One Wrong Move, page 15
He jolted a little at her touch.
“Sorry.” She moved her hand back.
“No,” he said, his deep voice low. “It felt good.”
She swallowed. “I can just see you’re hurting,” she said, deciding to be bold. “It’s like you’re . . .”
“I’m . . .” He furrowed his brow, inching closer to her.
Her breath slipped from her lungs as his deep gaze fixed on her.
“It’s like you’re punishing yourself for something.”
He stiffened and looked down.
“I’m sorry. . . .” She bit her lip. “I didn’t mean to . . .”
He looked back up—the weight of emotion heavy in his deep, brown eyes. “It’s okay.” He cleared his throat. “Let’s get back to the footage. We’ve got a lot before us.”
“Okay . . .” she said, biting her bottom lip.
She should have been quiet. Not pushed. She didn’t like when people pushed her, but the ache he wore hurt her.
THIRTY-FIVE
HARPER ROLLED the paper wrapper from her sub into a ball and tossed it in the trash can across the room.
“Nice shot,” Deckard said. Quite the distance.
“Thanks.” She shrugged.
He did the same with his wrapper.
Greyson, of course, ever the dapper and distinguished man, simply stood and placed his wrapper in.
“Chickened out again,” Riley said, tossing hers in too.
Greyson straightened, holding his tie against his chest. “I think we both know better, Riley dear.”
“Again with the dear stuff.” Riley frowned.
“It’s a term of politeness,” Greyson said with that quirk of a smile on his lips.
Deckard shook his head. Those two.
“It might be polite, but it makes me sound like a kid sister,” she said.
Greyson arched a brow and gave her that look—the one he reserved for her and only her. Was it brotherly affection or did more linger there?
“I’m a decade your senior,” Greyson said as Deckard retrieved his notepad and pen from the table behind them. Time for another round.
“That makes you an old man.” Riley smirked. “Not me a child.”
Greyson shook his head with that sigh of exasperation that only Riley could elicit.
Deckard chuckled.
Harper glanced over at him. “Am I missing something?”
“Nah. Just these two.”
The pair didn’t hear them, or simply didn’t acknowledge them because they just kept going.
■ ■ ■
Four hours of gala footage later, Andi was about to doze off when Christian nudged her arm.
“I think we have our mystery woman,” he said.
She sat up and straightened as he backtracked the video. Sure enough, it was a woman with the long, wavy black hair that Tad had described—all he’d been able to describe of the woman he spent the night with.
The woman made her way in during the last half hour of the gala. She beelined for a drink and then straight to Tad, while somehow managing to keep her face off camera. The most they saw was one instance when they got a peek at her chin.
“She clearly knew where the cameras were,” Andi said.
“So we can with near certainty connect her to the thieves. She was sent in to get the fob.”
She and Tad left the gala together, the entire party remaining at the end leaving in mass exodus.
“Most of them probably went down into Santa Fe for the nightlife. Jeopardy Falls, other than events like the gala, closes down by ten,” Christian explained.
She smiled. Yet another aspect of Jeopardy Falls that felt cozy. Rugged and cozy at the same time. She’d shirked away from community, but the town was definitely growing on her.
“All right,” Christian said, sitting forward. “Let’s see how long until the heist.” He fast-forwarded through the footage.
“There,” she said at the movement by the front door.
“Here we go.” He scooted farther forward, nearly tumbling off the edge of the sofa.
Two men dressed in all black entered the gallery. One signaled toward the back of the gallery with a swipe of two fingers, and the other proceeded out of the main camera’s line of sight.
“Joel said it was all on this.” The footage of the back office popped up.
A man entered, moved straight for the picture covering the safe, took it down, and opened the safe within a breath. Then he defused the alarm with ease.
“Wow!” Christian sat back, his elbows propped on his knees, his head propped in his hands.
“If that isn’t an inside job, I don’t know what is,” she said.
“If it’s not an inside job, they nailed it,” he said.
“We need to have another talk with Tad.”
■ ■ ■
“Okay, so we’ve gone through what Andi did the night of Anne Marlowe’s murder,” Deckard said, pacing the conference room. “What did you do the night of her murder?” he asked, looking at her.
Harper’s muscles tensed. That night still haunted her. She’d worked many gruesome scenes, but this one stuck with her well before she knew it would tear her friend’s life apart.
“Perhaps what we should do is go through the night from Anne’s perspective,” Greyson suggested.
Harper tilted her head, curious how they approached that.
“What does the police report say?” he asked Deckard.
“I don’t have the police file,” he said, moving for the pile he had going on the side table. “All I have is the mini–case file Mitch’s defense attorney, Clint James, assembled for me. It had the basics but certainly was not the full report.”
“Knowing you, I’m sure you asked for it,” Greyson said, sitting back and steepling his fingers.
“Yep. But the detectives on the case wanted nothing to do with me. Neither did the prosecutor. They believed they had their man and had zero time for me.”
“Okay.” Greyson sat back. “Let’s go through what you do know.”
“Okay.” Deckard opened a file with colorful paperclips sticking out.
Harper smiled. Riley’s touch, she was betting.
“I’ll start with what I know about Anne,” Deckard said, clearing his throat before continuing. “Anne worked in Councilman David Markowitz’s office. She’d met Mitch about two months prior to her death, and the two began an affair.”
“And Mitch was married, right?” Riley asked. “Between him and the judge, it’s clear she had a thing for married guys.” She shook her head. “I don’t get that.”
Greyson looked over at her, and it was as quick as a blink of an eye, but Harper caught a soft smile before it disappeared. He thought highly of Riley, despite the banter about her being the “kid” of the group.
“Anne broke off her relationship with Judge Simmons once she started up with Mitch. Both Simmons and Mitch confirmed this,” Deckard said as Greyson shifted back to the glass boards and uncapped a marker.
“What about Mitch’s wife?” Riley asked.
“Kim,” Deckard said.
“Did she know about the affair?” Harper asked.
“Not until after the murder.”
“And?” Harper asked.
“She kicked him to the curb. Refused to speak on his behalf,” Deckard said. “Or so Clint told me.”
“Surely they summoned her,” Riley said.
“I’m sure, but she wouldn’t have anything glowing to say about Mitch.”
“So who was Anne going out to the isolated hiking park to see that night?” Riley asked. “It was late, right?”
“The call came into the lab at about one,” Harper said.
“So . . . she broke off the affair with Simmons, and he has an alibi. Mitch is at a conference in Las Cruces.” Riley sat forward, resting her hands on the table. “Who did she think she was going to see?”
Deckard sat back, dropping his pen on his notebook. “That is the million-dollar question. Let’s make some calls.”
“I thought you wanted to talk to people in person,” Harper said.
“Most definitely Todd Phillips, given his promotion, or upgrade as you said, and we’ll hit the lab tomorrow, but I think placing a few well-directed calls would give us a head start.”
“Great.” Harper lifted her pen. “Shall we divide up the list?”
“I think calling on speaker would be best. I’ll lead, but if something crops up you want to jump on, go for it.”
She smiled. “Sounds like a plan.”
“I’ll run some records for you,” Greyson said.
“I’ll help,” Riley added, getting to her feet as Greyson did. Excusing themselves, they shut the conference room door behind them.
“Who’s first up?” Harper asked.
“Let’s start with Kevin Gaines. He was the one out sick?”
“Yes.” Her brow furrowed. “But he wasn’t there.”
“Exactly.” Deckard smiled.
THIRTY-SIX
DECKARD SANK BACK against the office chair and swung back and forth with the rotating seat. He looked over at Harper, a pen behind her ear, her blond hair wrapped up in some topsy-turvy bun. He smiled. It looked adorable. He might not be interested in having a relationship now, period. But, if he did, he supposed it would be with someone very much like Harper. Intelligent, funny, vivacious, but what he loved most of all was her quirkiness. She was confident in who she was, and that was extremely sexy. But . . . he tapped his pen against the legal pad covered with his chicken scratch . . . he wasn’t interested in a relationship. Romantic connections meant commitment, and while he had no problem being committed to family, faith, or work, to a person he would one day love like God loved the church? That he couldn’t do. It could bring his demons along for the ride. Until they went away, he stayed away from romance. That was, if they ever went away.
“I don’t know about you, but things are starting to blur,” he said, arching his back.
“Yeah.” She sat back and swiveled too. “I’m starting to confuse facts.”
He glanced at the clock. 1930. “Shoot. Riley is going to kill us.”
“Hmm.” She followed his line of sight to the clock. “Yikes. She said seven sharp.”
His sister had left a couple of hours ago to prepare dinner for everyone, and they’d only gotten Greyson out at a decent hour for once by convincing him Riley needed his help making enough grub to feed the slew of them.
They’d only remained behind because his tire wasn’t ready, then time slipped away. No doubt Leroy had left it fixed with the key under the mat.
He exhaled and glanced around at the dark office—only the conference room light shining down on them and the muted glow from Greyson’s small desk lamp. He liked the silence. Stillness.
Stretching, he kinked his neck, then closed the folder in front of him. They’d spent hours upon hours on the phone, interviewing lab tech Marshall Palmer, forensic manager Kevin Gaines, and everyone they could get ahold of save Todd Phillips and Pam Whitmore. Harper had even taken the initiative and placed a call to Councilman Markowitz. While he was focusing on the lab, she was focusing on those who knew Anne.
“We should probably wrap up.” He tapped the legal pad scribbled with notes with his pen.
“I agree, and I’m pretty sure your sister is going to read us the riot act when we get to your house.”
“Yeah. Not going to lie. I’d face a man with a gun before going up against Ri.”
Harper laughed, really laughed, and a crooked smile curled on his lips, her laughter bringing him an unexpected joy.
“Well,” she said, collecting her things into a pile, “I think we made good progress.”
“You can brief me on your call to Markowitz, and I can update you on the items Greyson flagged.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“You know . . .”
She looked up with those beautiful blue eyes. “Yes?”
He rolled his bottom lip slightly in his mouth, then released it. “Before we go—”
The lights cut out.
He frowned. “That’s odd. The backup generator should kick on the emergency lighting.”
A breath of a minute later, it did. The two exit signs illuminated—one for the main door, one for the rear that led to the stairwell. The emergency lights mounted over the rear sign illuminated, but the rest of the office remained shrouded in shadows.
Deckard stood and pulled his SIG, sliding one into the chamber.
Harper stood in sync, pulling her Glock—her big blue eyes wide in the dim light sweeping in through the crack in the door.
He held a finger to his lips.
Footsteps.
Deckard indicated for her to move to his six behind the slit in the nearly closed door.
She moved in place, and he positioned himself to look through the crack. Two figures in black cut a swath across the light’s beam.
“Remember,” the one man said. “Don’t leave a trace. Just see what they have and put it back in place. Boss’s orders.”
“I got it,” the other replied.
Deckard waited until they passed toward the back offices, then lifted his chin. They’d come out behind the men and have a clear shot. “Ready?” he mouthed.
She nodded.
He opened the door, and everything went black.
THIRTY-SEVEN
HIS HEAD FEELING like he’d been run over by a semi, Deckard blinked. Weight lay crisscross over his legs. What in the blazes was happening? He stared up at the dark ceiling. He lifted his head, and the world spun. Wet stuck to the back of his neck. He reached back and pulled his fingers back to reveal sticky blood. What on earth? With a stiff breath, he glanced down at Harper laying at a forty-five-degree angle across his legs, unconscious.
“Harp . . .” With gentle force, he shook her arm, his voice low. “Harp.”
He glanced around, his hand reaching for his SIG. Gone. He reached down and with tenderness moved Harper off his legs, rolling her easily to the floor, pushing the hair from her face. Darkness engulfed them as he reached for his knife, cool along his left calf. He remained still, listening. No one was moving, but it didn’t mean they were gone.
He reached over and rubbed Harper’s arm. “Harp,” he whispered. “Harp.” He tried again. He looked and saw her weapon was gone too. Great.
“Hmmm,” she murmured, rolling her head.
“We gotta go,” he said, his voice hushed, his gaze sweeping what he could see of the office from his vantage point.
Her eyes fluttered open, then widened.
He pressed his finger to his lips.
She nodded.
He pointed toward the door, and she nodded again, then winced. Blood drizzled along her already swelling temple. He ground his teeth. Whoever did this . . . He couldn’t focus on them right now. He had to get Harper out of the building as fast as possible and somewhere safe.
“Back stairwell,” he said, pointing to the adjacent exit sign as he retrieved his cell.
She gave a flash of a nod.
He punched in a code to his friend Sam and hit Send.
Helping Harper to her feet, they strode toward the edge of the hall and looked around the corner.
Sam texted back in the affirmative.
Seeing no one, they bolted for the door, opened it. Deckard cleared the space.
They moved in unison down the three flights of stairs, making sure each flight was clear before proceeding down it.
Walking four open blocks to his vehicle was untenable. Hence Sam.
They exited into the night but hung against the building in the shadows until Sam’s blue pickup roared to a stop in front of them.
The question registered on Harper’s face, but she didn’t ask, just moved with him behind her to the truck and climbed in.
“Hi,” she said to Sam.
He returned the quick greeting as Deckard climbed inside and shut the door.
Sam peeled off. “What happened and where to?”
“Drop me a couple blocks from Leroy’s and take Harper to Frannie’s diner.” It was knowable ground with lots of people always sifting in and out. She’d be safe there.
“Roger that.”
“What’s happening?” Harper said.
Deckard kept his gaze in the side mirror. “Getting us someplace safe and making sure no one is following us in the process.”
“Right here is good,” Deckard said to his friend, thankful for the backup measures they’d put in place should an emergency like this—or any for that matter—arise.
“I’ll wait with her at the diner,” Sam said.
“Thanks, man.” He clasped his friend’s hand, then turned to Harper, her temple swollen and marred with splotches of black and blue in the light of the moon. “I’ll be to the diner a matter of minutes after you. Go in, grab a seat. Stay with people until I pull up.”
She nodded then winced again.
Climbing out, he made his way to the garage, moving fast and in the darkness of night, making sure he wasn’t being tracked. Reaching the SUV, he climbed in and grabbed the key from under the mat, then started the engine. There must have been a third man who’d come around the other side of the conference room. It was the only thing that made sense, but he couldn’t dwell on that. His mission was to get Harper and get to the safety of the ranch.
Pulling up outside of the diner, Harper caught sight of him, lifted her chin, and headed out with Sam at her side. She climbed into the Equinox, and Sam’s hand braced on the open door. “You two be safe.”
“Thanks for being there,” Deck said.
“I’m just glad I was home to help.”
“Me too.” Though they had three friends in play should the need arise.
Sam shut the door, and they were on the way to the ranch, Deck tapping the wheel, his nerves vibrating. How’d he let someone get the jump on him? He clasped the steering wheel, his knuckles surely white, though it was too dark to see. He looked over at Harper. “You okay?”
She gave a slight nod, holding two fingers gingerly to her temple. “I took a good one.”
