Читать книгу Risk It All - Anna Perrin - Страница 12
ОглавлениеBrooke tugged her purse out from under the front passenger seat, where she’d hidden it, and dug around inside until her fingers made contact with her cell phone. As she touched the digits 911, a flash of silver in her peripheral vision caused her to look up from her phone. A familiar sedan had just reversed onto the street. Trevor’s car. But was her brother-in-law behind the wheel, or was it someone else moving the Lexus away from Sidorov’s property?
The front headrest obscured the identity of the driver, but then the brake lights came on, the car jerked to a stop, and the driver’s door opened. A man wearing steel-rimmed glasses and a gray suit lurched sideways and vomited onto the asphalt road.
“Trevor,” Brooke breathed, her forehead sagging against the steering wheel in relief. Had he escaped or been released? There was no way to know, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he was unharmed.
“This is 911 dispatch. What’s your emergency?”
She jolted at the voice coming from her cell phone. She’d been so focused on the sedan and Trevor that she’d forgotten she’d placed the call. She started to answer, then hesitated as Joe’s words played back in her mind. What’s your brother-in-law mixed up in?
She’d been quick to defend Savannah’s husband, but it had been a knee-jerk reaction. She didn’t really know the man. He came across as a bland, unexciting guy, and, over the years, she’d come to appreciate his stability and even temperament because that was exactly what her volatile sister seemed to need. As for what he needed or wanted, apart from Savannah, she had no clue.
Why had Trevor met with Sidorov? If it had been a business meeting, why had they met at the Russian’s home instead of at the bank? If it wasn’t a business meeting...she didn’t want to think about what it might have been. If she carried on with this call, she’d set in motion events over which she’d have no control, and those events would give rise to consequences she couldn’t foresee. What impact would that have on her sister? She needed to talk to Trevor and understand the situation fully before she decided whether or not to involve the police.
“Do you have an emergency?” the calm voice prompted again.
Hoping she wouldn’t regret her decision, she said, “Sorry, my mistake. There is no emergency.” Then she hit End and tossed her cell phone into the cup holder between the seats. When she glanced up, Trevor’s car door had closed, and the Lexus was pulling away from the curb. She watched the right signal light blink on and the vehicle execute the turn before she started her engine and followed.
Within the next few minutes, Trevor’s erratic driving confirmed his attention wasn’t on the road. He kept veering to the right, then swerving back to correct. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have suspected he was drunk. Other drivers in his vicinity must have reached the same conclusion because a few hit their horns in angry response to his edging into their lanes. Finally, he seemed to gather his wits and drive in a competent fashion. The traffic was light at this time of day, forcing her to keep a considerable distance between them or risk being spotted. She wasn’t ready to confront him yet. At this point, she preferred to stay back and keep tabs on where he was going.
It was quickly apparent his destination wasn’t the local police station. If he’d intended to go there to report the incident with Sidorov, he would have followed the sign posted at the main intersection downtown, instead of driving past it. What was his plan? Would he return to the bank this afternoon? Given what had happened to him, it was hard to imagine he could be productive workwise. But where else would he go? Lots of men under stress would head to a bar and drink to forget their worries. Trevor never drank to excess at social gatherings, but today he might feel he had reason to make an exception. Or maybe he wasn’t in the mood to drink in public. Maybe he’d stop in at a liquor store. His usual drink of choice was scotch, she remembered absently.
Up ahead, he blew through a stop sign, turned left without signaling and then ran a red light. Horns blared, and two cars swerved to avoid hitting him. It was impossible for her to follow; the risk of getting T-boned in the intersection was too high. Sitting at the red light, waiting for it to turn green, she was only moderately annoyed she’d lost him. Trevor wasn’t some stranger she was tailing who might disappear forever. She knew someone whose call he would always take, no matter how stressed or distracted he was.
Brooke pulled into a plaza, parked her SUV and opened the window of her vehicle to let in some fresh air. Then she pressed her sister’s number on her cell phone. When Savannah came on the line, Brooke got straight to the point. “Trevor isn’t having an affair.”
“Are you sure?”
She wanted to yell, Damn right, I’m sure, but she curbed the urge to vent her frustration and answered quietly. “Yes, Savannah.”
“Don’t use that patronizing tone with me. You can’t begin to understand how I feel. There’s no one special in your life. No one who could break your heart.”
Not anymore. Chad had dumped her a few weeks after she’d been shot. Brooke pushed away her own hurt to focus on her sister. “You’ll wreck your marriage if you keep being jealous. Trevor doesn’t deserve it.”
“Yeah, well, it’s hard for me not to worry. Women flirt with him all the time. It happened the other day in the grocery store. I came back from getting cereal, and some woman in a low-cut top and a skintight skirt is asking his opinion about melons.”
Her sister’s tendency to blow things out of proportion usually amused her, but not today. “I swear to you that his trip to Langeville today had nothing to do with a woman.”
Silence on the other end of the line. Then a long sigh. “Trevor and I used to be so happy,” Savannah said wistfully. “What’s happened to us?”
Brooke felt a rush of sympathy. Her sister might be melodramatic, but she was really hurting and needed some encouragement to get through this rough patch. “Maybe you and Trevor should spend some time together and figure out how to connect again.” Well, listen to her. Giving advice to the lovelorn when her only serious relationship had ended badly.
“I like that idea,” her sister said. “Maybe we could go away somewhere.”
Somewhere far away, Brooke thought suddenly. A place where they’d be safe from Sidorov, Latschenko and their guns. A plan began to form in her mind, and she spoke in the compelling voice she’d perfected during her stint as a police officer. “I need you to call your husband and tell him to meet you at—” she dipped her head to better see the red-and-white sign at the far end of the plaza “—Dean’s Diner. Immediately. It’s located in a plaza near Highland and Conestoga.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“I can’t discuss it over the phone, but it’s extremely important you get in touch with him and insist he do this.”
“He won’t answer his cell phone if he’s driving, and even if he does pick up, he’s not going to like being asked to come to some diner. He’ll want to know why.”
“Tell him it’s an emergency and if he truly loves you, he has to come without knowing the reason. As for you, leave your house right away. I’ll explain everything when I see you.”
“Jeez, Brooke. You’re starting to worry me, and that’s not like you. You’re the one always telling me to lighten up.”
“Not this time,” she said grimly and disconnected.
Satisfied she’d done all she could for the moment, Brooke gazed at the diner she’d decided on as their meeting place. She’d have preferred the comfort and privacy of her sister and Trevor’s home, but she couldn’t be sure it would be safe there. Who knew what Sidorov was capable of, especially after he discovered his security guard had been attacked?
She felt her eyelids droop and determinedly forced them back open. Her lack of sleep was making it hard to stay alert and focused. She needed a blast of cold water to her face and a jolt of caffeine to her brain, but the effort required to walk over to the diner seemed as monumental as running a marathon. A five-minute rest. That was all she needed. Then she’d push herself to keep going.
* * *
Jared approached Brooke’s SUV from an angle with as much stealth as possible, considering he was still wearing work boots. The last thing he wanted was for her to notice him and take off out of the plaza parking lot. He’d already returned the Green Thumb truck, given its owner two hundred bucks and an apology for the complaint about him that would surely be forthcoming and picked up his own car, a blue Mustang.
When he drew level with the open driver window, he glimpsed Brooke slumped against the car door. His heart rate kicked up a notch, and his training took over; he reached inside the SUV and laid his fingers across the base of her throat to check for a pulse. Her skin was soft and warm from the sun, her heartbeat a steady rhythm.
She jolted upright and shoved his hand away. “Don’t touch me.” The alarm in her voice turned to confusion as recognition dawned in her eyes. “You! What are you doing here? How did you find me?”
He opened his mouth to answer her, but she didn’t give him a chance. “You couldn’t have followed me. I’d have noticed a Green Thumb truck on the road anywhere behind me.”
“I took the truck back to the lawn company and picked up my own car.” He pointed to his vehicle parked several spaces away.
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How have you turned up here? That can’t be a coincidence.”
“I put a GPS tracker on your SUV.”
Her skin flushed with anger. “Okay, that’s creepy, but it also explains why you made a point of checking my tires. It was just an excuse to get close enough to my SUV to attach something. I knew that Boy Scout routine was too good to be true.”
“Sorry about the deception, but I knew I had to talk to you again.”
“As I recall, our last conversation ended because you weren’t being honest with me. If that hasn’t changed, then we’re done talking.”
Her blunt words didn’t surprise him. She seemed to be the type of woman who wouldn’t take crap from anyone. Normally, her straightforward manner would strike him as annoyingly brusque, but instead he couldn’t help admiring her guts. “Okay, let’s start over. You were right. I’m not a gardener.”
She looked pointedly at his Green Thumb shirt and grass-stained jeans. “Nice disguise. What’s your name, and who do you work for?”
“Jared Nash. I’m a special agent with the FBI.”
Her dark blue eyes shone with satisfaction. “I knew it. You were way too calm about Latschenko and his gun, and you lie really convincingly. Speaking of lying, I’d be naive not to ask to see some ID.”
He retrieved his credentials from his jeans pocket and passed them over. She studied them carefully, then returned them to him.
“Now that we’ve established I’m not a creep stalking you for nefarious purposes, will you let me sit in your vehicle while we talk?”
She nodded, and as he moved to the passenger side of the SUV, he heard the door locks release with a click. Once he’d settled next to her, she asked, “Would you mind taking off those sunglasses? I’m tired of seeing myself in them.”
He removed his mirrored glasses and tucked them in the neck of his T-shirt. “Is that better?” he asked, giving her a long, penetrating stare. Most people tended to shy away from his intent gaze, but not her. She didn’t look away or even blink. Once again, he felt a grudging respect for her. Not that it mattered. He was here because she had information he wanted. “You said you were going to call the police. Did you?”
She shook her head. “I started to, but Trevor drove away, so I decided to hold off for a while. Now that I know the FBI is involved, I’m not sure if that’s necessary. But before I decide what to do, I have a few questions. Why is Sidorov under surveillance?”
He was tempted to tell her it was none of her damn business, but if he wanted her cooperation, he had to give her something. “He’s a person of interest in an investigation.”
“What kind of investigation?”
The most important one of my life. Blocking out the sudden churning in his gut, he answered. “A man’s missing, and Sidorov might be involved. That’s all I’m prepared to say.” Time to change the subject. “You mentioned you’d taken a picture of Sidorov threatening your brother-in-law. I’d like to see it.”
“I haven’t had a chance to check it out myself.”
“Now seems like a good time to do that, don’t you think?”
“I suppose so.” She twisted around in her seat, her breasts coming within inches of his arm as she reached back for the camera. She didn’t seem to notice, but he sure did. His heart rate picked up and the interior of the SUV began to feel like a sauna. He told himself she wasn’t being intentionally provocative, but his body wasn’t listening. It was enjoying the view too much.
When she settled back in her seat and rested the camera in the cradle of her thighs, he swore softly under his breath. Oblivious to his discomfort, she stared at the back of her camera with a frown, shifting closer to him to move out of the sunlight streaming through the windshield. She let out a frustrated sound. “It’s too bright. I can’t see the display properly.”
He knew how to fix that problem. He reached over, cupping his big, wide hands over her smaller, narrower ones to make a better shield against the sun. Her closeness made him aware of her scent. It wasn’t strong like perfume, more like a lingering soap or shampoo. Could it be watermelon? Yeah, that was it. He’d always liked the juicy fruit, and next time he ate some, he’d think of her.
Her startled blue eyes lifted to his. They maintained eye contact for a good long moment, neither one of them speaking. Eventually she fidgeted in her seat, and the camera shifted under their hands. “Look again,” he murmured.
She dropped her gaze to the camera, then groaned softly. “The shot shows the gun, but Sidorov’s face is so blurry it’s unrecognizable. I can’t believe I screwed it up.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You were shocked by Sidorov’s actions, which is completely understandable.”
“Now I don’t have proof of him threatening Trevor.”
“I have some software on my laptop that might be able to sharpen the image.” He breathed in her scent again before moving back to his side of the vehicle. “Why were you looking in his office window?”
“It has nothing to do with your investigation.”
“That wasn’t our deal. You said if I told the truth, you’d do the same.”
She remained silent, her lips pressed together in annoyance.
Prepared to wait her out, he rolled down his window. Birds chirped in a sprawling oak tree close to the road. The smell of burgers grilling on a barbecue somewhere reminded him he hadn’t eaten since early morning.
After a few minutes, his gaze strayed to his passenger. He took in her high, sculpted cheekbones, her thickly lashed eyes and her flawless skin. No doubt about it. Brooke Rogers was drop-dead gorgeous—and as stubborn as she was beautiful.
Eventually, she huffed out a breath. “Okay, I was there because of my sister. She has this crazy notion her husband is having an affair.”
“With whom?”
She didn’t offer up the culprit, so he threw out a few possibilities. “Sidorov’s daughter? The housekeeper?” Another option occurred to him, and he figured he might as well voice it. “Sidorov himself?”
“Heavens, no,” she sputtered.
“Tell me who she suspected.”
“Savannah only gave me the address, not the name or description of Trevor’s supposed lover.”
“So you brought a camera along to get a shot of your brother-in-law and his lover together.”
“My sister insisted,” she admitted, “but I knew there wouldn’t be any naked bodies cavorting about. Trevor’s priorities are Savannah and his bank career, in that order.”
A banker. Why had Sidorov pointed a gun at a banker? Had he lost money due to bad investment advice, or was he simply disappointed by the services he’d received? His reaction seemed extreme, but an ex-mafia boss might be accustomed to threatening those who didn’t live up to his expectations.
“I want to talk to your brother-in-law. Find out why he met with Sidorov and what caused the guy to draw a gun on him.”
“I’ve been wondering about that, too. In fact, I’ve arranged for Trevor and my sister to come to the diner in this plaza. It seemed safer than meeting in their home.”
He couldn’t fault her reasoning, given what Sidorov had done. “When do you expect them?”
“Hopefully within the next half hour or so. I figured I’d get a coffee while I waited for them.”
“Good idea. Let’s go.”
They left her SUV and headed across the parking lot to the diner. Inside, the place had a late 1950s, early 1960s vibe going on. Oversize photos of movie stars and rock-and-roll idols of that era hung on the walls. The floor was black-and-white tile, and red vinyl covered the chair seats and booth benches. The place was nearly empty, the lunch crowd having already cleared out, and the jukebox in the corner quietly played an old Elvis song.
Brooke excused herself, pointing to the restroom sign. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Jared headed for a booth near the back of the diner, wanting privacy for the upcoming conversation with Brooke’s brother-in-law and his wife. A waitress came over, dressed in a white cotton blouse, short flared skirt and ankle socks. She gave him a friendly smile, even though he saw signs of fatigue: dark circles under her eyes, a yellowish stain on her shoulder and mussed hair that had barely been brushed today. As she placed the menus on the table, he noticed a light stripe on her ring finger.
“Two decaf coffees,” he said.
Her smile faded, probably anticipating a poor tip, yet another disappointment for a new mother whose marriage or engagement had broken down. Her next words were a valiant effort to change his mind. “Our sandwiches are like nothing you’ve ever tasted. We use the highest-quality ingredients as well as bread baked daily by a local, award-winning bakery.”
His stomach responded to the mention of food with a few hunger pangs, and the diner’s offerings sounded infinitely better than the take-out meals he’d eaten over the past few days. “Okay, your sales pitch has won me over. I’ll take three sandwiches. A BLT, a grilled cheese and a roast beef. Hold the mustard.” Brooke was welcome to eat whatever appealed to her, or she could ask for something else.
The waitress’s smile was back in full force as she jotted down his order. “I knew you looked hungry when you walked in. Your meal won’t take long. In the meantime, I’ll get your beverages.”
The coffees had been delivered by the time Brooke returned from the restroom. He watched her add a generous helping of cream and three packets of sugar to hers.
“Don’t judge,” she muttered. “I need a pick-me-up.”
“When did you last eat?”
“I had an apple when the sun came up.”
“That’s hours ago. I’ve ordered enough food for both of us.”
“Thanks, but Latschenko’s gun pointed at my stomach killed my appetite.”
“You should eat whether you feel like it or not. Low blood sugar is probably the reason you passed out in your SUV.”
She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t pass out—I fell asleep. And that only happened because I pulled an all-nighter for work.”
Now probably wouldn’t be a good time to mention the coffee he’d ordered her was decaf. He and insomnia had been keeping each other company till the wee hours of the morning lately, so he’d started cutting out caffeine after noon. “What kind of work keeps you up all night?”
She took a moment to answer him. “I’m a PI.”
He noticed her fiddling with her mug, not meeting his eyes. “You seem reluctant to mention it. Why is that?”
“My profession has a somewhat sleazy reputation.”
He could tell that bothered her. It surprised him a no-nonsense woman like her cared about other people’s opinions. Or maybe it was his opinion she cared about. After all, it was his eyes she was avoiding. It wouldn’t take much to ease the awkwardness she was feeling.
“I don’t consider your work as sleazy.” He added, deadpan, “Even if you were sneaking around with a camera trying to get an X-rated shot.”
She laughed, her whole face lighting up. Damn, she had a pretty smile. Up until now, it had been understandably absent, but he hoped she’d have reason to smile more in the not-too-distant future. “By the way, I was impressed by your fancy camera, even if Latschenko wasn’t.”
“A tool of the trade that cost me a small fortune. I’m grateful it wasn’t confiscated, although I guess if it had been, that would have been the least of my worries.” She tapped the table with her fingers, unconsciously keeping rhythm with the song on the jukebox. “Thankfully, my clients aren’t all jealous spouses wanting proof their significant others are cheating on them. I do jobs for insurance companies, lawyers, whoever needs info and is willing to pay for it.”
The waitress arrived with a platter of sandwiches cut into wedges. He transferred a few roast-beef wedges to his plate, then nudged the platter closer to Brooke. She didn’t take the hint. Instead, she took a sip of her coffee, grimaced at the decaf’s mild taste and set down the cup. “Enough about me. How long have you worked for the FBI?”
“Twelve years.” He took a bite of his sandwich.
“What office do you work out of?”
His mouth was full of roast beef and bread, so he didn’t respond immediately. The food was delicious, and he was going to take his time savoring it. His companion should take a break from talking and do the same. An apple at dawn wasn’t enough to keep a mouse going for hours, much less a tall, athletic woman. But because she was stubborn, the only way he was going to get her to eat was to insist. “The waitress wasn’t kidding about these sandwiches. They’re fantastic. You really should try one...especially if you want me to give up information.”
“I guess that’s a bargain I can accept.” She looked as if she was trying not to smile, but her lips wouldn’t cooperate and curved upward as she selected a grilled-cheese sandwich from the platter. One bite later, she was devouring it with relish. “These are exceptionally good,” she admitted, reaching for another wedge. “I taste a couple of different types of cheese.”
“Then I don’t regret nagging—I mean negotiating—for you to eat.” He added, “I work out of the Cincinnati office.”
She wiped her fingers on a paper napkin. “What did Sidorov do to become a person of interest in your missing-person case?”
He shook his head. “Can’t answer that one.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Take your pick. The matter is off-limits.”
“Okay, but you can’t blame a girl for trying, especially when a member of her family was threatened by your ‘person of interest.’”
“Trevor is the one you need to grill for answers, not me.”
She nodded. “Oh, I plan to. In the meantime, I want to thank you again and also to apologize. I realize by coming to my rescue, you ruined your cover. I’m sorry about that.”
She sounded sincere, but sorry didn’t fix the damage her presence at Sidorov’s place had done. Sorry was just a word people used when they screwed up. He’d heard that word uttered by his brother more times than he could count over the years, and each time it irritated him more than the last. But it wasn’t Brooke’s fault he had a bad history with the word. They finished eating in silence, and there wasn’t enough remaining to need take-away containers.
The waitress came by to clear the table and deliver the bill, telling them to take their time settling up. A few minutes later, a woman entered the diner, dressed in a floral skirt, pink frilly blouse, high heels and silver bangles on her wrists. She waved away the hostess and strode purposefully toward their table. As she got closer, she called out in an annoyed voice, “What’s the big emergency, Brooke?”
This had to be Savannah, the jealous sister who had unknowingly sent her sibling on a perilous errand. The designer clothes she wore were on the opposite side of the fashion spectrum compared to Brooke’s tank top, jeans and sneakers, but the family resemblance was unmistakable. Savannah was a shorter, plumper version of her sister with a wider face and green eyes.
Brooke looked past her to the diner’s entrance. “Where’s Trevor?”
Savannah huffed out a breath. “I suggested he wait in the car while I talked to you. His color is off, and he’s not acting like himself at all. I think he’s picked up a flu bug and should be home in bed.”
The banker might be feeling unwell, but a virus was hardly to blame. Jared addressed the banker’s wife. “Trevor isn’t sick. He’s terrified.”
“What? Who are you?” Her lip curled as she took note of his grass-stained shirt and jeans. Her gaze settled on the embroidered name on the shirt’s pocket. “What are you talking about, Joe?”
Brooke spoke before he had a chance to. “Don’t let the grimy clothes fool you. This man was working undercover when he very possibly saved Trevor’s life.”
That was stretching the truth a bit, Jared thought, but certainly dramatic enough to get her sister’s attention. Interesting how Brooke had failed to mention she’d been in danger, too. He could only assume she didn’t want her sister to be stressed out about more than one member of her family at a time.
Brooke continued in a low, determined voice. “Go get your husband, Savannah. We need to talk to him.”
