Читать книгу Camouflage Cowboy - Jan Hambright - Страница 9

Nick fidgeted in his chair as he glanced around the conference table at the CSaI team members: Nolan Law, Parker McKenna, Matteo Soarez, Wade Coltrane and Harlan McClain. They were all officially in battle mode after the events at Holy Cross Hospital, and their motto—For Country; For Brotherhood; For Love—never rang more true. Too bad their boss and mentor, Bart Bellows, was out sick, battling a persistent case of bronchitis.

He swallowed, trying to alleviate the knot of gratitude that squeezed in his chest. He had Bart to thank, along with every man sitting at the table right now. Because of them, he was almost whole again. He reined in his emotions and tried to focus on the case at hand. Trevor Lewis’s autopsy report was decisive. He’d been injected with a large dose of potassium chloride, enough to stop an elephant’s heart, and the hospital’s surveillance footage had confirmed the man they’d seen running across the parking lot had been in Lewis’s room moments before Nolan and Harlan arrived. He’d also been the one who followed Matt into the vending-machine room and tried to make him a human pancake with a sandwich cooler.

“None of the vehicles Nick and I spotted came back with an owner who matched the perpetrator’s height and build. We’ve got nothing.” Harlan leaned back in his chair.

“So what do we know about Trevor Lewis, other than someone wanted him dead before he could talk to us?” Nolan Law questioned from his seat at the head of the table where Bart usually sat.

“From a simple background check we know he spent a couple of years in Iraq,” team member Wade Coltrane said. “Other than that, he’s flown under the radar. Sheriff Hale has agreed to release Lewis’s personal effects to us tomorrow morning since no one has come forward to claim them. It includes his cell phone. We should be able to find out who he’s been communicating with. If we get lucky, a name will pop.”

Nolan nodded. “Good work. Parker, I want you, Matteo and Harlan to double your protection and surveillance efforts on Governor Lockhart. She’s planning to spend a considerable amount of time this month out at Twin Harts Ranch rather than in Austin. She’ll be here right up until Thanksgiving. Bart has given us carte blanche to do whatever it takes to keep her and those around her safe.” Nolan shoved his paperwork into a folder and stood up.

“Nick’s working on a special assignment for the governor, but he’ll fill in where needed on this case. Everyone, stay on your toes. We’re dealing with a determined individual here, and I don’t have to tell you how unpredictable someone like that can be.”

A mutual round of agreement prevailed in the room as each team member gathered their paperwork and their thoughts.

“I want you all back here at 0600 hours on Monday morning to cover discovery and a plan of action.” Everyone filed out of the conference room.

Nick took up the rear and flipped the lights off on his way out. He needed to grab a bite to eat before he headed out to his special reconnaissance assignment. He’d been monitoring Grace Marshall’s movements for the past week since seeing her and Caleb at Holy Cross. She was predictable, but she’d yet to make any attempt to contact Governor Lila Lockhart with a blackmail demand, and considering Caleb’s health situation was growing more desperate with each passing day, he expected her to make a move soon. That was, if she knew the governor’s identity….

GRACE GLANCED IN HER REARVIEW mirror, her stare focused on the headlights of the black sedan following her an eighth of a mile back. A knot cinched in her stomach. She’d seen the vehicle several times this week, but had never gotten a look at the driver inside. Now she was sure the same car had pulled in behind her as she left the parking lot behind the Talk of the Town Café after turning in her employment application to Faith Scott.

There was really only one way to find out.

She stepped down on the gas pedal. The car picked up speed. Hesitation tempered the caution ricocheting around inside of her, but she had to be sure. She couldn’t risk having her and Caleb’s trail picked up again. Not when she was sure she was close to finding the only woman in Freedom who might be able to save Caleb’s life.

Glancing at the gas gauge, she watched the needle bobbing near a quarter of a tank. How far could she go? How fast could she run before her past caught up with her?

Caleb’s voice reached her ears from where he played with his toy truck in the backseat. He sputtered and rumbled, imitating the noise of the motor as the truck made a fictitious trail across his knees and up his leg. The screech of a sudden stop, before the rumbling resumed.

She couldn’t let her son down. Not when she was so close.

If she could lose the car and driver in the confusing confines of the Chisholm Trail subdivision, she could backtrack and make it home undetected. She couldn’t risk ever letting Rodney Marshall get as close to them as he had in Amarillo.

The speedometer climbed as she floored the Camry and raced out of town, past the turn that would have taken her to her condo complex.

Gearing down into Third without touching her brake pedal just like she’d practiced, Grace made the sweeping corner into the subdivision without slowing. Ahead of her on the road she could see a set of taillights similar to her Camry’s.

The squeal of brakes behind her made her heartbeat kick up a notch and the car’s taillights screamed red in her left peripheral. He’d failed to anticipate her quick move. It would take him thirty seconds to turn around.

Buoyed by her success, she took a hard right and killed the car’s lights as she aimed for the eastern side of the subdivision with its rows upon rows of unfinished homes and dark streetlamps.

She’d taken the route a hundred times during the day. Memorized every turn, so she could use it to evade him if the day ever came. That day was here.

In her rearview mirror she saw the black sedan zip past as she made the corner and drove parallel with him, but she didn’t let up. She would only have a few minutes before he discovered she’d given him the slip.

Gearing down into Second, Grace turned at the fifth house on the right and shot past the unfinished garage and onto the worn path that led across a field and onto her street.

Hope stirred inside of her, but it was quickly dashed when she spotted a set of car lights coming around the corner on the north end of the street.

Silently she prayed the dust rolling out behind her would settle before he could pick up her trail.

Focused on the last hundred feet, she nosed the car in between the first couple of condo units and drove out onto the paved street. Turning sharply to the right she reached up and hit her garage-door opener before gearing down to a crawl and slipping inside. Only then did she apply the brakes and hit the close button. She didn’t take a deep breath until she heard the overhead door lock in place behind her.

“Where’s the light, Mommy?” Caleb’s tiny voice sliced through the fear holding her in place. She released her seat belt and turned toward him.

“In a minute, I’ll turn it on. Can you hold on?” She reached out and touched her son’s leg to reassure him. She wasn’t sure how determined the maniac following her was, but even a hint of light could alert him to their location inside of the garage.

“Yeah.”

“Good boy.” She patted his leg and listened to him start up his toy-truck sounds again.

Above the rumbling, she listened, but it was the brief flash of light outside in the street that made every muscle in her body tense.

Had he discovered where they lived? Fear slid down her spine and spilled into her body. Rodney Marshall had vowed to kill her for what she’d done. She didn’t doubt that he would, if he got the chance.

Chilled to the bone, Grace shuddered and shoved her hands into the pockets of her sweater, where she came in contact with the business card Nick Cavanaugh had given her at the café a week ago. She closed her fingers around it and slowly pulled it out of its hiding place.

Maybe there was hope after all.

WHAT THE…? NICK HELD his position, curiosity welding him to the spot. He’d parked his pickup on Grace’s street of identical condo units, one after another, until they all looked the same. He’d seen her car roll past him without the headlights on, then slow and disappear into the open garage compartment of her condo unit.

The door had instantly come down, moments before he spotted lights in his side mirror.

Caution welled inside of him as the black sedan crept past his location, braking every so often, before driving forward again. The same black car with Montana plates he’d seen a week ago on Main Street, the day of the purse-snatching ruse.

Nick picked up the notepad he kept on the seat in the truck and jotted down the license-plate number. If he’d doubted it before, he didn’t doubt it anymore.

Grace Marshall was being followed. And she knew it, judging by the practiced evasive move he’d just witnessed.

The car coasted past her house without stopping, flipped a U-turn in the cul-de-sac several blocks ahead and came back for a second pass.

Reaching down, Nick flipped on his lights and caught the driver in the face with his high beams. Just before he dimmed them, he got a good look at the man behind the wheel. White male, mid-to-late thirties, dark brown hair. He stored the description in his memory as he turned the key and fired the engine.

He pulled out into the street, headed in the opposite direction. With any luck he’d pick up the sedan’s trail once he made the cul-de-sac and came around to the main road. That should put some distance between them to avoid the driver’s suspicion.

Nick saw the car’s brake lights come on along with his left-turn signal. He was heading back toward Freedom.

A zip of anticipation buzzed over Nick’s nerves, reminding him of his glory days as a U.S. Army Ranger. He’d been good at his job, one of the best, until a mistake had cost several of his buddies their lives.

His mistake.

Gripping the wheel until his fingers stung, he braked at the stop sign and watched a single car pass, then he pulled out behind it. The added buffer would assure that his pursuit went undetected.

He loosened his stranglehold on the steering wheel, but the emotions inside of him refused to relent. Sucking in a deep breath, he focused on the taillights of the black sedan, determined to follow it. Out-of-state plates probably meant he’d make a beeline for one of the half a dozen motels scattered along the main artery into Freedom.

Nick’s suspicions were confirmed when the sedan’s blinker popped on. He braked and took a right into the parking lot of the Sundown Motel.

Nick rolled past just as the man exited the car. Satisfied, he decided to call it a night, and headed for the ranch on the other end of town. Whoever the man was, he’d at least been able to peg the general location of Grace and Caleb’s home. Concern adhered to Nick’s nerves. Whatever the guy wanted, it couldn’t be good.

A sudden and insatiable need to protect Grace and Caleb Marshall welled from deep inside of him.

Half a mile down the road, he turned around. He headed back out to her street, relieved to see the black car still parked in the motel lot as he cruised past.

He could afford to spend the next couple of hours watching over her…just in case the man in the black sedan decided to take another pass. Besides, there wasn’t a chance he’d be getting much in the way of sleep tonight anyway. Not with the brutal images from his past now playing inside of his head.

“ROUGH NIGHT, CAVANAUGH?” Nolan asked as he pulled out his chair at the head of the conference table and sat down.

“Monday morning at 0600 hours is always rough, sir,” Nick said, trying to blink the grit out of his eyes. Watching over Grace and Caleb was beginning to take its toll, even though Grace Marshall hadn’t left her home the entire weekend. Or opened the blinds, or stepped outside for that matter. Conclusion?

Grace Marshall was scared.

“I know this is strictly your assignment, Nick, but we’re a team, and if there’s any way we can help—”

“I’ll let you know.” He nodded to Nolan, knowing full well that he meant every word of it. But his assignment for Governor Lockhart was sensitive. The fact that team member Parker McKenna was involved with Bailey Lockhart, the governor’s daughter, and would soon become Lila Lockhart’s son-in-law, only added to the need for a discreet investigation. The kicker: Grace Marshall worked for Bailey Lockhart, her possible half sister, at Cradles to Crayons.

Nick rubbed his eyes again and took a swallow from his coffee mug as one by one the team members settled at the table.

Amelia brought a couple of thermoses of coffee into the conference room and put them down in the middle of the table before leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

“Sorry about the 0600, but I’ve got an early flight out to D.C. for the preliminary on Governor Lockhart’s December fundraiser there. I’ll be gone until Thursday.” Nolan trained his attention on Parker McKenna. “I’d like you to run point on the governor’s security while I’m gone.”

“Sure thing. I’ve already had our tech beef up the cameras at the ranch, and extended the visual coverage perimeter around the property. We’re in good shape.”

“Excellent work. We can’t relax our vigilance until she’s safely back in Austin at the end of the month.” Nolan scribbled something on his notepad and turned his attention to Wade Coltrane. “Anything on the contact list from Trevor Lewis’s cell phone?”

“He damn sure liked pizza,” Wade said. “Called for takeout twice a week for months. He also called Stacy Giordano on a regular basis. One name did come up half a dozen times in the last month. A Wes Bradley.”

“Sound familiar, anyone?” Nolan asked as he scanned the faces of his team members.

Nick mulled the name and he shook his head. “Never heard it before.”

“Sheriff Hale is working on a court order to obtain the phone records,” Wade said. “Using cell-tower pings to see if Wes Bradley was in the area.”

“Great work. Let’s run Wes Bradley through the database and see if we get a hit. Lewis wasn’t in this alone. Whoever takes the assignment, be sure to get ahold of the information Harlan has on Lewis’s connections to the anarchist group who protested at the governor’s fundraiser. See if we can make a connection between Bradley and the group, as well.”

“I’ll take that assignment,” Matteo Soarez said as he jotted the information down.

“And I’ll volunteer to check out Stacy Giordano.” A wide grin spread on Harlan’s face as his jest rubbed everyone’s humor bone and scrubbed the tension off of the serious conversation for an instant.

“Hell, you’ve been checking her out since the first time you met her.” Nick laughed, watching his buddy’s features soften. Harlan McClain was 110 percent in love with Stacy Giordano. And he’d come within a heartbeat of losing her because of Trevor Lewis.

“All right, you guys, knock it off.” Nolan chuckled under his breath. “We’ll hold another briefing on Friday morning at 0800 hours. Let’s make some progress. Governor Lockhart isn’t safe until we nail Lewis’s accomplice.”

Nick’s cell phone rang. He pulled it off his belt and stared down at the number, then flipped it open.

“Sheriff Hale. Good morning.” He pushed his chair back and stood up, wanting to put some distance between himself and the other team members.

“Good and early,” Hale shot back.

Nick relaxed. He liked Bernard Hale. “Better get your coffee on.”

Hale snorted. “I ran the plate number you gave me. Came back registered to a Mamie Ashbury in Dillon, Montana. I gave her a phone call and low and behold, the plate belongs on her husband’s old pickup. Trouble is, he’s been dead for three years, and the truck is parked in their barn. She hustled out there and discovered the front and rear plates are missin’.”

“Not anymore. They’ve turned up on a late-model sedan.”

“About that black car, Nick. One of my deputies found it abandoned in a ditch along Highway 83 this mornin’. Ran the plates and found my inquiry. Ran the VIN number, as well, and it came back to an owner in Amarillo, a Mr. Maxwell Brewster. He claims he sold the car through a newspaper ad three weeks ago.”

Worry sliced across Nick’s nerves like a razor blade. “Can you give me his contact information, Sheriff?”

“Sure.”

Nick grabbed his notepad off the conference table. “Go ahead.”

Hale rambled off the phone number; Nick wrote it down. “Thanks. I’d like to follow up and get a physical description of the man he sold the car to.”

“No problem, son. Good luck. Let me know if you need any more assistance.”

“Thanks, Bernard.” Nick closed his phone and turned back to an empty conference room. He tossed the pad onto the table and rested both of his palms on the edge. One step forward, three steps back. At least he’d been able to make the car tailing Grace Marshall. Now he’d have no way of knowing if the guy was still following her until he spotted his new wheels. If he was able to spot them. The guy was cunning. He’d left a dead end when he dumped the black sedan. Hell, Nick would even bet the interior of the car had been wiped clean of any fingerprints.

“Nick?” Amelia stood in the doorway of the conference room.

“Yes.” He looked up.

“There’s someone here to see you. Shall I show them in here?”

Nick straightened. “Sure.”

Amelia disappeared as he shuffled his paperwork into the file on the table. Who would visit him at CSaI headquarters? Most of his work was accomplished in the field, without the trappings of a storefront that could overexpose the CSaI team. He’d only given out a couple of business cards with the information on them since he’d become a part of the group….

His muscles tensed between his shoulder blades as he stepped around the table, listening to Amelia’s voice in the outer office as it amplified.

“Right this way, Miss…?”

“Marshall. Grace Marshall.”

Nick braced himself for another face-to-face with the unsuspecting focus of his investigation for Governor Lockhart. Rarely did a mark come to him, and a measure of curiosity zipped across his nerves.

Did she know he’d been watching her home this weekend? Had she made him and believed he was some sort of crazy stalker? Was she here to tell him to flake off, or that she planned to call the cops?

Every scenario he could use to justify her visit vanished from his mind as she stepped into the conference room.

She looked beautiful this morning with her long hair let loose in sexy blond strands, her tentative blue-eyed gaze locking with his.

He was in some serious trouble.

“I’ll let you two speak in private.” Amelia stepped out and pulled the door closed.

“I’m sorry to just show up like this,” Grace said as she fingered his business card in her left hand. “But I desperately need your help.”