Standoff, page 4
Abruptly he opened his eyes, and her heart hitched from being caught. Her cell phone dinged and gave her an excuse to look away. Jeremy.
Thinking of you. Would you like company?
Warmth filled her. Jeremy had been there for her the past few days, but she was reluctant for him to come by with Luke here. She texted him back that it wasn’t a good time.
“Any idea what your intruder was looking for?” Luke asked.
She looked up from her phone, heat rising in her face. “Not a clue, unless it had something to do with a case Dad was working on.” Her phone lit up again and she slipped it in her pocket. It was plain rude to text in the middle of a conversation. “Or someone saw the obituary and figured they could break in while we were gone,” she said.
“Sad to say that happens a lot. Shouldn’t you answer your text?”
“It’s a friend . . . I’ll get back with him later.” Did Luke’s body just stiffen or did she imagine it?
“Are you familiar with any of your dad’s cases?”
“Ha-ha,” she said. “Like Dad ever shared anything about his work with us.” The swing had stilled, and she used her foot to push it in motion again. “Why did you want to make sure I was okay? Not that I’m complaining. I’m glad you did, but I’m curious.”
He lifted his shoulders in a tiny shrug. “I don’t know. I saw your car and just wanted to make sure you were all right. You’d had a bad day even before the break-in.”
It had definitely been a bad day. “Thanks.” She fingered one of the chain links that anchored the swing to the porch ceiling.
“Did I—”
“I heard—”
“You first,” she said.
“I heard you’d finished the law enforcement training in Georgia,” he said. “When do you start?”
“I have one event tomorrow night as an interpretive ranger . . .” She glanced down at the award in her lap. Excellence in Training. “I was supposed to officially start field training Monday with Dad after he swore me in.”
She’d so looked forward to that special moment with him. The air hung heavy between them in an awkward silence. Luke was like everyone else, two-stepping around the Clydesdale in the room. “My dad did not commit suicide.”
For a second he didn’t answer, and then he shook his head. “I never believed he did.”
“Thank you.” Tears burned her eyes. Finally someone besides family who agreed with her. “I was supposed to ride with him Sunday night. I keep thinking I should have tracked him down and found out why he cancelled.”
“Don’t blame yourself. Your dad did things his way,” he said. “Is anyone investigating his death as something other than suicide?”
She shook her head. “Just me.”
“I wish I could help you.”
She supposed a bartender would be as good as some of the investigators she’d met. “Once I’m sworn in Monday, I’ll have access to Dad’s file.”
“You’re staying on in Natchez?”
“Absolutely. Gary Franklin is retiring, and I’m taking his place.”
Again Luke was quiet. When he looked up, he said, “I’m glad your dad finally came around . . . you know, accepted you were going to be a law enforcement ranger.”
“It took him long enough. Said he’d never met anyone so stubborn. And I don’t know why he was opposed. Working in law enforcement is part of my DNA.”
She stared at him. How did he know Dad had initially opposed her joining the law enforcement side of the park service, anyway? The question rested on the tip of her tongue, and then she pushed it away. She really didn’t want to get into that subject tonight.
He tilted his head. “You were about to ask me something?”
“Did I see a gun in your hand earlier?”
His face shuttered, and she didn’t think he would answer, then he shrugged.
“I have a permit to carry a concealed weapon,” he said. “Never know when I might need one on the job.”
When she’d bumped into him in Jackson a few months ago, he’d been coming out of the bar where he worked. “So you’re still at Dave’s Bar and Grill?”
“More or less.”
That was an odd answer. But maybe he only worked part-time. Of all the career paths Luke could have taken, tending bar had never been on her radar. When he’d left Natchez for Annapolis, she figured he would follow in his father’s footsteps. She opened her mouth to ask what happened when the front screen opened, and Pete Nelson stepped outside.
The Natchez chief of police had been off duty when she called, but he’d come anyway, dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt. With his shaved head, he reminded her of an African American version of Mr. Clean. Pete acknowledged Luke with a nod.
“The break-in is proof my dad didn’t commit suicide,” she said.
Pete’s brown eyes softened. “There’s no way to know if this has any bearing on his death. You said the intruder wore gloves. What type are you talking about? Leather, latex . . . ?”
“Not leather. Latex or maybe even vinyl.”
“Was there anything familiar about him?”
She shook her head. “It was dark, but I get the sense he was taller than I am and pretty solid.”
He nodded and shifted to Luke. “How about you?”
“I didn’t see him at all.”
“Too bad,” he said and turned back to Brooke. “Do you know what cases your father was working on?”
She’d answered this question Monday when the Adams County sheriff questioned her, and she repeated her answer now. “No. He didn’t share that kind of information with me.”
“How about his reports?”
She pictured some of the mostly one-page reports she’d seen. “Except for the ones he had to turn in to the district office, he wrote them in a shorthand that only he understood. Have you checked to see if anyone broke into his office at Port Gibson?”
“Talked with Clayton.” Pete glanced at his notebook. “He said everything looked fine.”
Clayton Bradshaw. Her dad had mentioned the younger ranger was looking to move up the park service ladder, so he would probably request and get her dad’s position. That meant he would be her new supervisor.
“I came out on the porch to tell you the techs would be finished in the next few minutes,” Pete said. “And I’m really sorry this happened to you.”
“Thanks,” she said. Pete had been in her and Luke’s senior class in high school. Just like never thinking Luke would be a bartender, she never would have figured Pete for law enforcement. “You didn’t bother with fingerprints, did you?”
“Only the study on the hopes the intruder may have taken off the gloves briefly. There’ve been so many people in and out of your house the past couple of days, it would be futile to dust the whole place.”
“I assume you want me to see if anything is missing.”
“If you don’t mind.”
“I wish my mother were here to check, but she and my sister just got off a plane in Knoxville.” Her mom had texted an hour ago they were on their way to Meghan’s house. In turn, Brooke had phoned and informed her about the break-in.
“When will she get back?”
“I’m not sure. Her work is being featured in an art gallery all next month.” Her mother’s paintings had really taken off in the last few years, and one of the first galleries that had shown her work was in Knoxville. “She may not come back before the baby comes, but I can call and ask her to come home if you think it’s necessary.”
Pete shook his head. “Why don’t you check the house out before we make a decision?”
Good. When Brooke called earlier, her mother had told her to handle the problem, and she really didn’t want to call her again.
Luke checked his watch and stood. “I’m going to head out since you don’t need me now, but remember, I’m right next door.”
For a second his blue eyes held Brooke captive, and she smiled at him, hating the way her heart skipped. She’d learned long ago to keep Luke in the friend box, and she wasn’t about to let him out. “Thanks.”
Then she thought of Daisy’s mail that she’d collected. “And if you talk to your grandmother, tell her I’ll bring her mail tomorrow.”
When Luke started down the steps, Pete said, “Hold up. I have a couple more questions to ask you.”
“I’ll be in Dad’s office,” Brooke said and walked inside the house to his study, where she surveyed the room. It would be hard to know if anything was missing since she wasn’t privy to his files. She remembered the security system. Had her mom set the alarm before they left? She needed to check and see. It was a whole other ball game if the intruder had disabled it.
With a sigh Brooke took out her phone and called her mother’s number again.
11
When Luke knocked on the Danverses’ door, he’d never expected to find Brooke in trouble. Or that seeing her would have such an impact on him. It had taken his breath away when he realized she was in danger. And once he’d gotten his bearings, it had been her natural beauty that had left him struggling to breathe.
It was as though fourteen years had not passed. Brooke still wore her silky dark hair pulled away from her face in a ponytail. The style emphasized her huge brown eyes and high cheekbones. It was the way Luke always pictured her. Except for the one time he’d loosened the tie that held her hair and it fell around her shoulders. But they’d not been much more than kids then, and he brushed the memory away.
Luke glanced toward the house. He would love to stay and examine John’s office with Brooke, but that wasn’t possible—he had an appointment. Neither did he figure the role of concerned neighbor would extend that far, and he didn’t want to raise a red flag, especially with the chief of police.
While he knew Pete Nelson from high school, he’d never worked with the chief. Nelson didn’t know Luke was undercover, either, and he wasn’t ready to reveal that yet, not until he knew for sure Pete Nelson was clean.
Sonny had indicated a few times that someone in the law enforcement community was on the cartel’s payroll, and Sunday night Romero reinforced the impression. It was Luke’s job to ferret that person out. It could be a city cop, a sheriff’s deputy, a ranger—even the head of one of the law enforcement agencies.
Pete jogged down the steps where Luke waited. The skinny high school senior he remembered had packed on weight—solid muscle.
“What brings you back to Natchez?” Pete asked.
“John’s funeral and helping my grandmother get situated once her surgeon releases her from rehab,” he said. “So, how do you like being chief of police?”
Pete laughed. “It has its moments, but I like it just fine.”
His senior year, Luke had stayed in Natchez with his grandmother, and Pete and his cousins had been in his class. The cousins, a set of twins and an older boy who should have already graduated, had a reputation for trouble. Pete could have gone either way, but it appeared he’d taken the right path and somehow escaped being painted with the same brush as his cousins.
“You didn’t see the intruder at all?” Pete asked.
“No. When I rang the doorbell, I heard a commotion inside. Had no idea someone was in the house other than Brooke. He was gone by the time she let me in.”
“I’m glad you were around.”
“So am I,” he said. “But Brooke wouldn’t want anyone to think she’s not capable of taking care of herself.”
“You know her pretty well.”
“Maybe once upon a time. Not so much now.” Luke had spent a lot of summers in Natchez with his grandmother, and even as a kid, he’d observed Brooke’s fierce independence and the way she took care of herself and her sister, Meghan. Luke bit back a smile. Little blonde-haired Meghan had been a different story with her fair complexion and quiet ways, always striving to please everyone—not at all like her sister.
Pete looked back toward the house. “Yeah, Brooke was kind of prickly when we were in school together.” He took a card from his pocket. “If you think of anything, give me a call.”
“Sure thing.” Luke took the card and stuck it in his wallet, then shook hands with him. “Good to see you again.”
The chief started to walk away and stopped. “Maybe I shouldn’t say anything . . .”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t,” Luke said. For a second he thought the chief would keep his thoughts to himself.
Pete rested his hand on the gun clipped to his belt. “Don’t encourage Brooke to investigate her dad’s death. She’s only going to be hurt. The ME was adamant that John Danvers committed suicide, and as far as I’ve been able to tell, there’s nothing to indicate otherwise.”
Why was everyone so quick to write John’s death off as a suicide? “There wasn’t a note, so I’m surprised the ME made such a quick ruling.”
Pete eyed him. “I’ve never known him to be wrong.”
This was one time Luke was pretty sure he was, but he didn’t contradict the police chief. With another nod, Pete turned and walked back to the Danverses’ house.
Once Pete disappeared inside the door, Luke jogged over to his grandmother’s house, his mind returning to Brooke. Just seeing her tonight took him back to their last time together. Or maybe it’d been the light fragrance of her floral-scented perfume that transported him back in time to the June evening under the magnolia tree in his grandmother’s backyard where he’d kissed Brooke.
Luke’s face burned as he remembered walking her to her parents’ back door and then leaving, only to find her father waiting for him in the drive. He’d warned him to stay away from Brooke . . . well, he hadn’t exactly warned him off, just told him he better not break his daughter’s heart. Even at eighteen, Luke knew he didn’t want to jeopardize his relationship with a man who treated him better than his own father. And with years ahead of him at the Naval Academy, a fling is all it could have been.
Sometimes he wondered what would have happened if he’d stayed in Natchez instead of caving to the pressure of pleasing his dad and following in his footsteps to Annapolis. Luke shook his head. That bridge had burned a long time ago. Besides, from the way she reacted to the text she’d received, it was apparent Brooke was involved with someone.
Luke’s phone buzzed in his pocket as he entered the house, and he quickly glanced at it. Sonny. “Yeah?”
“Romero wants to put the deal off a week.”
Luke silently groaned. He needed to get in good with Boudreaux, and the only way to do that was buy his heroin. In large quantities. “You tell Romero he’s making a mistake. Sixty thousand is a drop in the bucket to what my people are ready to spend. If not with him, then someone else.”
“I’m not telling him anything. The man would as soon kill me as look at me.”
Luke wasn’t ready to give up. “Did he say why?”
“He didn’t say and I didn’t ask.”
“You have some idea, though.”
“I figure it has to do with that ranger’s death.”
“It was ruled a suicide.”
“For now. If the FBI investigates deeper, they may learn there was a big drop at Emerald Mound Sunday night. I figure the ranger found out about it and showed up.”
Luke’s heart stilled. “How did he find out?”
“I’ve heard Danvers had a couple of informants.”
“Did Romero kill him? Is that why he’s worried?”
“Romero wasn’t involved in the drop. As for whether he killed the ranger or not, he’s not going to share anything like that with me.”
“Do you think he did it? He was late getting to the meeting the other night. Maybe that’s the reason.”
“Those questions are above my pay grade, and for what it’s worth, they’re above yours.”
In other words, don’t ask questions. “Thanks for the advice.” He needed to be careful what he asked. Too much curiosity might make Romero skittish. “Can you get me another meeting with him?”
“Maybe.”
“Give him this number and tell him to call me.”
“Okay, but I wouldn’t count on hearing from him.”
“Just tell him my people are looking at another source to provide what we need.” He was willing to bet Romero would call within the hour. “Maybe I need to talk to his boss. Can you set that up?”
“Nope. Only Romero can do that.”
After he disconnected, Luke studied the photos on his smartphone. Whatever the intruder was searching for had to be small, and judging by the broken picture frames, it had to be flat. He sent the photos from his phone to the printer, and a few minutes later, he arranged them on the left side of a corkboard he’d moved into his grandmother’s library. While he hated that Daisy was in rehab, being in her house by himself allowed him to set up a crime scene board without having to explain what he was doing.
On the right side of the board he pinned the photos from Emerald Mound. He took out a magnifying glass and examined the pictures one more time, looking for any kind of clue. Once he had the official crime scene photos, Luke would compare them.
12
He paced the floor. He’d found nothing in Danvers’s office. No notes. No file. Maybe Danvers hadn’t put anything in writing. He was famous for keeping everything in his head. His phone rang and he checked the ID. Not a number he recognized. Had to be Romero.
“I know what you’re doing.”
Not Romero. “Who is this?”
“A friend who wants to help you.”
“Help me? I don’t need any help. How did you get my phone number?”
“It’s on your business card.”
A lot of people had his business card. That voice. He’d heard it before. But where? “Look, you’re crazy. I don’t have time for this.”
