One Wrong Move, page 12
“All right,” Andi said. “So we started at Tad’s Jeopardy Falls gallery. . . .”
A half hour later, Andi and Christian wrapped up.
Deckard sat forward. “Sounds like Tad might be involved,” he said, having learned the fact and gained confirmation that his brother and Andi were working very in sync with each other. Until he finished investigating her claim, he feared for his brother. He didn’t fall easy, normally, but the way Christian looked at Andi . . . it concerned him.
“That’s what we’re thinking,” Christian said, pulling him back to the conversation, “but surprisingly, he didn’t crack.”
Deckard dipped his chin, intertwining his fingers together. “Maybe you have to push harder.”
Christian exhaled. “You’re probably right.”
“Or . . .” Deckard said, looking at Andi. “You could outsmart him.” She had that in her. Hopefully only for good, but it was there all the same.
“I’ve been thinking of ways to do that,” she said, then looked at Christian. “We’ve been thinking.”
There was another use of the word we with the deepened inflection in her voice. “Any other suspects stand out?” he asked.
“Tad’s ex, Veronica, and Brad Melling. Either could want revenge. Veronica for him cheating on her. A woman scorned and all that,” Christian said.
“And this Brad guy?” Harper asked.
“His ex-business partner,” Riley said, speaking for the first time in the last hour. She’d just sat back and taken it all in. She liked to observe. It was her gift. That and her ability to find anyone anywhere. Or help someone get lost—particularly abused women, but she’d also worked with eyewitnesses to crimes who weren’t put in WITSEC for one reason or another. Thus far, all she’d hidden had remained safely so.
“Oh,” Harper said, crossing her legs.
“After we get some shut-eye,” Christian said, indicating himself and Andi, “we plan on starting our interviews.”
“You think they’ll hit again?” Deckard asked, fearing he already knew the answer.
Christian stretched out his legs and rested his arm on the side of the outdoor sofa. “Unfortunately, my gut says this is far from over.”
“Agreed,” Andi said.
“They’re very brash to pull off multiple heists,” he said, intentionally not looking at Christian. His comment wasn’t about Christian or his past. It was simply about the thieves they were after.
“It’s not easily done,” Christian said, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his thighs. “They’re really good, whoever they are.”
“Catchable?” Deckard asked as Christian’s cell rang.
Christian shimmied the phone out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. “It’s Joel. I better take this.” He lifted the phone to his ear. “Hey, Joel. What’s up?” A few seconds in and Christian’s face paled.
Deckard’s muscles stiffened. Whatever Joel was telling his brother, it wasn’t good.
“Okay. Thanks for letting me know. And keep me posted.” Christian hung up, a dazed look in his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Riley asked.
“Alex is dead.”
Harper cocked her head. “Alex?”
“Tad’s assistant at the Jeopardy Falls gallery,” Andi said.
Christian nodded. “They found her body at the bottom of Barrows Point.”
“What’s that?” Harper asked.
“It’s a BASE-jumping spot not far from here,” Christian said, shock still registering in his eyes. “A group of teens were partying in the caves at the bottom of the canyon and found her.”
“Did her parachute not open?” Harper asked.
“She wasn’t wearing one.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
ENRIQUE HAD PROVED just as stupid as he’d always been. Cyrus exhaled. And, he’d been right just as he always was—at least for a very long time. Of course Enrique would kill the girl in some over-the-top way. Tossing her over a BASE-jumping cliff? What a showboat. The man lacked all precision, but he was one of Teresa’s thugs after all, so what did Cyrus expect. Luckily, he had no involvement. That was all Enrique. Even if the cops managed to find anything, it couldn’t be tied to him.
Anxious to get going, he fought the restless urge to move. But he waited to get to his feet until the group split off and headed in different directions. Deckard, Harper, and the sister, Riley, were going into the office—wherever that was—to work Andi’s case. Christian and Andi were heading to grab some sleep before conducting interviews. He stiffened in the good way, warmth swelling in his tight limbs.
The beautiful Andi Forester asleep mere yards from his lookout point. Dare he creep in . . . take a closer look? He inhaled the pleasure the mere idea filled him with. His gaze tracked to the Neanderthal. How tall was that guy? It mattered not. If he wanted in, he’d get in, period. And right now, he wanted in or as close to it as possible. There was something about her that tugged a part of him he thought long-lost.
■ ■ ■
Andi followed Christian down the path that led to Riley’s place. They paused outside.
“Riley said to grab any clothes you wanted. Need something comfier to sleep in?” Christian asked.
“That’d be great.”
“All right, but since we’re the only ones on the ranch, I’d feel better if we slept at my house. It’s my home base. I know where the weapons are . . . that sort of thing.”
“You think another attempt is coming?”
“At this point, I’d be surprised if it didn’t.”
That was a lovely feeling—waiting for an attack and not having a clue when it would come.
“You can sleep in my room,” he said.
She frowned. “Where will you sleep?”
“On the couch.”
“You don’t have to do that.” It was super kind, just like the man she was getting to know. “I can stay at Riley’s so you can have your room.”
“I don’t want you there alone. Besides, I’ll feel better being out in the front room. I’ll be better able to make sure no one enters.”
“Okay.” She nodded, letting the threat hanging over them wrap around her mind. It was tenuous walking a tightrope where she couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of her. What awaited her ahead in the dark was unknown, and she hated not being in control.
After grabbing a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt from Riley’s place, she and Christian headed down the winding dirt road toward his place.
“Here we go,” he said, leading the way up a brick walkway past cacti, succulents, and a vast array of bird feeders.
She arched a brow with a smile. “I hadn’t pictured you as the bird-feeder type.”
“Yeah . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve always liked the sound of birds. For some reason, it’s soothing to me. What about you?”
“What about me?” she asked as he opened the brown arched door.
“What do you find soothing?”
“You’re going to laugh.” Everyone did.
“I won’t laugh,” he said with all sincerity, but she doubted he’d be able to help it.
“The carnival music ice cream trucks play.”
A wide smile broke on his face, mirth filling his eyes.
“Go ahead and laugh. Most people do.”
“Nah.” He pressed his lips together and smirked.
“I have good memories of them in the summer. I’d get excited whenever I heard them coming.”
“That makes sense.” He ushered her inside.
The interior of his house was gorgeous. Roughhewn beams ran in parallel lines across the ceiling. A beautiful kiva fireplace rose to the ceiling with brown leather couches angled around it and the large flat-screen TV. Even the floors were beautiful. “Pine?” she asked, gesturing to the floor.
“Yep. Deckard built the main house, then helped me and Riley build ours.”
“Really. That’s impressive you all did this yourselves.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “It was kind of cool putting everything together the way we each wanted. It makes it actually feel like home.”
As opposed to? What else would a house feel like, she wondered, but didn’t push.
“And I love your courtyard,” she said, moving toward it. It was similar to hers. Square, in the center of his home, sliding doors on all four sides, the space open to the sky above. Two swing rope chairs hung from a wooden beam that anchored on either side of the courtyard, and a loveseat patio sofa sat opposite them, a fire pit in the middle. “The swings are great,” she said.
“Riley’s idea.”
She’d have to take a sit in one later, after she rested. Her mind, body, and soul were bone-tired.
“Oh,” she said, her eyes catching the metal pink flamingos standing one-legged outside in the distance nestled by a lit palm tree. “I love the tropical touch.”
He smiled. “Also Riley. She went on vacation to Florida last year and has been fixated on items like that ever since.”
“You think she wants to move there?”
“Nah. She loves it here. This is home to her. But she said she wouldn’t mind a small beach escape place there.”
“Have you been?”
“No, but she keeps trying to drag us there.” He pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against. “If you want to follow me, I’ll show you the bedroom.”
“Sounds good. Thanks.”
He led the way down the back hall, and she got a sneak peek of the kitchen—which looked rustic and gourmet at the same time.
“Here’s the bathroom.” He opened the second door on the right. It was stunning. White marble tiles covered the floor, matching marble lined the walk-in shower with a rainwater showerhead. And cool frosted-glass bowls topped the vanity. The man had good taste.
“The bedroom,” he said, leading her to the next and last door on the left, “is here.” He opened the door to reveal what looked like a ski chalet. Warm earthy tones of cream, brown, and hunter green made up the color palette, rustic wooden beams lined the ceiling, and a stone fireplace sat opposite the pine bed.
Her eyes danced to the green comforter, then the cream chair with a rich brown woolen blanket draped over it. Bookcases lined one wall, a dresser stood on the other, and on the far side was a sliding door. She stepped to it, gazing at the deep crest of the mountain full of aspens and junipers. Then she lowered her gaze to the flagstone patio, complete with a hot tub. The thought of sharing time in it with Christian flashed through her mind. She blinked. Where had that come from?
“Well, we need to get some shut-eye. I’ll be in the front room if you need anything,” he said. “I’m just going to grab a pillow and a blanket.”
“Of course.” She stood to the side.
He grabbed one of a plethora of fluffy pillows off the bed and retrieved the blanket from the reading chair—or at least what looked like it would be a great one.
He stepped to the doorway and leaned against the frame. “Sweet dreams.”
She hadn’t heard that in ages. Not since she was a little kid and her dad tucked her in bed at night after reading her a story or three. She’d always asked for another one and another one, but he maxed out at three. She missed those times when he’d shown deep affection for her. Now it was limited interaction. And the fact they remained “neutral” on what went down with Mitch’s case showed her parents didn’t believe her. They just didn’t want to say it outright.
“You okay?” Christian asked, still leaning against the doorjamb, staring at her in a way he hadn’t before. There was affection there. And that, while it felt innately good, unsettled her, because she was beginning to feel affection for him too. But they had to stay focused on the case, and the fact was, she was scared to trust anyone with her heart. Even a man as kind as Christian.
“Yeah,” she finally managed, slipping her hair over her shoulders. “Just spacing out . . .”
“I’ll let you get your rest.” He pushed off the doorjamb and stepped fully out of the room. “I’m right out there if you need me,” he reminded her. He needn’t have. She felt innately safe with him there.
He pulled the door closed, and she looked back to the bed. It was hard taking time to sleep when they had so much work ahead of them on the case, but if she didn’t sleep, she’d be ineffective.
Climbing into the luxurious, plump bed in comfy clothes, she sunk into the mattress. It felt like lying on a cloud. She fluffed one of the top pillows and fashioned it under her head just so, then rolled on her side to face the sliding door. It was beautiful outside, but she couldn’t shake the sudden feeling that someone was out there—watching.
TWENTY-NINE
DECKARD PULLED HIS SUV to a stop in front of the two-story brick building in downtown Santa Fe.
Harper had used the ride over to fill Deckard in on the particulars of the case that she knew like the back of her hand. She’d waited so long for Andi to hire someone to look into who had set her up. Now she was beyond thankful. The fact that it was Deckard MacLeod was, in a word, unique. But after watching him interact with Andi and the questions he asked, he was the right man for the job. The fact she’d get to spend the duration of the case with such a handsome man was just a bonus.
She glanced up at the big silver letters on the top-right corner of the building. MIS.
Sun glinted off them—its rays blinding. She shielded her eyes with her hand. “MIS? MacLeod Investigative Services, I’m guessing.”
“Close. It’s MacLeod Investigations and Security.”
“Oh, because Christian does security system analysis.” She’d gotten that much from Andi, though the two had barely had a moment alone to speak. She couldn’t wait until they had time for Andi to fully dish on the hunk that was Christian MacLeod. Not that Deckard was any slacker, with his chiseled jaw, rugged build, and ice-blue eyes she could get lost in. They were certainly a beautiful family, but any attachment to the man—even a casual date—was out of the question. As soon as the new itinerary for her ICRC mission came through, she’d be leaving for two months. No sense starting something she’d just have to leave.
The borderline flirtatious comments on the ride over were fun, but dangerous. Even if he was showing interest, which she believed he was, it didn’t mean he wanted to take it any further by asking her out on a date. She needed to chill and focus on Andi’s case.
Joy filled her that the truth would finally come out. For whatever reason, she believed Deckard could get to the bottom of it. And she’d be right there to help. Her friend had suffered enough. It was time to set her free.
Deckard climbed out of the SUV and moved around to open her door, then paused near the hood.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I’ve nearly got a flat,” he said, sinking down out of sight.
She eased the door open, not wanting to hit him while he no doubt examined the wheel well. She climbed out and shielded her eyes with her hand. The sun was bright and hot today—the dry heat like a sauna. Too long in it and she withered. “Flat?” she said, glancing at Deckard hunched down in front of the tire in question.
“Yeah.” He tapped the nail in it. “Must have just run over it, but it’s leaking steady.”
And fast. “Bummer.”
“It’s okay. It’s got enough in it, I can run it over to Leroy.”
“Leroy?” she asked.
“Runs a garage about four blocks west. I’ll run it over and walk back.”
“I’ll go with you,” she offered.
“Thanks. I appreciate the offer, but—”
“No buts.” She cocked her head.
He held up his hand with a chuckle. “Yes, ma’am.”
Fifteen minutes later, Deckard led the way across the newly paved parking lot, the spaces closest to the door still roped off. They both turned and waved to Riley as she roared into the parking lot in her red Miata.
Warm air swirled around them as she waited while he punched a code into the keypad.
The door buzzed open.
“Morning, Deckard” sounded over the intercom.
“Greyson,” he said, holding the door open for Harper. She stepped inside the office building’s foyer, and he followed.
“We’re on the second floor. Are the stairs okay?”
“Sure.” She started up, and he once again followed her.
Reaching the office suite door, Deckard placed his index finger on a fingerprint scanner. The door buzzed open, and they entered. Elation filled her that someone, and someone with the reputation Deckard had, would be working Andi’s case. She had no doubt that the Bureau wouldn’t be happy with them digging around a case that had been closed. But someone had set Andi up; she knew it in her bones. Which meant, they had a criminal to catch. One who, no doubt, wouldn’t be happy with their digging. Whoever set Andi up had higher-ups in their pocket, had power, and certainly wouldn’t relinquish it easily. Andi and Christian were in danger with their case; she felt strangely confident the same would be true of her and Deckard.
THIRTY
ENTERING, DECKARD FOUND GREYSON at his desk, wearing his pressed pink shirt—which he insisted was salmon every time they teased him about it—a gray tie, and what Deckard assumed but couldn’t see were matching gray dress pants.
“Who do we have here?” Greyson asked, standing and stepping around his desk to greet Harper.
“This is Harper Grace,” Deckard said. “She’s a good friend of Andi’s.” He’d caught him up about Miranda’s . . . Andi’s case. He shook his head. That would take a while to get used to.
“Greyson Chadwick. Nice to meet you, Harper.”
“Same,” she said with a smile.
That smile. It could render a man speechless. Shaking himself out of it, Deckard continued with her full introduction. “Harper’s an FBI agent—a forensic botanist in the Albuquerque crime lab.”
“Impressive,” Greyson said.
“Not any more so than being a PI, I imagine,” she said. “It seems like a fascinating profession.”
“It’s definitely interesting,” Greyson said. “Will you be joining us at the round table?”
