steps forward, scanning into the bushes on his right, then into the trees to his left. He knew who he was dealing with, that Jo had been trained well. However, he wasn’t scared. When he’d been in combat, he’d felt a thrill. He’d always loved the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Kline had killed many times without a second thought. This time would be no different. Then he’d get the bodies out of there and cover up his tracks. JD would have a lot to deal with, and he’d have to keep it together. Kline frowned. His boss wasn’t making it easy, but he’d figure it out.

Kline peered to his right again. He didn’t see anything in the bushes, so he took a few more steps forward. Then he heard something to his right, a whisper of movement. As he turned, something came at him from underneath the bushes.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

Jo sprang at Kline, hitting him solidly in the shins. She heard the telltale muffled sound of a gun with a suppressor firing. She had no time to duck as a bullet whizzed past her, hitting the side of the house with a thunk. Kline went down. She was on him instantly, hauling her fist back and hitting him solidly in the jaw.

She didn’t have a moment to spare. He was well trained and bigger than she was. Jo knew martial arts, but she didn’t want to get in a fight with him. Not only could she end up on the losing side, but she didn’t know at what point JD might emerge from his grief and come at her with his weapon.

Kline flailed at her, grazing her cheek with an open palm. She had the element of surprise, though, and before he managed to crawl to his feet, she smacked him on the side of the neck, hitting a pressure point, a vulnerable spot that knocked him out. He would only be unconscious for a few moments, but those precious seconds were enough. While he lay still, she rolled off him and looked around. His gun lay within his reach, and Jo snatched it up and backpedaled.

He stirred, a froth of cursing emitting from his mouth. Jo aimed his gun at him, thinking he might try to talk his way out of his predicament, but instead, he leaped at her. She jolted to the side. He hit the ground, twisted around, and looked at her, his muscles tense. She aimed the gun and put a bullet right next to him. Others might’ve jumped, but he wasn’t fazed.

“The next one goes in your knee,” she snapped.

His eyes glinted in the moonlight, full of pure hatred. She was dealing with a desperate man, one who couldn’t afford to get caught. In her mind, however, he was going to face the law. Death was too good for him. A second later, he did what she expected. He launched himself at her again, and she fulfilled her threat, pulling the trigger again. Blood sprayed from his shattered knee. He dropped down, clutching at the wound, but he didn’t yell. Air whistled between his clenched teeth, and he cursed her again.

“Want one in the other knee?” she asked.

This time, he stayed down, his jaw still visibly clenched in pain. Jo backed up a few more feet, then swung the weapon toward JD.

“Move away from her and show me your hands,” she called out to him.

Any fight the man had was long gone. He lowered his wife to the ground and scooted away from her. He eyed Jo as he raised his arms. His wet tears glistened in the pale light, his lip trembling.

Jo kept Kline and JD in her line of sight as she pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed 911. Then, as she continued to keep a careful eye on both men, she texted Dack with a codeword they’d agreed upon to let him know she was okay, and that she would contact him as soon as she could.

***

Once the police arrived at the scene, Jo told them to contact Special Agent Kelsey Camacho. That drew some cautious looks, but a uniformed officer did as she requested. As more law enforcement and emergency personnel showed up, Jo was whisked away from Kline and JD, and she didn’t see what law enforcement did with either man. She spent a long time talking to a detective, relaying everything that had happened. Once Kelsey arrived at the scene, Jo went over everything again. She wasn’t surprised when Kelsey wanted to take her to federal offices for even more questioning. Now Jo was sitting in a big conference room with the agent. Out a large window, pale light shone on the horizon as Kelsey contemplated her.

“That was good work,” she said.

Jo stared at a bottle of water on an oval table and shook her head. “Lydia’s dead. That shouldn’t have happened.”

Kelsey nodded slowly, sadly. “Yes. I’m sorry about that. You did everything you could.”

She knew she had, but that knowledge didn’t make her feel any better. She looked at Kelsey.

“Kline and JD?”

“Neither of them is talking,” Kelsey said. She blew out a long breath. “We might get JD to crack, though. He’s devastated about Lydia’s death, says that nothing matters without her. He’s lawyered up, though, so we’ll see what happens.”

“What about the evidence against him? What was on the USB drive?”

Kelsey gnawed her lip. “Someone worked on that right away, and they were able to get into it.”

Jo didn’t like that the agent was delaying with an answer. “And?”

“It wasn’t Trent Fontenot’s. The drive had stuff of JD’s on it, information that would help his political career.”

Jo stared at her. Then all her weariness slammed into her, and she did something unexpected. She laughed. Kelsey raised her eyebrows and waited until Jo stopped.

“I’m sorry,” Jo said. “I don’t believe it. Everything I risked going undercover for you, and Lydia’s death . . . and I didn’t get any proof of JD’s illegal activities.”

Kelsey held up a hand. “I wouldn’t say that. The way things went down, we were able to get a search warrant for the Babineaux mansion. We’re searching the place with a fine-tooth comb, and you don’t know what we’ll find. There may be something that will incriminate him or Kline. And now that our investigation is out in the open, there’ll be more people to talk to. We’ll find somebody who will help us pin those murders from years ago on him, or on Kline.”

“What about Trent Fontenot’s murder?”

“Kline and JD deny any involvement in that, but we’re working on them. One may cave and turn on the other. I’d bet on it.”

Jo wouldn’t, but she didn’t say so. Kline was too smart, too tough. Part of what made him so good at his job was that he would never turn on a boss. If he did, he’d never work in his profession again. JD likely wouldn’t talk either, because he’d know that if he did, Kline would kill him. Jo could only hope that they’d both made mistakes somewhere, and that Kelsey and her team would uncover evidence to incriminate the two men.

Jo took a sip of water and waited on Kelsey. She went over her questions again, picking at Jo’s memory, trying to see if she had forgotten anything. Sunlight was blazing into the room when Kelsey finished. Jo had a question of her own.

“Has anybody been asking about me?” She meant Dale and any of his people.

Kelsey shook her head. “We’ve been monitoring channels, and you’re okay.”

For now, Jo thought. She needed to get away from Dallas and what had happened as soon as possible.

“I’ll have someone drive you to your apartment so you can pick up your things,” Kelsey told Jo. “Where do you want to go after that?”

“Back to the Amyfinehouse,” Jo said.

“We can do that.” Kelsey studied her for a moment. “You did good work. You handled yourself well.”

“Thanks,” Jo said, without much enthusiasm.

Kelsey smiled at her. “Any chance we could get you to work with us?”

Jo didn’t hesitate. “No.” She didn’t explain why, just left it at that.

“I had to try.” The woman smiled again. She thanked Jo once more, then got up. Jo followed her down a maze of hallways, where another agent waited to take her back to her hotel. Kelsey held out a hand, and Jo shook it.

“You sure I can’t change your mind about joining us?” Kelsey asked.

Jo shook her head. “I’ll let you handle the bad guys.”

Kelsey laughed softly as Jo turned and went with the other agent. He took her to her temporary apartment, and she took a few minutes to gather her belongings as he watched carefully. Then he drove her to the Amyfinehouse hotel. The SUV waited in front as she walked inside and went up to the desk.

“May I help you?” a front-desk woman asked her.

Jo glanced over her shoulder. The SUV was gone. She turned back to the woman.

“No. I’m sorry I bothered you.”

The woman gave Jo a curious look as she stepped away and walked through the lobby to a back exit.

She looked around and didn’t see the SUV or the agent who had driven her to the hotel. From there, she walked down South Ervay Street, still watching for surveillance. No one followed her. She went to Main Street and hurried to the Hotel Indigo. Dack had texted her hours ago, letting her know he’d paid for a room. Kelsey—or anyone else—wouldn’t be able to find her there. He’d also left her a new vehicle. It was time to leave the Ford Escape behind. She’d had it long enough, and she needed a new vehicle, one that couldn’t be traced back to her.

Jo took an elevator up to her room and found a keycard in the dirt of a planter. Dack had people in Dallas, and he’d arranged for someone to leave it for her. She held up the card and silently thanked Dack. His friendship and help meant the world to her. She walked quietly toward her room, still cautious. She let herself inside and checked everything, but the room was safe. She knew it would be, but old habits die hard.

For a moment, Jo stood in the middle of the room, relishing the silence. Then she sat on the edge of the bed and video-called Dack. He peered at her, assessing her condition, and then he smiled and began typing.

“You’re okay?”

She nodded. “Physically, anyway. Dad and Avery?”

He smiled. “They’re fine. Don’t worry about them.”

He didn’t have to tell her anything else. Those words said it all—that at least for the moment, Dale didn’t know about them. She breathed a sigh of relief.

Dack remained quiet for a few seconds, and then said, “It’ll take some time to process everything.”

She glanced around the room. “Thanks for your help.”

“Anything for you.”

She briefly told him all that had happened since they’d last talked, and he nodded thoughtfully. When she finished, he began typing again.

“I got a place for you in Shreveport. A small hotel, out of the way. Get some rest and then head there. Once you get settled, I’ll arrange a call with Will and Avery.”

Jo smiled. “I’d love that.”

He put a hand to the screen. “We’ll talk soon.”

Dack wasn’t mincing words—clearly, he could tell that she was tired. And she was.

Jo thanked him and ended the call. She sat for a moment to catch her breath. Then she would shower, sleep for a while, and in the morning, put some distance between herself and this big city.

She didn’t know where she’d go next, or what she’d do, but talking to Will and Avery—that, she could look forward to.

THE END

***

Sarah will return to solve another mystery soon!

Have you started the Sarah Spillman police procedural series yet?

Turn the page to read the first two chapters of Deadly Connections, the first book in my new female P.I. series.

DEADLY CONNECTIONS: A SARAH SPILLMAN POLICE PROCEDURAL

PROLOGUE

The footsteps stopped in the hall, and the boy heard the muffled voice from the other side of the door.

“Turn out the light.”

The boy slid off the futon, legs trembling. He crossed the small basement room and hit the light switch. His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness as he darted back across the room. He didn’t have to worry about running into anything. The only furniture was the futon; the only other thing in the room was a portable camping toilet in the corner.

He heard a rattling sound, and the door swung open. A rectangle of light fell on the concrete floor and a hooded figure stood in the doorway. The boy could only see dark clothes, a ghostly shadow of a face.

Death.

At least, that’s how the nine-year-old’s brain thought of it. “Death,” the skeletal, hooded figure that he’d seen in comics his dad collected. Although the boy thought some of the comics were stupid, he liked Batman, Spiderman, and Superman. However, the comic-book character Death always scared him. So did the figure standing across the room.

He scooted farther back on the futon until his back hit the concrete wall. He bent his legs and wrapped his arms around his knees, trying to pull away.

“Are you hungry?”

He nodded. His stomach growled. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been in this room, a few days, maybe. He was sure he was in a basement room because of the concrete walls and the lone little window high up on one wall, with black paint covering the panes. The room was dank and the foul odor from the portable toilet in the corner was gross.

The figure took a couple of steps into the room, then stopped and just watched him. It was the same every time. The boy sucked in a breath and shivered. It was pointless to scream or yell. He’d done that when he’d first awoken in the dark room and felt his way to the door. All the yelling, all the yanking on the door handle, and nothing had happened. No one came.

Where was Mom? Where was Dad? His lip quivered and he wanted to cry. But he’d been told not to cry. He’d been told a lot of things: to stay on the bed, not to yell, and to be a good boy. He was afraid, terrified to do anything. He didn’t understand, but maybe if he obeyed, he’d get to go home.

Again, a whispered “Are you hungry?”

He nodded.

Same question each time. Then he’d get food, then he’d be told that everything would be okay, he just needed to stay quiet. After that, he’d be left alone again. And the door would be locked.

This had gone on for a few days, or so he thought. Food was just a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and water. He was hungry. He was told that if he was good, he’d get more. Each time, he had to turn out the lights and sit on the futon.

Now the figure approached and put a tray with a sandwich and a cup of water on the edge of the futon.

“You’re being good?”

The boy nodded slowly.

“What do you want?”

“I want to go home,” he said with a whimper.

“No. You want to stay here. If you do, I’ll get you all the toys you want. Would you like that?”

He’d been asked this a few times. The first time, he’d said no, he didn’t want to stay here, and after he’d said that, no food came. The second time the question was asked, he’d said yes, he wanted to stay. But now he was tired, and he wanted his mom and dad.

“You want to stay here, don’t you?”

He stared at the floor. He didn’t know what to say. His stomach growled. He wanted desperately to reach out for the sandwich and the cup of water, but he didn’t know what would happen if he did.

“Tell me you want to stay here.”

He suddenly stood up and stomped his foot, then kicked the futon. “No! I want to go home!” he shouted. “Who are you? Leave me alone!”

He ran for the door. Strong hands reached out and grabbed him.

“You will stay here.”

He struggled, but the powerful hands suddenly propelled him backwards. His body slammed against the wall, his head banging against the concrete. He dropped to the floor. He hurt so bad, but he was too scared to move or cry. He could feel the rage seething from the figure standing over him.

Finally, a stepping back. “You’ll learn to like it here.” Then the figure turned and left the room. The door locked with a loud click.

The boy got up and rubbed his head with a shaking hand. He stared at the door, thinking I don’t want to stay here. He didn’t know what was going to happen here, had no understanding about any of it. He knew it would be bad, though. Panic set in, and he ran across the room and flipped on the light, then dashed back to the futon. He snatched up the tray. The sandwich and cup fell to the floor. He ignored that and climbed onto the arm of the futon. He slammed the corner of the tray against the window, once, then again. The noise was loud, yet in his panic, he didn’t notice. The glass broke, and he reached up to pull some of it away. Then he heard the doorknob rattle, and the voice called out for him to turn off the light. He ignored it and hit the glass with the tray again. Then the door flew open.

The boy glanced over his shoulder. “No!” he screamed.

He grabbed the sill, oblivious to the glass that cut into his hands. He jumped and was able to get his arms partway through the window.

“Come back!”

Arms grabbed him and pulled him from the window. A shard of glass slashed his arm, and he cried out in pain. Blood poured from his sliced wrist. He fought, but the arms were too strong and he was only a boy. The cut was like fire on his arm, and he felt woozy. Then he felt hands pressing hard around his wrist, trying to stop the bleeding. But the boy fell to the floor, his eyes toward the door. His breath slowed, and darkness enveloped him.

CHAPTER ONE

The mood was somber as I approached the crime-scene tape. I nodded at the uniformed officer standing guard, and he barely gave me a glance. Death always has a way of sobering people, but this was different.

“You the one who called this in?” I asked. His nameplate read “Rivera.”

He nodded and drew in a stilted breath. “Yeah, we got a call, said a guy was taking out his trash, and he saw an arm in the dumpster. He grabbed his cell and called us. When we–my partner, Flatt–and I got here, we looked in the dumpster and saw the arm, just like he said. I went into the dumpster, but …” He shook his head. “There wasn’t any chance he was alive.” Rivera was being careful not to look toward the dumpster. He ran a hand over his closely cropped hair. He looked to be just out of college, green around the gills in every way, including death encounters. “We called it in, got the guy who found him out of the way, and secured the area. The coroner’s here.”

I pointed past him. “So the scene has been disturbed?”

He shrugged. “I can’t say what the guy who found the body did, but no one’s been near the dumpster since Flatt and I got here.”

My gaze darted behind him. A gray-haired man in shorts, a yellow short-sleeved shirt, and sandals stood near the corner of a house, outside the crime-scene tape. He glanced at Rivera and me nervously.

“Is that the guy?” I asked.

Rivera was still avoiding the dumpster. “Yeah. His name is Clark Leblanc. He knows you’ll want to talk to him, so he’s been waiting around.”

I nodded. “Have you seen anything suspicious?”

Rivera shook his head. “Gawkers have been coming and going, but nothing unusual to note. Flatt’s been talking to them.”

I didn’t say anything else to him, but ducked under the tape as Rivera noted in his log that I was entering the crime-scene area. I walked toward the dumpster. It was a behemoth of a thing, dark blue, beat-up, positioned between two red-brick houses. A full white trash bag leaned against the front of the dumpster. Canvassing the ground in the crime-scene area were two men and a woman. Standing next to the dumpster in dark pants and a white shirt was Jack Jamison, the Denver Police Department’s coroner. A slight breeze fluffed his steel-gray hair. He was peering into the dumpster, and he turned when he heard me approach.

“Spillman, how you doing?” His lips were pressed into a grim line.

“Bad?” I asked.

He nodded slowly, his blue eyes impassive. “Take a look.” He gestured toward the top of the dumpster.

I stepped up and looked inside. A few flies buzzed around, and the pungent odor of rubbish was strong in the air, but underneath it, I smelled death. More than ten years as a homicide detective did that to you. A small figure lay sideways amongst trash and black plastic bags. His brown hair was tussled, and he wore a dark T-shirt. I resisted rubbing a hand over my face, but I wanted to. Seeing death is always hard, but when it’s one so young, it’s even harder. I breathed out of my mouth as I shifted, trying to get a better view of the body.

“Looks like his wrist was cut,” I said.

Jack nodded. “He’s got a severe slash on his left wrist. Likely that it cut the radial artery, and he probably bled out in minutes.”

I glanced at the CSI crew working the crime scene. “They’ve taken pictures, right?”

“Yes.”

I shifted again. “Look at all the dried blood on his arm.” The morning sun beat down on us. I squinted at the sky. It was going to be a hot May day. “Any idea how long the body’s been in there?”

He shook his head. “With the sun, and the heat in the dumpster, who knows?” I gave him a look that prompted him to give me more. “He was probably put here sometime overnight.”

I moved to the corner of the dumpster so I could look at the body from a different angle. “I don’t see any other blood around. Think he bled out somewhere else and was moved here?”

“That would be my guess.”

I gazed around the side of the dumpster and in back, but there wasn’t any sign of blood anywhere. I figured as much, but I had to check. “There’s no way he crawled in here and died.”

Jack shook his head again. “I don’t see how.”

“Let me get a better look at the body.”

“Be careful.”

I hefted myself up on the edge of the dumpster and gingerly shifted the body so I could see the boy’s face. His mouth was partially open, his brown eyes wide, as if his last moments were filled with terror. Smudges of dirt dotted his face, and dried blood streaked down his cheek and caked his clothes. He was so cute he could’ve been on TV. Then it hit me. I swore.

“What?” Jack asked.

I dropped to the ground. I had smudges on my blue blouse that I swiped at, then wiped my hands together, trying to get rid of not only the grime, but the traces of death. “That’s Logan Pickett.”

“The kid who’s been missing for a few days?” Jack scratched his jaw. “I thought he looked familiar.”

“He should. He’s been in the news the last couple of nights.”

“I’m too damn busy to watch the news.” He pointed at the dumpster again. “You need anything more here?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Okay, we’ll be taking the body out soon.”

“When will you get to the autopsy?”

He angled his head, daring me to push him. “Geez, Spillman, I haven’t even moved the kid yet. How should I know?” I dared with a glare, and he backed down. “I don’t know, this afternoon? Tomorrow morning? I know you want it fast. I’ll do what I can.”

“Thanks.” I stepped back from the dumpster and turned to the CSI team. “Hey, Dale,” I said to a short, stocky man. “You have anything for me?”

He shook his head. “Nothing so far. We’re getting pictures and video.” He shrugged. He’s about thirty, but looks ten years younger. He’s good at his job, though, and he’d alert me if he found anything significant.

He turned away, and I noticed a dark-haired man with broad shoulders enter the crime scene. He walked over and fixed coal-black eyes on me. Chief Inspector Calvin Rizzo.

“Do you have an update for me?” he asked, his voice smooth and commanding. Rizzo doesn’t waste time or words, but is all business, all the time. He’s hard-nosed and detailed. At times he rubs me the wrong way, probably because we’re alike in many respects, and I’ve learned to work with him, hold my tongue at times, and speak up when I feel the need.

“The boy is Logan Pickett.” Rizzo is three inches taller than my five-foot-eight, and I always feel the need to stand tall so I can come close to looking him in the eye.

He didn’t say anything for a moment. “Okay, you’ll have to talk to the parents.”

“From what I remember from the news, they’re divorced. I’ll see who I can reach first.” He waited, and I went on. “One of the responding officers has been interviewing the neighbors to see if anyone heard or saw anything.”

“Good. Spats and Moore can talk to anyone with information.” Roland “Spats” Youngfield and Ernie Moore are my partners. I was expecting them to show anytime.

Rizzo gestured at the CSI team. “Have they found anything that will help us?”

“Not yet.”

“All right. Keep me posted.” With that, he turned and walked toward the crime-scene tape. As he went under it, two men approached. He spoke to them briefly, then held the tape up for them. They ducked under it and walked toward me.

“Rizzo says it’s a missing boy?” Ernie Moore asked in a deep voice.

“Yeah, it’s Logan Pickett,” I said.

“Ah, hell,” he said. He hefted his pants up over his gut. He’s generally one to crack jokes, but not now. Not with the death of a child.

“What do you have so far?” Spats asked. He wore a tailored suit and black shoes so shiny the sun glinted off them. I’d heard he’d gotten his nickname from an old partner who said Youngfield reminded him of a gangster from the old days, the men who wore spats on their shoes. I’d never seen Spats wear them, but the nickname had stuck.

I filled them in. Both nodded as they listened and looked around.

“So not much,” Spats answered his own question when I finished.

“Right,” I said. “We need to talk to the officers who’ve been canvassing the neighborhood.”

“I saw another officer nearby. I’ll get him,” Ernie said. He walked off in search of the other responding officer.

“Hold on, Speelmahn,” Spats said. For some reason, he gives my name a Jamaican flair, even though he’s from Harlem. He went over to the dumpster, and when he returned, his face was pinched. “He was killed somewhere else and moved here.”

“That’s what it looks like.”

Ernie returned with Officer Flatt.

I got right to it. “What do you have for us?”

Flatt cleared his throat, consulted a small black notepad. “We’ve talked to five neighbors so far.” He waved a pen in the air. “It’s a Tuesday, so a lot of people have already left for work. Of those I talked to, two have some good information.” He checked the notepad again. “One, Larry Blankenship, says he got up about two a.m. to go to the bathroom. He sleeps upstairs, and the bathroom window faces the alley. He saw headlights at the end of the alley.”

“Did he actually see a car?”

He shrugged. “It might’ve been an SUV. He didn’t think much of the car itself, he just thought it was pretty late for someone to be out on a weeknight.”

“Anything else?” Spats asked.

“No,” Flatt said. “The other one is Karen Pacheco. She’s pretty old, and she has trouble sleeping. She was dozing in front of the TV, and she thought she heard a noise out back, a loud thump or something. When she went to look, she didn’t see anybody.” He shrugged. “That’s it. The other neighbors either didn’t see or hear anything, or they aren’t home.”

“Addresses?” I asked.

Flatt rattled off the addresses for Larry Blankenship and Karen Pacheco. I thanked him, and he went to join his partner at the crime-scene tape.

“You take Pacheco,” I said to Spats. He can be exceedingly charming, and I had no doubt he could get the old lady to open up.

“I’m on Blankenship,” Ernie said.

“Good. I’m going to talk to the guy who found the body,” I said. “Then I have to talk to his parents before news of this gets out.

Ernie twisted up his face. “I don’t envy you that.”

“Yeah, it’s the worst.” I gestured for them to get moving. “We’ll meet up later.”

Both gave me a mock salute and headed for the alley entrance. I watched the CSI team for a moment. It was a new investigation, and I was being revisited by the same unease I had with each new case. I had to perform well so that no one would ever have reason to question my abilities. I couldn’t afford to have anyone delving into my past, into my life before I was even a rookie cop, to discover the one mistake I’d made then that could jeopardize my career even now. I quickly dismissed the thought and walked over to Clark Leblanc, who was still waiting by the corner of a house outside the crime scene.

“Mr. Leblanc?” I said. I introduced myself.

“Call me Clark.” He had a hoarse voice, full of phlegm. He cleared his throat and shifted on his feet.

“How’re you doing?” I asked.

He lowered his chin and stared at the dumpster. “I won’t ever get that out of my head. I’ve never seen a dead body, let alone a kid.” His eyebrows furrowed, and he cleared his throat again.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured and gave him a second. “Would you tell me exactly what happened this morning?”

“Not much. I had my usual cup of coffee. Then I cleaned out the coffee pot, dumped the coffee grounds into the bag. It was full, so I put on my sandals and brought it out here.” He jerked a thumb behind him. “I live there.”

I glanced past him. Through an open gate, I saw a neatly manicured backyard and the rear of a two-story house. “And then?” I prompted him.

“I, uh, went to the dumpster and was about to toss in the bag, but I looked inside to make sure there was room. That’s when I saw the arm. I didn’t think I saw what I saw, so I looked again. I walked to the edge of the dumpster and saw his face. I could tell he was dead.” Another throat clearing. “I dropped the bag and called 911. Then I waited.”

“Did you talk to anyone?”

He shook his head.

“You didn’t call anyone else besides the police?” I put a little force into my question.

“No, I didn’t.” A tinge of indignation in his voice. “I told you exactly what happened.”

“All right,” I said. “Did you recognize the boy?”

“No, but I didn’t get a real good look at him.”

“Did you notice anything unusual in the area?”

He looked around. “No, the alley’s like it always is. It’s usually pretty quiet out here, sometimes people walk through, or you get the occasional car. It’s not as busy as the street, though. It’s not like I’m out here a lot, though. Just to take out my trash.”

“Did you see or hear anything last night, someone in the alley?”

“No. I’m a heavy sleeper, except when my bladder wakes me up.” He smiled. “Last night I was up, and I told the other officer I thought I saw a car, an SUV, maybe. But I didn’t get a good look at it. Then I was back in bed. My head hits the pillow, and I was out until six a.m. I’m up every day at the same time.” He ran a hand through his gray hair. “Although tonight may be different …”

“That’s understandable.” I thanked him for his time. “We might need to talk to you again.”

“That’s okay by me. I gave the officer my contact information. You call anytime.” He frowned, stared at the dumpster as if it were guilty of the crime. “I guess I’ll go inside.”

I watched him go through the gate. When it shut, I went back to check with Jamison and the CSI crew. They hadn’t turned up anything noteworthy, so I left to find out more about Logan Pickett’s parents.

Click here to continue reading Deadly Connections.

***

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AUTHOR'S NOTE

Dear Reader,

If you enjoyed Gunning for Secrets, would you please write an honest review?

You have no idea how much it warms my heart to get a new review.

And this isn't just for me. Think of all the people out there who need reviews to make decisions, and you would be helping them.

You are awesome for doing so, and I am grateful to you!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Renée's early career as a counselor gives her a unique ability to write characters with depth and personality, and she now works as a business analyst. She lives in the mountains west of Denver, Colorado and enjoys hiking, cycling, and reading when she's not busy writing her next novel.

Renée loves to travel and has visited numerous countries around the world. She has also spent many summer days at her parents' cabin in the hills outside of Boulder, Colorado, which was the inspiration for the setting of Taylor Crossing in her novel Nephilim.

She is the author of the Reed Ferguson mysteries, the Jo Gunning Thriller series, the Sarah Spillman police procedurals, and the Dewey Webb historical mysteries. She also wrote the standalone suspense novels The Girl in the Window and What's Yours is Mine, Nephilim: Genesis of Evil, a supernatural thriller, along with children's novels and other short stories.

Visit Renée at www.reneepawlish.com or at Facebook or Instagram.

RENÉE’S BOOKSHELF

Jo Gunning Thrillers

The Sarah Spillman Mysteries

Reed Ferguson Mysteries Series

Reed Ferguson Boxsets

The Reed Ferguson Series Boxset Collection

Dewey Webb Historical Mystery Series

Dewey Webb Boxsets

The Girl in the Window

What’s Yours Is Mine

The Noah Winter Adventure

(A Young Adult Mystery Series)

Take Five Collection (Mystery Anthology)

Nephilim Genesis of Evil (Supernatural Mystery)

Codename Richard: A Ghost Story

The Taste of Blood: A Vampire Story

This War We’re In (Middle-grade Historical Fiction)

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The author once again gratefully acknowledges all those who helped in the writing of this book, especially: Beth Higgins, Wes Turner, Felicia Beasley, and Colonel Randy Powers, retired, Chief Deputy.

Any mistakes regarding law enforcement, the military, and weapons are mine alone.

If I’ve forgotten anyone, please accept my apologies.

To all my beta readers: I am in your debt!

Dianne Biscoe, Van Brollini, Tracy Gestewitz, Eileen Hill, Sheree Ito, Becky Neilsen, Albert Stevens, Joyce Stumpff, Patricia Thursby, Marlene Van Matre