Watchers of the Night, page 20
Adam had been right—she’d been working too much, but that was how she was wired. That, and the constant need to prove her worth to Boucher and the police force.
She sat down and stared at the laptop’s dark screen. Did she still need to convince others that she knew her job very well? Sometimes it was a resounding yes, but not as often as in the past, when she took on her first case. Or was she trying to prove something…to herself?
No. She’d asked herself this question many, many times over the years, and the answer was always negative. Cynthia knew what she was capable of with a fingerprint and the right tools.
And that’s why she sat here, ready to throw her equipment against a wall. She found herself facing a terrifying adversary, and more questions than answers to this bombing investigation. It filled her with anger—and a heavy dose of doubt in her abilities. It was all on her shoulders to find out the truth.
Maverick sounded so sure the captain wasn’t her prime suspect, but why? What did her friend know that he insisted Boucher be provided with the clues to where the sniper might have been hiding when he set off the bomb?
“Argh!” She slammed her hand on the pine table. It didn’t matter how many times she pored over her evidence, she came up with the same answer—Boucher.
Well, there was one thing she could do—text the captain to see if he’d taken the bait and found any rifle casings. If he answered her, it would be a pleasant surprise. If not—well, she’d need to come up with a different angle.
The thought of crawling back onto the couch and snuggling within Adam’s warmth was tempting. She even got up and made it to the door before pausing to look back. The laptop taunted her. It almost felt like it dared Cynthia to ignore what needed to be done.
Cynthia glanced at the couch—Adam was still asleep, judging by his gentle snoring.
“Fine, you battery-powered piece of junk,” she whispered. “Come to Momma.”
She got it powered up, and while it quickly ran through diagnostics, she sent a short text to Boucher to find out if he’d discovered anything. She double-clicked a folder, then stopped altogether. The meditation practice she had done consistently for the last four years had been tossed to the side during this case. It was time to bring it back. In the past, it soothed the impractical thoughts in her head and allowed her body to relax. Then she could concentrate on her work with a fresh outlook.
It took longer than expected. Her brain wouldn’t calm down, and it took several tries before she managed to mentally push the thoughts aside and breathe into the moment. She kept her mind still as she hummed quietly through her chant, finally feeling her muscles loosen and her consciousness slow down. By the time Cynthia finished and opened her eyes, she felt clear, her mind empty of the chaos that had dominated it.
This time, she had a goal to accomplish. She would look at everything again, but instead of growing frustrated, she’d write notes and look for any inconsistencies. She might have missed something.
Cynthia took her time until she had everything typed out, but in a shorter format that was easier to go over, and then she realized something.
No word from Mav. She had turned on her personal phone’s GPS before leaving Adam’s condo, so he knew where she was. He’d also said something about digging into more intel. She had no idea what he was looking for, so she sent him a text, letting him know she was safe, and inquired about his research. With any luck, he’d get back to her with answers she could use.
Cynthia’s other mystery was the Viking pendant found by Daniel at the second explosion site. The piece of unusual jewelry had no fingerprints on it, and she hadn’t had the opportunity to do a search for the artist. She would do that now.
The soft creak of furniture—damn, Adam must be awake. “Cyn?”
“I’m in here,” she called out, typing the necklace’s description into the internet’s search box. It immediately pulled up hundreds of hits, but she should be able to narrow it down.
“What are you doing?” He walked in, wearing boxers and nothing else. The scent of his skin almost made her forget about what she was working on.
“I realized I hadn’t finished work on something the guys found at the Kootenay Ridge crime site.” She pointed at the screen. “They found a necklace buried under the meth.”
“What?” He leaned closer to get a better look.
“It really stands out. I think the wolf heads are Geri and Freki, Odin’s pets or protectors, or something.” She clicked on a link that looked promising. “If I can find the artist, I can get a customer list to discover—”
“Don’t bother.”
“Excuse me?” What the hell was he talking about? “What do you mean, don’t bother? This could be crucial.”
“Because I recognize that necklace.”
She turned in her chair, a question forming on her lips, but stopped. Adam’s expression was…wrong. A mix of sadness, resignation and what she thought looked like defeat. “Wait, do you know the owner?”
“Yeah.” He moved to a chair opposite her and sat down.
Why did she have a bad feeling about this? “Hang on—don’t tell me it’s your dad’s.”
“No.” His blue gaze fixed on her. “It’s mine.”
His? This wasn’t happening—it couldn’t be.
Cynthia stared at him, keeping her fear in check, but her mind raced down a dangerous, anxious path. If what Adam said was true, he was at least responsible for making and selling drugs with the perp from the Kootenay Ridge investigation. And bringing her to his cottage, out in the middle of nowhere, was perfect if he wanted to get rid of a body.
The calm she had managed to find only minutes ago went out the window. Thoughts warred with each other—logic versus emotion, doubt versus certainty. Her brain ran through the evidence again, searching, analyzing. It took less than twenty seconds, while Adam sat quietly, watching her.
Several things didn’t add up, and Cynthia finally made a fateful decision—she would listen to his explanation. “Why do you say that?”
“Because it’s true.” He hadn’t moved, kept his hands palms down on the study desk.
“I can easily say I don’t believe you.”
“You could, but I would come back at you with the knowledge of an inscription on the back of the hammer that says Lancelot, strong and true—Dad.” He paused. “Lancelot is my middle name.”
“Lord.” Cynthia hadn’t expected that. This wasn’t looking good at all. She didn’t dare look around—he’d know she was looking for a weapon to defend herself. All she had was her laptop. She moved her hands so that they sat on either side of the machine. “What else do you want to tell me?” she asked.
“That I have nothing to do with the drug bust. I’m innocent.”
“Don’t all criminals say that?” Her snarky attitude immediately rose like a wall to protect her from the inevitable heartache and pain that were sure to come. Her decision to take a chance on Adam—on loving someone—waited to backfire in her face.
“I’m not a criminal, Cyn.”
His icy gaze kept her riveted in her seat. She had to move, but wanted—needed—to hear what he had to say.
Adam frowned. “Instead of just condemning me, think about this, will you? My necklace was planted.”
“Oh, I had thought about it. There were no prints, and honestly, the necklace was too clean—no meth residue on it at all, and none in the plastic bag it came in. Daniel said he found it buried beneath the drug packages, which already raised my suspicions it was deliberately put there.” She closed her laptop. “And honestly, leaving something so distinctive at a crime scene is just plain reckless. What I want to know is, how did your necklace end up in Kootenay Ridge with the drugs?”
“Honestly, I don’t know.” He sat back but didn’t get up. It looked like this would be a battle of logic. “Dad gave the necklace to me when I turned twenty-five and was about to move to Nova Scotia. He picked Thor because the Viking god represented strength and was a protector of mankind. It fit the job I was taking on with the coast guard.” He shrugged. “Fits with what I’m doing now too.”
Wow, he was calm. None of the classic signs of nervousness came from him—no fidgeting, no wandering of his gaze. He wasn’t sweating or stumbling over his words. Of course, he could just also be good at this.
“It might have been stolen from Dad.”
That surprised her. “Your dad? Why would he have it?”
“It came back with me when I moved into the condo. It was there with my other belongings. Dad might have taken it for a reason.”
Adam had just blamed his father for stealing his necklace. She leaned forward. “And somehow planted it with this dude’s meth stash in order to lay the blame on you?”
“No. If it was either of us, Dad would take the fall—he wouldn’t set me up like that.”
That statement she believed. “The captain was upset when he saw a picture of the necklace,” she told him.
His eyes widened. “I’ll bet he was. Dad told me Boucher was with him when he picked it up at the jewelers for my birthday. Did he say anything?”
“Nope, that’s when the captain told me to hightail it. I’m sure he didn’t think I’d be with you.”
Adam stood. Cynthia rose as well and gripped her laptop. “I have an idea,” he said. “Call Boucher and let him know you’re staying with me.”
“And what good would that do?” She was grasping at straws. Everything she’d found—all the evidence gathered and analyzed—led to Captain Boucher. And while the captain hadn’t denied anything, his unexplained response to her accusation threw her for a loop.
“Because if the criminal is Boucher, he knows he’d have to go through me to get to you.”
Cynthia sensed a question mark forming over her head like one of those comic talking bubbles. “Wait,…what?”
“Come on, Cyn. Do you really think I’m part of some drug gang?” He took a step toward her. “Do you?”
This was why getting romantically involved with a colleague was a problem. How could she think logically with Adam standing there in his underwear? The thought almost made her laugh out loud.
“I had too many opportunities to count to get rid of you. If that was my intention.”
“Yeah, I know that.” While her logic was off course, her instinct was firing on all cylinders. She knew he didn’t have anything to do with this. “It’s just, you know, hard to ignore evidence.”
“I get that. But you also know how I work. You know I’m thorough, organized. You don’t think I’d leave something so obvious as this necklace to be found?”
She shook her head. It was true—she’d worked on his cases long enough to know his methods. And it did seem strange the necklace was in a clean, drug-free plastic baggie, buried under the meth stash. “It was a red herring.”
He nodded, taking another step in her direction. “To throw you off the scent and fix that gorgeous, deep brown gaze on me.”
“When the hell did Boucher find the time to plant that?”
“He might have gone to the crime scene with the others. Or maybe he was in league with the perp.”
“Honestly, when this is over, I’m taking a damn vacation.” She put the laptop down and crossed her arms.
“I hope you’ll let me join you.” He stood in front of her.
“I’ll think about it.” But she knew her smile said otherwise.
* * *
Adam had really believed in that moment, everything he wanted with Cynthia would go up in smoke.
Seeing the picture of his necklace on her laptop had sent ice-cold dread through every part of his being, especially after spying the inscription from Dad on the back. He had no clue how something so personal ended up at the Kootenay Ridge crime scene, but his highest priority was to convince the woman he cared about that he was not involved in any way.
And how the hell could he do that?
By being honest. She respected that—truth, no nonsense and a clear explanation of things. To be treated and seen as a colleague and investigator first. To most men, that would be a tough pill to swallow, but not for him. His admiration for her skills had only climbed during these past few days, and watching how she struggled to figure out the identity of the arsonist who killed his dad only increased his desire and care for her.
He had thought about that while admitting the necklace belonged to him. He had remained calm despite the reckless beating of his heart, presenting the facts to her as Cynthia would have wanted. He had kept his cool while watching her figure out how to get out of the hot mess she suddenly found herself in, and almost swore in grief when she picked up her precious laptop to use as a weapon.
Ten anxious, nail-biting minutes later, logic, of all things, had won out. The urge to wrap his arms around her as she realized his innocence had to be restrained—it wasn’t the time for it. And, judging by her smirk as she looked him over, he remembered he only had his boxers on. Yeah, sensitive, romantic hug could wait until later. “Guess we should go to bed,” he murmured.
“I can’t sleep. I’m all wired because I thought you—” She stopped.
“Well, I’m not.” He traced fingers across her cheek. “So you can stop worrying.”
The sudden ringing of a cell phone made him jerk in surprise.
“Holy crap, that’s my work phone.” She grabbed it from the table and looked at the number. “It’s Captain Boucher.”
Damn. Why would he be calling her at this time of night?
She put it on speakerphone. “Sir, what is it? Why are you calling so late?”
No answer, but heavy breathing reverberated through the phone.
“Captain? Sir?” Still nothing. Cynthia glanced up at him.
“May I?”
She raised the phone to his face, keeping it on speaker mode. “Captain, this is Solberg. Are you there? Are you all right?”
“I knew it! I knew Cynthia was with someone. It figures it had to be you, Detective.”
“Wait a minute. Daniel, is that you?” Cynthia demanded. “What are you doing with Captain Boucher’s phone?”
“Hey, Cyn.” His voice sounded almost…cheerful. “How are you? I just wanted to check in to see that you were okay.”
“Daniel, what are you doing with Boucher’s phone? Where is he?”
“Oh, he’s not feeling too good right now. Long day at the office.”
The hairs rose on the back of Adam’s neck. The way Daniel said that was...not right.
“Daniel, where is he?” Cynthia shouted into the phone.
“He’s with me. We’re coming up to the cottage.”
What the hell did that mean? He signaled to Cynthia to keep talking as he walked out to the living room.
“What cottage?” she asked as she followed him.
“Don’t screw with me, Cynthia.” Daniel’s voice through the phone’s speaker had instantly changed to a cold tone. “You’re hiding out with Solberg. I know where you’re hiding, courtesy of the Toronto Police Stingray phone surveillance. And you can’t tell me you haven’t started putting two and two together when you heard my voice.”
The pieces were starting to fall into place. Adam hurried to the chest where the loaded guns were hidden.
“Are you admitting your guilt to something?” She had put the phone down, and was hurriedly getting dressed. Adam came back to her, rifle in one hand, while he gave her the Glock. He pulled his own clothes on as she kept talking to Daniel.
“You’re so full of it, Cornwall. I’m not admitting to anything. You and Solberg, however, are going to have one hell of a good time when I arrive with the Desperados.”
Chapter 17
Daniel Oostermann, the humorous little jerk, always cracking jokes and acting inexperienced around Cynthia. He was the bastard working with Captain Boucher and the one responsible for killing Dad and their friends?
Adam stuffed extra shells into his pants pocket while Cyn checked the Glock. “I don’t want you down here when he arrives,” he told her.
He knew he would get a look, and she didn’t disappoint. “I can look after myself.”
“I know that. But we—you—need a recorded confession from him. You can’t do that while holding a gun.”
She carefully tucked the weapon into the waistband of her jeans. “Then what do you propose?”
“You work with him, what do you think? Will he admit his guilt to me or you?”
She shook her head. “I honestly don’t know. He might make fun of me for not figuring out his involvement, or he’d talk to you because, you know, man-to-man confession.”
“Not helpful.” The front and rear doors, along with the windows, had already been locked, and the security cameras turned on, so those bases were covered. “Daniel said he was bringing the Desperados,” Adam murmured. He turned off the lights except for the high-wattage security lights positioned over the front and rear entrances and on the roof. “Any idea how many members in that gang?”
“Seven, that we know of. Eight if we count Larry.”
Adam hoped the teenager wasn’t involved. He took his personal phone out of his pocket and tapped on the app that displayed the home security on the cottage. The cameras were wide-angle lenses, and it looked like Dad installed a second pair. In all, they covered the road leading toward the door at the front, while the back view covered the dock and the woods to either side. Excellent. “Get your stuff and keep it with you. I don’t want Daniel getting his hands on it and destroying what you’ve worked on. I also want you to download the security app for the cottage.”
She returned in a few minutes and rammed her laptop and tablet into the satchel, then followed his instructions for the app. “Okay, I can see outside.” She frowned. “The security lights don’t penetrate the darkness very much.”
