Hannah's Truth (Cypress Security Book 4), page 8
“There’s no telling how long it will take to wrap this up.” He took her hand in his. Mesmerized, he traced the long line of her fingers and the delicate veins under her soft skin. “Bad enough Maria told the staff I kept my new wife a secret all this time. I’ll never hear the end of it if they think I skimped on the most romantic part of the process.”
“We know better. Isn’t that what matters most?”
He agreed on one level. “Selling the story matters more. For your safety and mine.”
“This is too much,” she repeated.
“No, it’s necessary. I can sell it back when we’ve wrapped your case.”
“You can?”
He sure hoped so. “You’ll be saving me too.”
“How’s that?”
He leaned forward, the scent of her hair tickling his nose as he whispered in her ear. “Mrs. Delvecchio’s been trying to set me up with her great niece for the last year. It’s a huge help to be off the market.”
She leaned back, her hands warm on his jaw as she looked him square in the eye. “You’re telling the truth.”
“Honesty is my policy.”
Her eyes fell to his lips, then further as her hands dropped to her lap. “I’m sorry, Bart.”
He wondered if she’d tell him whatever secret he sensed she was leaving out, but she didn’t elaborate. “Ah, come on. Don’t worry about it. You know I’m always up for a little excitement.”
Finally she looked at him again, one corner of her lips lifting in a hint of a smile. “Thanks. For everything.”
“You’re welcome.” He gave up the fight and pressed a quick kiss to the sweet place where her smile tried to break free. “Go on. It’s lady’s choice today.”
Her chest lifted with a heavy breath and she faced the dark velvet cloth sparkling with stones and settings like so many stars on a clear summer night.
She drew two gold bands closer, held each up, and after a long perusal, nodded. “These will do.”
He started to protest, but she cut him off. “Lady’s choice, you said.”
“Yeah. I did.” Waving Mrs. Delvecchio over again, he made the purchase and they made a study of the estate jewelry on the opposite side of the store while the rings were sized. With the two velvet boxes in hand, they headed back to the car.
“You didn’t have to go this extra mile,” she began as he set the fussy bag with tissue, jewelry boxes and a ring cleaner kit on the car seat between them.
“We already had this conversation,” he said as the engine coughed once before roaring back to life. “Best to get it over with.” He popped open one box and handed her the smaller of the twin gold bands. Taking the other, he twisted it down over his knuckle, wishing he could figure out why something that weighed less than an ounce felt so damned heavy.
He knew it was an irrational overreaction, but he wasn’t about to admit it. Not when he was frustrated about being used.
It was one thing, a conscious choice, when he’d been a tool for his country. For the most part he’d enjoyed the work until he’d been injured. But being used by Hannah had him creeping closer to an edge he’d never encountered before.
The feeling wasn’t even completely accurate. She’d ditched a protective detail so she could warn him about the wiretap and help him out. She had every right to want to resolve her case against the cartel and he sure as hell wanted to root out whatever problem Tim had been tracking.
This whole mess defied a logical definition, which only exacerbated his trouble with this new, awkward coil in their relationship. Mentally, he’d put her in a category that didn’t intersect with business, despite the badge and position she’d earned. Maybe, without realizing it, he’d put himself in that same category. After he’d been injured, he wasn’t a sharp stick the Army could aim at the enemy anymore and in many ways he’d enjoyed the completely different challenges of becoming a civilian businessman and involved father.
Chapter 8
Best to get it over with?
“That’s just what every bride wants to hear,” Hannah said with a smile. She recognized the trapped look on his face. She’d seen a similar expression on her own when the pregnancy test came up positive.
“Sorry.” He put the car in gear and backed out of the parking space.
“Not accepted.” She patted his leg, then pulled her hand back quickly. She shouldn’t be so familiar with a man who’d basically told her to keep her distance. “This was a thoughtful thing to do. Thanks.” Hannah smiled at him as the bellowing engine reverberated through the car. “Where does Tim live?”
“In the middle of nowhere. He rents a double wide about fifteen minutes from the truck stop.” He propped his elbow in the open window and hoped the wind cleared the cobwebs from his brain.
She followed his example. “Must be convenient for him to live so close.”
“It is. Was.” He kept his gaze on the winding road. “Do you have a cover story in mind? What exactly have you told your boss?”
“Not much. I said we got married on a whim in Vegas and I implied I’ve been closing up my place in Maryland so I could move here to be with you.”
“Other than off the case, what’s your official status?” Most of his staff recognized an agent whether they flashed a badge or not.
“Do you want the truth or a cover story answer?”
“Yes.” He tapped her knee. “Before you answer, remember I can verify it with Eva.”
“You’re a difficult man, Bart.”
“I can be. But you should’ve known that already.”
The wind tugged at her hair and she pushed it behind her ear. “I’m on administrative leave. That answer can serve both purposes.”
“Why didn’t I tell anyone about us?” He flashed the ring.
“Do I have to come up with all the answers?”
He nodded. “You’ve had the most time to dwell on the situation.”
“Fine. How about you didn’t say anything because you were afraid I’d change my mind. It was a spur of the moment choice after all.”
He gave a snort. “Fair enough. I really wouldn’t have told anyone about a wedding if the bride didn’t come home with me. They’d never believe it. You’re clever.”
“You used to like that about me.” He used to like a lot of things about her. If Vegas hadn’t already ruined their friendship, her lie would have done the trick.
“I still like you, but this is going to be a hard cover to sell. I’m not husband material. Ask anyone.”
She disagreed, but arguing would be a waste of time. When he’d been with her, she might not have been thinking about him as a husband, but she thought of him as the best kind of man.
“Around the truck stop I won’t have to ask. Your team is all too happy to volunteer their opinions on everything.”
He laughed. “More often than you’ll want to hear them, I guarantee it. It’s a system that works for us.”
They were quiet as he slowed down and turned onto a narrow dirt lane.
“Aside from me, do you have any idea who else the DEA is looking at here?”
“I don’t think they are looking at you,” she replied.
“Don’t do that,” he barked, startling her. “Just don’t. My house is bugged. If your boss was so opposed to your visit that you felt the need to fabricate a wedding, they have something pretty solid on me or someone in my employ. There isn’t any kind of agent around here who would look at my operation and believe I wasn’t in on something involving my staff.”
“I tried to get more information.” And her boss had almost let something slip.
“And I’m thinking out loud here. It’s the only place I can think out loud. You’re here unofficially, because the DEA thinks someone in my store, if not me specifically, has made a deal with the newest bad guy on the block.”
She tugged on the seat belt, keeping the hot webbing away from her neck. “Who is the newest bad guy on the block?”
“Not your Gonzales. At least no one is using his name. Until today, I hadn’t seen that cartel skull graffiti anywhere nearby. It’s been status quo around here since the beginning of the year.”
“Right.”
“Seriously, I haven’t seen any new players around the truck stop. The runners I do recognize don’t seem to be any more stressed or cocky than usual. If Tim was into something, he didn’t tell me.”
He rolled to a stop in front of a double wide mobile home that might have been white in its youth, but now was a dull gray. Everything was neatly maintained, from the picnic table under a shady tree to the clean windows and stumpy shrubs planted on either side of the front steps.
“Tim’s house?”
“You said you wanted to look around.”
“I did. Do.” She pulled a pair of latex gloves out of her purse, handing him one.
He hesitated. “My prints are already in there.”
“Your choice,” she said with a shrug. “But it’s better if we don’t make things worse for either of us. What did Wallace find out here?”
“Nothing specific. He only told me he didn’t find Tim’s car.” He tugged the glove into place and pushed open his door.
“Which means he was jumped between here and the truck stop last night or early this morning.”
Bart nodded. “Let’s go.”
She liked the calculating grin on his face a little too much, felt a similar grin tilt her lips.
“If I know Wallace, he’ll be methodical and focus on the immediate crime scene. That gives us a narrow window to see if the killer left any clues out here.”
“You were going to come out here even if I hadn’t suggested it.”
He nodded. “Tim’s a friend. I won’t let them make him a scapegoat.”
“Huh.”
“What?” He glanced over his shoulder, that little smirk on his face.
“Your file doesn’t say anything about being with the military police, but you’ve got a knack for investigating.”
“Because I never was an MP. But Spec Ops was more than just a scope and a rifle, sweetheart.” He tried the doorknob. “That’s weird.”
“Something wrong?”
“Tim didn’t usually lock the door.”
He bent over, his fingers sliding along the top step. When he stood, the sunlight hit the brass key in his palm. He slid the key into the lock and opened the door.
“Resourceful,” she said.
He winked at her. “More than one of my commanding officers complimented my initiative during my career.” His bravado faded. “The women in my life usually call it something else.”
“Look, if being married for the sake of the case is going to drive a wedge between us—”
He stopped in the doorway and glared at her. “Whatever made you think being ma— m-my wife would have me doing back flips?”
“I never thought it would turn you into a stuttering grouch,” she said, her voice mirroring the irritation flashing in his dark brown eyes.
“We all have baggage,” he said with a shrug.
He was right and some part of her wanted to dig deeper into his issues with the ‘m’ word. If she’d known, she might have found a different way to get down here, but right now the case had to take priority. There was an unexpected air of insecurity around him she hadn’t seen before. Anything personal Bart shared revolved around his son. He never talked much about his first wife, but Hannah was starting to think the woman had worked him over.
Hannah felt like she’d failed him somehow, as a friend or even a girlfriend. If their random relationship qualified her for that term. He rarely inquired about her work. Considering they’d met while giving depositions for a case almost a year ago, the opposite should be true. If she brought up her work, he let her vent and he seemed to enjoy listening to the stories she shared, but somewhere along the way they’d decided to keep things light between them.
On the flip side, she hadn’t encouraged him to discuss his Army service either. Not beyond the most basic questions about the injury that forced his early retirement. She knew it was often the tough choices or traumatic moments that best defined a person. Had their tacit agreement not to tread on those dark topics been a mistake?
The analysis would have to wait as they examined Tim’s trailer. As much as she tried to wrap her head around this, she couldn’t think of a single reason to justify killing Bart’s cook. He was funny and occasionally ornery, but he’d never been a threat to anyone.
Except this morning proved the cartel disagreed.
“No sign of forced entry here,” Bart said.
She looked around when he turned on the lights. “Wow. Talk about Spartan. You sure he wasn’t robbed?”
“Tim didn’t need much in the way of stuff.”
Bart walked toward the living areas and she poked around the kitchen. Nothing looked out of place, unless you considered the quality of the culinary tools against the modest home itself. “This guy has knives worth a small fortune,” she called as Bart returned.
“He was a cook.”
She nodded. “Anything of note back there?”
“Just the usual, right down to the open bathroom window.”
“Damn.” She opened each drawer and cabinet, feeling all around. “I was hoping we’d find something that proved someone had been here or had given him trouble.”
“You’re Mary Sunshine.”
“You know what I mean.” She looked up at him, a long way up since she was crouched near the floor. His eyes were locked on the gold band on her finger where her hand rested on the top of the cabinet door. Keep it professional. “There has to be a reason they went after him.”
With a nod, Bart turned his attention to the upper cabinets, while she finished the lower. It was a small kitchen, so they finished quickly and leaned back against opposite countertops.
“Did he have any security?”
Bart laughed. “What did he need with security? It’s nothing but trees and small wildlife out here. The only voice mail is the one I left for him this morning.”
She shrugged. “I’m surprised there isn’t any sign of the girlfriend around here.”
“Tim was never a slob, but I don’t think he would have changed much of anything to impress a woman. Too set in his ways.”
“Maybe.” She motioned him aside so she could escape the tiny kitchen. She wanted movement and forward progress on this case.
“What are you thinking?”
“The cartel is determined to break into the D.C. market. Their new mobile system is perfect for that goal and damned hard for us to track. They use anyone and anything and change it up at will.”
“You think they used Mary Lou?”
“Have you seen her lately?”
“No. But I’m not the one dating her.” He tipped his head toward the door. “Come on. Let’s take a look outside.”
She followed him, waiting near the picnic table while he locked up and returned the key to its hiding place. She could see the worn patches where Tim must have parked his car regularly, but there was no sign of a second vehicle.
They walked around the far end of the trailer and to the edge of the area Tim kept landscaped, then closer to the trees.
“I’m not seeing anything,” Bart grumbled. “Not even a partial boot print or broken twig.”
“What bothers me,” she said after they’d wandered a bit deeper into the tree line, “is why they dumped him on your doorstep.”
“Wasn’t my idea of a good time.” He kept moving forward into the trees. If he’d found a trail, he wasn’t sharing.
She let him help her over a fallen log. “We both think he knew something.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Killing him here would have been easier.”
“Shh.”
She glared daggers at his back, but kept her mouth shut while he concentrated on whatever he thought he was doing. They were several yards back from Tim’s trailer and the thick underbrush caught at her jeans and the laces of her shoes. Pausing between each step, she scanned the forest area to the left and back toward the trailer on the right.
Hannah sucked in a breath as her blood went cold. She tapped Bart on the shoulder. “Look.” She mouthed the word as she pointed toward the trailer. Someone from the cartel had painted their signature neon orange skull and crossbones on the back of Tim’s big outdoor grill.
“Maybe he was into something after all?”
A muscle twitched on Bart’s jaw. “I know my team. It’s gonna take more than some bad graffiti to convince me.”
Hannah nodded and patted his arm. “Good.” She used the new cell phone to get a picture. “There’s not much signal out here,” she muttered. “I want to email it to a friend when we get back to civilization.”
“That works.”
Hannah held the phone up and swiped at the screen. “The zoom is average, but it looks like fresh paint to me. That last swoop on the mouth looks like it’s still dripping.”
Bart didn’t answer. He’d heard a twig snap behind them a few seconds ago and didn’t want to tip off whatever, or more likely whoever, might be back there. “All right. Let’s head on back.” He shifted to block her view and guided her straight toward the trailer, hoping it was just a fat raccoon or opossum ambling around.
No such luck.
He felt the footfalls pounding closer and loud breaths followed by the brush of a coat against pine needles. Those were all the clues he needed to know they were in trouble. Shoving Hannah forward and down, he dropped to a crouch just as a baseball bat swung wildly through the air where his head had been a second ago.
“Go!” he shouted to Hannah.
He kicked out with his leg, but the attacker leaped, drawing his knees to his chest, before using Bart’s body as a ramp to race closer to Hannah. Hell, no.
The thick stand of trees worked to Bart’s advantage, impeding the guy’s progress. He caught the smaller man by the collar of his windbreaker and when he tried to slither free, the bat got caught in the material.
Using the jacket and his size advantage, he warded off the scrappy attack, blocking the wild one-handed swings of the bat and finally wrenching it away from the would-be assailant. The kid was slippery, and clearly determined to get his hands on Hannah.
