Читать книгу Secrets of the Lynx - Aimee Thurlo - Страница 13

Chapter Four

Although she’d placed her small carry-on in the rear of the cab, she’d kept her laptop with her. While Paul drove, Kendra worked on the updated report she’d have to file tonight.

They’d reached the outskirts of Hartley when Paul finally broke the silence between them. “I know you’ve been working and that’s part of the reason you’ve been so quiet, but I have the feeling that something else is bothering you. If you tell me what it is, maybe I can help.”

“One thing at a time,” she said, closing the laptop. “Right now let’s concentrate on the operation underway.” She checked the GPS on the dash. “Turn right. Yolanda’s apartment complex should be just ahead.”

“There’s Preston,” he said seconds later, and gestured to an unmarked police car parked behind a cable company van.

“From that location, the complex’s vehicle entrance and exit are both covered,” Kendra said with an approving nod. “They can be blocked off in a few seconds.”

“You can bet he’s got backup already in place too,” Paul said, and parked.

Preston glanced at them as they approached on foot, then got out of the cruiser. “Yolanda’s apparently been traveling and got in early this morning. According to the DMV that’s her SUV over there—the green Ford with mud on the fenders. Not a blue pickup, obviously.”

“Which one’s her apartment?” Kendra asked.

“Two-oh-four, second floor, toward the middle,” Preston said.

“Have you found any connection between her and Miller?” Kendra asked.

“Not so far. I also haven’t been able to confirm the presence of a second person inside the apartment. My men are watching her, and she’s been unloading the vehicle by herself.”

“All right. Let’s go upstairs and pay her a visit,” Kendra said.

She led the way, walking briskly. As the three of them approached apartment 204, Kendra pushed back her jacket so that both her service weapon and badge were clearly visible.

Paul remained beside Kendra. Preston, who’d crossed to the other side of the doorway, gave Kendra a nod. She knocked loudly, but before she could identify herself, a female voice from inside called out.

“Hold on, Alex. I’m putting the beer in the fridge.”

There was a clanking sound, then steps across the floor. The door opened a second later and a dark-eyed, long-haired blonde in her mid-twenties answered.

Seeing them, her expression changed from a grin to a scowl. “Whadda ya want? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I’m Marshal Armstrong, Ms. Sharpe. This is Detective Bowman of the Hartley Police Department, and I believe you’ve already spoken to Mr. Grayhorse.” Not giving her a chance to reply, she added, “We need to ask you a few questions.”

“Show me your ID. Anyone can buy a badge these days,” Yolanda snapped at Kendra.

Kendra reached into her pocket and brought up her ID.

Yolanda shrugged. “Yeah, okay. So what’s this all about?”

Kendra watched her closely. “You can start by telling us why you wanted to hire Mr. Grayhorse.”

“What do you mean, ‘hire’? I’ve never seen or spoken to that guy before in my life.” She took Paul in at a glance and smiled. “Looks like I may have been missing out.”

“Are you telling me that you’d never heard of Mr. Grayhorse?” Kendra pressed, watching the woman’s expression.

“That’s right, but if you want to set us up...” She winked at Paul.

“Where were you yesterday between four p.m. and, say, nine at night?” Kendra continued, undaunted.

“Camping up at Navajo Lake with a friend. We spent the past three days there. The weather was cold and lousy, but it was plenty hot inside the tent, if you get what I mean,” she said, giving Paul another smile.

Paul, who’d deliberately hung back, heard footsteps coming up the stairs. As he turned his head to look, a short, barrel-chested man wearing a plaid shirt came into view.

“Hey, Alex,” Yolanda said, “tell them where we’ve been.”

Alex looked at Paul first, then as his gaze traveled to Kendra and Preston’s badges, he spun around and raced back down the stairs.

“Police officers. Stop!” Preston yelled.

Paul knew instantly that it wasn’t Miller. The guy was too short. Though unsure who Alex really was, he raced after him.

Alex had a lead and was as fast as lightning. By the time Paul reached the stairs, the man was stepping onto the parking lot. Paul took the stairs in three steps, but Alex was already climbing into the Jeep.

“Preston, he’s heading north!” Paul yelled as he ran to his pickup.

The guy’s vehicle was already on the move. The Jeep’s tires squealed as Alex swerved, scraped a carport support pole, then sideswiped a parked motorcycle.

Suddenly a police cruiser raced up, blocking his exit.

Alex hit the brakes, sliding to a stop inches from the squad car, and ducked down, reaching for something on the floorboard.

“Gun!” Kendra yelled, approaching in a crouch from the passenger’s side of the Jeep, her pistol out.

“Police!” Preston yelled, taking aim over the hood of the cruiser. “Put your hands up where we can see them.”

Alex’s arms shot up into the air. As he rose to a sitting position again, Kendra rushed up, pistol aimed at his chest.

“Who is this idiot?” Preston said as he came around the front of his unit.

“Not Miller, that’s for sure, but from the way he took off, I’m guessing he’s got a record.” Paul glanced at Kendra. “Where’s Yolanda?”

Kendra cocked her head back toward the staircase. “Unless she’s got a lock pick, she’s still handcuffed to the railing.”

After Alex had been read his rights, Kendra examined the ID Preston had fished out of the man’s pockets.

“Alex Jeffreys, make it easy on yourself and explain why you ran,” Kendra asked.

“I want a lawyer,” came the clipped, clearly practiced reply.

As Preston turned Alex over to a uniformed cop on the scene, Kendra holstered her weapon. “He’s all yours, detective. That isn’t the fugitive I’m after.”

“Let’s see who we’re dealing with.” Preston went back to his cruiser and ran Alex’s name through his computer. “Jeffreys has an outstanding warrant for check fraud and ID theft. He’s never been with the department,” he added, obviously remembering Yolanda’s story about her boyfriend being a cop.

“We still need to know how Yolanda’s connected to what happened to Paul last night,” Kendra said.

“I’ll place her under arrest, then meet you at the station,” Preston said.

Paul remained silent long after they were back on the road. “Alex is going to be a hard nut to crack,” he said at last. “And I’m thinking that Yolanda may not be the same person who called. Her voice sounds different, for one.”

“Maybe she was disguising her voice on the phone,” Kendra said. “Either way, it’s still possible Alex used his girlfriend to set you up.”

“Maybe,” he said. “If you let me sit in during questioning, I’ll be able to tell you for sure.”

Kendra remembered one report she’d read. Paul’s first partner, the one before Judy Whitacre, had claimed that he had an almost uncanny ability to separate lies from the truth. “Your foster father was a medicine man, and I know there’s a lot of psychology involved in healing rituals. Did he teach you how to read people?”

“No, it’s not like that.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “What Hosteen Silver did was open my mind so I could use the gift he’d given me.”

She gave him a curious look. “I don’t understand. When you say ‘gift,’ are you talking something supernatural?”

He shrugged. “I can get you results. Do you want my help or not?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Okay, but I’ll take lead. Agreed?”

“Sure.” He pulled into the parking lot beside the police substation. “You don’t really trust me, do you?”

She weighed her answer carefully. “Intuition tells me that there’s more to you than meets the eye, and intangibles make me uneasy.”

“Just remember we’re on the same side.”

“I know. That’s the only reason I’ve allowed you to get actively involved.”

“No, there’s another reason—one you’re keeping to yourself.”

His insight was right on target and took her by surprise. She suspected that Paul held the key to taking down Miller. If Miller was really in the area, and he’d come after Paul ten months after his initial attempt to kill the judge, there had to be a reason. Providing she could figure out what that was, she might be able to use it to draw Miller out of the shadows.

She looked at Paul with new respect. No one had ever been able to read her like that, yet Paul had somehow guessed that she’d been holding out on him.

“See? That’s part of what I do,” he said.

“How? Will you ever tell me how you developed your...skills? I’d be interested.”

“Maybe someday,” he said quietly. “For now, let’s go see what we can learn from Yolanda and her boyfriend. Hopefully, they’ll actually know something of value.”

* * *

T HE ROOM USED to question suspects was purposely kept just a little too warm. The subject was meant to be uncomfortable. The straight-backed wooden chair and simple wooden table were other ways of cutting creature comforts.

Paul and Kendra were in an adjacent room with Preston. Standing next to the two-way glass, they watched Alex, who was sitting alone in the room.

“He’s an old hand at this,” Preston said. “He’s only said one word—‘lawyer.’ You’ll have more leverage with Yolanda. She wants to cooperate. It’s clear to her that she could go to jail if convicted of harboring a fugitive.”

“It’s good that you have her thinking about that. I’ll interview her now,” Kendra said.

“You going in, too?” Preston asked his brother.

“Yeah.”

“Down the hall, second door on the left,” Preston said, indicating the direction with a nod.

They walked into the room several seconds later and found Yolanda pacing like a caged lion.

“Sit down!” Kendra snapped.

Yolanda obeyed instantly. “You’ve got to believe me. I had no idea there was a warrant out on Alex. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have gone within a mile of him.”

“The fact remains, you were harboring a fugitive. We could send you right back to jail.”

“No, listen, I didn’t know!”

Kendra sat across the table from Yolanda while Paul leaned against the wall, watching them.

“You called Paul Grayhorse yesterday afternoon and asked for his help. You claimed to be afraid of your boyfriend, a police officer, but Alex isn’t a cop. So what’s the deal, Yolanda? What were you trying to pull?” Kendra demanded.

“I didn’t call anyone yesterday. My cell phone didn’t even work up by Navajo Lake,” Yolanda said.

“You weren’t at Navajo Lake. You were home. You telephoned me from your house phone,” Paul said. “I recorded the call, which came at 4:27 p.m.”

“I never made that call! I wasn’t here,” she said, her voice rising. “And I don’t have a boyfriend who’s a cop. I hate cops. N-o offense,” Yolanda told Kendra quickly, clearly regretting the comment. Looking back at Paul, she added, “Dude, I never even heard of you before today.”

“Did anyone actually see you over at Navajo Lake?” Kendra asked her.

“No, we were in the tent most of the time. Remember I told you—” She stopped, then added, “Wait a sec. You said I called you yesterday from my apartment?”

“Yeah,” Paul said.

“Then someone must have broken in,” she said. “That’s the only thing that makes sense. Maybe it was the landlord. He’s kinda creepy.”

Kendra said nothing. Sometimes, unnerved by the silence, a suspect would talk and in the process reveal something important.

Prepared to wait, Kendra glanced casually at Paul and saw that, although his face was void of expression, his eyes were alert. He was taking in everything around him.

For a moment she wondered what lay just beyond that steel-edged resolve. Paul kept his emotions well hidden, yet she knew just how close he’d come to being killed twice in the past year. He’d also lost his partner, and she suspected that beneath the surface he was concealing a lot of anger. Paul carried himself well and was the sexiest man she’d ever met, but was he also a dangerous man, now on the edge?

Kendra stared at the floor for a beat, forcing herself to concentrate, then focused back on their suspect.

The interview continued. “I’d like to believe that you had nothing to do with that phone call to Paul Grayhorse, but you’re going to have to convince me, Yolanda,” Kendra said. “A woman called, so it couldn’t have been your landlord. He’s male.”

Paul came up and stood behind Kendra. “She’s not lying,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Surprised, Kendra turned and saw the utter calm she’d come to associate with Paul etched clearly on his face. With effort, she tore her gaze from his and looked back at Yolanda.

“You said you had a recording of the call I supposedly made to you?” Yolanda asked Paul.

“Yeah, it’s in my voice mail,” Paul said.

“Let me hear it.”

Paul pulled out his cell phone and played it for her.

“That’s not my landlord, and not his wife either. Her voice sounds gravelly. But you can tell it wasn’t me!” Yolanda protested.

“She was whispering,” Kendra said. “For my money, it was you.”

Yolanda shook her head. “Play it again, louder this time,” she asked Paul. As he did, she smiled. “Now I know who it is. That’s Annie, Annie Crenshaw. We used to be friends, but she’s got so many problems now I can’t stand to be around her. I forgot she still has a key to my place.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Now I know what happened to some of my Navajo jewelry. I thought I’d misplaced it, but Annie probably ripped me off. She’s hooked on meth and always needs cash to make a buy.”

“Tell us more about this Annie Crenshaw,” Kendra pressed.

“She got clean about six months ago, then her boyfriend dumped her and she started doing drugs again. She ended up losing her apartment. Now she’s working the streets.”

“Where does she hang out?” Paul asked.

“You might try the old brick building where Hensley’s Gym used to be. It’s supposed to be empty now. Last I heard she was sneaking in at night and crashing in one of the old locker rooms,” Yolanda said. “But I doubt she’s there right now. Once she’s on meth, she finds it hard to stay still. Last time she was using she hung out in the alley between the bus station and the free clinic.”

“Do you happen to have a photo of Annie?” Paul asked.

“No, but I’m sure you’ve got a mug shot somewhere,” Yolanda said, looking over at Kendra.

“What about Alex? Does he know Annie? Could they be working together?” Kendra asked.

Yolanda stared at Kendra as if she’d suddenly lost her mind. “No way. They can’t stand each other. Last time they were in the same room, they went at each other major league and she threatened to have him killed.”

“All right, then. We’ll look into this,” Kendra said.

“So, can I go?” Yolanda stood, looking toward the door.

Kendra shook her head. “Not yet. Detective Bowman still wants to talk to you about Alex. What happens after that is up to him,” Kendra said.

They walked to the door, Kendra knocked, and Preston let them out. He’d been standing in an adjacent room, listening and watching through the one-way glass.

Preston nodded to Kendra, then looked at his brother. “So what’s your take on Yolanda? Do you think she’s telling the truth?”

“I do, which means we need to track down Annie Crenshaw. My guess is that she was paid to make that call, and we need to know by whom,” Paul said.

“That person is probably our shooter, maybe Miller, so finding Annie is our top priority now,” Kendra said, glancing at Preston. The man was a hard-assed cop, yet he never questioned Paul’s take on Yolanda’s credibility. Something told her there was more to Paul’s ability than he’d said.

Maybe he’d trained with covert ops somewhere, working closely with their professional con men and other highly skilled consultants. Federal law enforcement agents often had interesting, varied backgrounds.

Kendra looked at Preston, then at Paul. “How about going behind closed doors right now and tossing around a few ideas? Whatever we say stays there.”

Preston nodded. “My office.”

* * *

P AUL FOLLOWED K ENDRA into Preston’s spartan office, which held only a small desk, file cabinets and two folding chairs. There were no photos on the wall, only documents listing Preston’s credentials.

Once they were seated, Kendra began. “What evidence did the crime scene team find at the site where Paul was ambushed?”

“Two slugs from a .45 were found embedded in the bricks of the Murray building.”

“I was standing with the building at my back when the shooting started,” Paul said.

“The shots were grouped tightly, the sign of an experienced marksman,” Preston said.

Kendra leaned forward, resting her forearms on her legs. “My theory is that the gunman who came after Paul is probably someone with a personal grudge, maybe someone linked to his P.I. business. With a rifle, Miller can hit a target at a thousand yards. With a .45, he can make a head shot at one hundred feet. The only reason he failed to kill the judge last November was because two U.S. Marshals got in his way. This can’t be his work.”

“I get what you’re saying,” Paul said. “When I got shot at last night I was the only target around and I was less than fifty feet away from the gunman. Miller’s weapon of choice is the rifle, but he shouldn’t have missed at that distance with a handgun either. I’d just been illuminated by a lightning flash—like I was standing beneath a flare. It was an easy shot for anyone with his level of training.”

“Maybe he choked,” Preston said.

Kendra shook her head. “Professional hit men don’t choke and still group their shots that tight.”

“Well, if it wasn’t Miller, I have no idea who it could have been. Grayhorse Investigations primarily handles routine video and electronic surveillance,” Paul said. “The reason I got involved in this last case was because a police officer was allegedly involved in domestic abuse.” He paused, then added, “Anyone who wears a badge should be held to the highest standard.”

She heard the barely concealed anger in his voice and realized the case had clearly struck a chord with him. Another idea suddenly popped into her head. What if the shooter had known Paul would react exactly as he had and used that knowledge to set him up as a target?

“Who would know that’s how you feel about those who carry a badge?” she asked.

Preston answered her instantly. “Anyone who knows Paul or has worked with him.”

“That’s not going to narrow things down much for us,” Kendra said.

“To track down whoever set me up, we’ve first got to find Annie,” Paul said.

“I’ll get you a booking photo of Annie Crenshaw. If you need backup, call,” Preston said.

“Do you know the alley that Yolanda spoke about?” Kendra asked Preston.

Preston looked up from the computer screen and nodded. “Downtown, between Third and Fourth streets. Strictly small-time dealers hang out there, but they watch each other’s backs and usually see our people coming. It’s hard to set up a sting there.”

“I hear you,” Kendra said, then glanced at Paul. “Street people are usually unpredictable and half the dealers are high themselves. You want to sit this one out? Someone’s likely to pull a weapon once I show a badge.”

“A lot of people around here know I’m private, not a cop, and I’ll get farther than you can flashing your badge. Let me help out.”

“All right, then. Let’s go,” she said, leading the way out of the building.

“Unless we actually see Annie, let me pick who we approach. We’re more likely to avoid trouble that way,” Paul said.

Kendra didn’t answer. In situations like these, only one rule applied. Whatever could go wrong would—and at the worst possible moment.

* * *

T HEY WERE BACK in Paul’s truck moments later. “Before we head over to the alley, let’s stop by Hensley’s Gym. It’s on the way,” Paul said. “I’d like to check out the place where Annie supposedly crashes at night. It might give us some insight into her current situation that’ll help when we question her.”

“If we go onto private property without probable cause we’ll be trespassing, and that’ll place us on shaky legal ground. Do you know someone who could give us access?” Kendra asked.

He nodded. “I went to school with Bobby and Mike Hensley, the sons of the late owner. I’m sure I can get a key from one of them.”

Several minutes later they arrived at a large sporting goods store on Hartley’s west side. The place was bustling with customers.

“Looks like a sporting goods store is more profitable in Hartley than a gym,” she said.

“No, that’s not it. The gym was Jim Hensley’s dream. He was really into bodybuilding and training. After their dad passed on, Mike and Bobby followed their own interests and started this business instead.”

“Paul, is that you?” a voice called out.

A man in his early thirties came out from behind the counter and shook Paul’s hand. “I heard you’d moved back home. I’ve been wondering how long it would take for you to come by and say hello. Man, it’s good to see you again.”

“Sorry, Mike. I’ve been getting things sorted out and haven’t had time to touch base,” Paul said.

“Yeah, I heard. It sucks having to give up your career like that,” he said. “You were the only one in our class who knew what he wanted before college. It took guts, reinventing yourself like this.”

“At least I was able to walk away,” Paul said.

“True enough.” Mike took Kendra in at a glance and smiled.

“This is Marshal Armstrong,” Paul said, introducing them. “We came hoping you might be able to help us out.”

“Of course. Whatever you need, buddy. Let’s go into my office and talk.”

Once the door was shut and Paul explained what they wanted, Mike reached into the open safe behind him. He pulled out an envelope and slid it across the desk. “The key’s inside. Guess Bobby and I should have boarded up that place.”

Just then the door flew open and a boy who looked about three came bouncing in. He leaped into Mike’s arms, and squealed with delight as his father lifted him into the air. “This is little Mike, guys.”

Kendra smiled. She loved kids, but particularly ones close to that age, full of energy and innocence. The thought filled her with a familiar yearning, one that had become a permanent part of her these days.

For the past few months she’d been looking into the possibility of single parent adoption. She’d never met Mr. Right and wasn’t sure he even existed, so she’d checked out other options. As she’d researched the adoption process, she’d discovered a series of holdbacks, some due to her profession, and all valid issues she’d need to resolve before she could take things any further. Unfortunately, she still hadn’t come up with any solutions.

Paul shook Mike’s hand and thanked him. “You’ve done really well for yourself, buddy. I’m glad to see it.”

“My wife, Cynthia, and little Mike changed my life. I never thought I’d get married, but it was the best thing I ever did.”

As they walked back out to the pickup, Kendra noticed how quiet Paul had become. “What’s up?”

“I’ve seen two of my brothers settle down and I know they’re happy, but the marriage scene....” He shook his head. “It sure isn’t for me.”

“How come?”

“I’m a confirmed bachelor,” he said, then before she could press him for more of an answer, he added, “What about you? Is there a guy back in Denver?”

“Not in Colorado, not anywhere at the moment, but in case you’re wondering, I have no intention of becoming one of those career marshals married to the job. I want...more...for myself.”

“Like what?”

She shook her head, signaling him to drop it.

“A woman of mystery...” Paul smiled slowly.

The impact of that very masculine grin spread an enticing warmth all through her, and she avoided looking at him, afraid she’d give herself away.

Paul was big trouble, no doubt about it. He was a man who loved flying solo, yet he was built to perfection and could entice any woman with a pulse. Everything about him, from those wide shoulders to those huge hands, spoke of raw masculine strength. The steadiness of his gaze mirrored courage.

“I imagine you’ve got no shortage of girlfriends,” she said.

“I can usually find a date,” he said.

She suspected that was the understatement of the year. A man like Paul probably left a trail of broken hearts in his wake wherever he went.

* * *

T EN MINUTES LATER they reached their destination, an old brick building just one block south of Main Street in the business district. Paul drove his pickup down the alley, then parked beside what had been a loading dock. The big steel back door had a massive padlock attached to it. This entrance had clearly not been the one compromised.

“Let me go in first,” Paul said, pointing toward the door and interrupting her thoughts. “If we come across squatters, I don’t look like a cop, so we’re more likely to avoid a confrontation.”

“I don’t look like a cop either. I’m in plainclothes, just like you.”

He shook his head. “You’re wearing business district clothes—dressy slacks and a matching jacket to look professional and cover up your handgun. You’re also wearing sensible shoes, not heels, so you can fight or chase a perp. I’m wearing jeans, a denim jacket, worn boots and a working man’s shirt.”

“Okay,” she said, glancing down at herself and shrugging. “Remind me to dress country. For now, take the lead.”

She smiled as he moved ahead of her. He was long-legged, slim-hipped, and had the best butt she’d seen in a long time. Sometimes being second in line had definite advantages.