Читать книгу Murder Mix-Up - Lisa Phillips - Страница 15

Portia sat at her desk while Declan hovered at the big TV screen, staring at the open tabs of all the information they’d collected so far. What was he hiding? And why couldn’t he just tell her? Whatever it was, she figured it was wrapped up in the reason his brother had been a target.

Assuming that was what had happened.

The fact their dead guy had been using Nicholas Stringer’s ID might simply be a coincidence. Then again, considering Declan was acting this way at all, likely not. There was a reason they were seemingly targets of a murderer. And he knew what that reason was.

She let him have his silence while she answered a few emails. Distracting herself from all the questions. When she was done, she moved to stand by him. “Well?”

“I should speak with my brother first.”

Portia saw the flinch in the skin around Declan’s eyes. He’d hidden his discomfort well, and she was getting the idea he would endure a lot before he broke that professional demeanor. Yes, bringing him down to autopsy had been a test. But if the guy was going to insinuate himself into her murder investigation then he was going to have to be all in with every part. It was what he’d asked for.

“I’ll contact your brother’s Captain and get him online for a chat with you.”

Nicholas Stringer—the real one, not the man their victim had pretended to be. Declan’s brother’s Marine unit was based out of Camp Pendleton in California—not here in Washington State where the ID had indicated. Which made her wonder why that was what had come up when they entered his name into their system. This was a more elaborate identity theft than she was used to seeing.

She said, “The system says your brother is deployed right now. He’s been in J-bad for nine months.”

Declan frowned. “J-bad?”

“Jalalabad, Afghanistan. There’s a forward operating base there.” She saw the look on Declan’s face. “You didn’t know he was deployed.”

He shrugged. “We aren’t that close.”

“I don’t have any siblings, so I wouldn’t even know how that works.”

“No?”

Portia shook her head. “It was just me and my dad.”

Empathy shone in his eyes. He said, “It’s been just me and Nicholas for years, though we have some extended family. He and I should probably talk more, but once you get in the habit of not picking up the phone it’s hard to change things.” He stretched his arms up over his head, then twisted left and right. “How about you and your dad?”

“He passed away two years ago.” The words were choked.

Portia didn’t wait for Declan to offer her condolences. She needed to focus on the case anyway, the way she’d been keeping her attention on her job since her dad had passed. What was the point in expending the energy to grieve, letting all the feeling swallow her whole, if it wasn’t going to change anything?

“Agent Armstrong,” she called out to Chris as she walked back to her desk. “Get me Corporal Stringer on-screen in MTAC.” It was probably about breakfast time in Afghanistan.

Their Multiple Threat Alert Center was a twin to the one at the Quantico office of NCIS. It was basically just a fancy name for a room where they gathered intelligence and could make secure communications.

“Sure thing, boss.” The kid’s Southern drawl sounded almost sarcastic. She eyed the probationary agent, and he shot her a grin. She sighed. Did he take anything seriously?

Lenny sat at his desk, across from Chris, frowning at his colleague.

Portia wandered over. “It’s late.” She spoke to Lenny in a low tone. “If you want to take off, we can hold down the fort. Catch you up in the morning.”

She could likely use his help, but Lenny needed to be home as much as possible. Working this case late into the night might help with the time zone in Afghanistan, but it wouldn’t help Lenny make sure his mother got to bed.

Lenny gathered his things and said good-night. Anna wandered over and clicked the remote that worked the TV screen between Chris’s and Lenny’s desks. “Update?”

Portia nodded. “Please.”

“I dug into the military record for Corporal Nicholas Stringer,” Anna said.

Portia held her hand up. “The driver’s license ID for the marine based in Washington, or the real one for Declan’s brother out of California?”

“Both.”

“Okay,” Portia said.

“As for the real Nicholas, there isn’t much but standard stuff. I found some interesting things on the Washington one I punted to Squire.”

Declan took a step closer to them. “Squire?”

Portia glanced at him. “Our forensic technician.”

Anna continued, “Squire has the bullet, the shell casings and the deceased’s clothes, so it might take a while, but I’m having him look into a lease. Someone is renting an apartment in Tacoma under the name Nicholas Stringer. I think our dead guy had his ID for a few weeks, at least. Long enough to make a life here.”

Portia nodded. “Social media?”

Anna said, “I had the same thought. I ran his photo in an online search and got a hit that indicates this is bigger than one fabricated ID. A single social media profile with the deceased’s picture and the name Nicholas Stringer. A couple of video shares was all he posted.”

Portia felt her eyebrows rise. “It’s a dummy account?”

“Set up two months ago. Before that, no digital footprint.”

“Some presence is less suspicious than no presence at all.”

Declan said, “What does that mean?”

Portia pointed to the profile Anna had put on-screen. “Someone who wants to stay hidden can stay off the internet, right? Just don’t sign up for those accounts and you’re anonymous. But it’s so uncommon these days that it’s actually kind of suspicious.”

“Because most people have social media accounts now.”

Portia nodded. “So they create a dummy profile. Just enough activity it gets a search result, but doesn’t give anything personal away. He wanted to be seen online using Nicholas Stringer’s ID.”

“How about you?” Declan lifted his chin. “Are you on these sites?”

“Most cops have a fake profile.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

This time it was Portia who lifted her chin. “Then I guess we’re even.”

Anna cleared her throat. “Uh...okay. So I’m going back to my desk now.”

Portia glanced at the agent and caught her smiling as she walked away. Declan opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off when Chris called down from the top of the stairs at the far end of the room.

“Stringer. Your brother will be on the line in T-minus two minutes.”

Declan headed for the stairs. Portia followed, and at the bottom step he turned to her. “Are you planning to listen in on my call?”

“I’ll give you privacy if you need it, but I also have questions for your brother that are pertinent to this investigation.”

He looked at her like he didn’t know if he believed her. Whether he did or not, she was about to get an answer to her question. One way or another she would find out what Declan was hiding.

“It’s routine,” she assured him. “And while your brother is at least safe from a murderer over in Afghanistan, I need to know whether you’ll continue to be in danger here.”

Declan shook his head and climbed the stairs. “He’s safe in the line of fire, and I’m the one in danger?”

“We can protect you.”

“It’s usually me standing between the gun and the president, doing the protecting.”

“With a team of people, all currently occupied with that job. So you let us do this for you.”

He stood with his hand on the door handle of the secure room. “And if I don’t need you to do that for me? What if I can protect myself perfectly well?”

“Never hurts to have help.”

He went inside. Portia winced, realizing she actually agreed with him. She would go it alone and take care of herself every single time. Maybe she and Declan Stringer were more alike than she’d thought.

* * *

They were nothing alike. The thought stuck with him while he donned the headphones and sat at a desk in their secure room. The video chat loaded on-screen.

Declan didn’t make a move without the backup of other Secret Service agents. Yes, he believed he could protect himself alone. But only because his instinct was to return to his team and that safety net.

Could he really do that?

If he brought danger back to the White House, he’d be putting lives in jeopardy. As a Secret Service agent, he couldn’t do that. If he was going to maintain operational security on duty this needed to be cleared up before he went back to DC.

The screen flickered and Nicholas’s face was there. Not happy. “What’s up?”

“Hey, Nick.” Declan’s throat closed. He cleared it. “Good to see you. It’s been a long time.” The awkwardness was compounded by the fact Portia was listening to everything.

“There a reason why I hit my bunk for half an hour and then got woken up to exchange small talk with you?”

Apparently not much had changed. Nicholas was still mad about the fact their family’s history had been tarnished. And despite it being no fault of Declan’s—the two of them had been kids when their father broke the law—Nicholas still unloaded all his frustration on his sibling. Declan.

“Night duty?”

Nicholas didn’t give him anything.

Declan sighed, then explained all that had happened with the dead guy.

Nicholas’s eyebrows lifted. “He lives up there, by Seattle?”

Declan nodded. “Someone rented an apartment in Tacoma. He listed his occupation as ‘marine.’”

“But I’m based out of Camp Pendleton. Southern California.”

“I know.” Declan smiled. He was pleased for his brother, even not knowing much about his life. It shouldn’t be a surprise—not a good one anyway—learning something so simple. “And a Corporal now?”

Nicholas didn’t reply. “Is there anything else?”

It was Portia who said, “You have an idea why a man is using your identity?” She’d leaned down close enough a strand of her hair tickled the side of his face. “He has a driver’s license and credit cards.”

Nicholas’s gaze shifted to her, and Declan saw something there. What he didn’t know was whether it was about Portia or the question.

Nicholas said, “I’m in Afghanistan. How do I know what’s happening in Washington State? I can tell you my wallet was stolen a few months back. Happened to a couple of other guys in my squad, as well. I canceled my cards and got a new driver’s license.” He shrugged.

“Fair enough,” Portia said. “But the question had to be asked.”

“Can I get back to sleep now?”

“I need to talk to you about something first,” Declan said. “The man who killed this guy with your ID, he waited around—or came back—and shot at me. Special Agent Finch thinks someone might have it in for us.” He let that settle in with his brother, then said, “I’m going to fill her in on our...history.”

“Not my history.”

“I know you want to bury your head in the sand, but that doesn’t mean you’ve moved on.” At least, that was the way his shrink had explained it. “You’re still mad. Apparently, at me. And while it is in the past, it’s also part of us.”

Nicholas leaned back in his chair. It was written all over his face that he didn’t want to hear what Declan said.

He was going to say it anyway. “I want you to be careful.”

“I’m in a war zone.”

“You know what I mean, Nick. I don’t think this guy is going to come after you there, but he shot at me. He’s committed enough he found someone with your name, met with him and shot him dead.” Declan blew out a breath. “That guy is dead because of us.”

“Not my fault.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Declan ground his back teeth for a second. “I just want you to be aware, so you can be safe.”

“I’ll be careful. Now, are we done?”

He sighed. Nodded.

Nicholas clicked off the call, halfway out of his chair before the screen blanked.

Declan leaned back and blew out a breath. When he glanced up at Portia she had a compassionate look on her face. He almost told her right then.

“Coffee?”

Declan looked at his watch. Nine thirty-four in the evening. “I doubt I’ll sleep a wink, so sure.”

She took him to a break room. When she placed the mug in front of him and sat, he didn’t waste any time. “My real name isn’t Declan Stringer. It’s Declan Harris. My brother and I changed our names when we moved in with our aunt and uncle. We didn’t want to be those kids, the ones whose father had swindled investors out of millions and stashed it all in an offshore account.”

She didn’t sip her coffee. Portia just watched him, and fingered the handle of her mug. Listened.

“He was caught. Tried. The whole thing was a Ponzi scheme. When he went to prison we were left with nothing.”

Nothing but each other and their aunt and uncle, and even that had turned sour. Declan and his brother hadn’t ever been best friends, the way brothers could be. They were too different. Nicholas internalized everything, and he never let a single thing go. Declan couldn’t live with that kind of bitterness. He’d had to figure out how to work the feeling out.

He said, “Dad got out of prison six years ago. Nicholas had just graduated from high school. Dad called, said he wanted to see us both. Only I showed up. My brother wasn’t interested. Dad never came, though. I never saw him again.”

Portia’s jaw clenched, and he recalled how she’d told him her own father had died.

He said, “I’m sorry if this brings up bad memories.”

“You’re worried about me?” She waved away his concern, her coffee mug still untouched. “Don’t be. I’m fine.”

Declan wasn’t convinced that was true.

“I’ll look into the people your father swindled. See if there’s anyone who might still be around to want revenge. People like that usually aren’t quiet about their intentions.”

She asked him about the tan truck the assailant had driven away in, and he told her everything he remembered. They compiled a description together, and she had him write it all down. Sign it.

At the end she said, “It’s not much to go on. Not even really enough for a BOLO, since we don’t have a sketch of the man. The sheriff can keep his eye out for a tan truck and a Caucasian man in his forties. Dark clothes, with a ball cap. But there’s no way to narrow that down.”

He thought over everything. “You really think I’m still in danger?”

“Don’t drop your guard. Not until we figure out who your father wronged. Whoever it is could be the one who wants you and your brother dead.”

He opened his mouth to tell her he’d be careful and wound up doing a jaw-popping yawn. “I should probably get some rest.” Things would make more sense in the morning. He’d be able to make a plan. See what else these NCIS agents had come up with. Maybe they’d even find the guy tomorrow. “You don’t think it’s his real identity that got him killed. So it must be some other reason than my brother’s name as well?”

“I’m not ruling out either of those theories. We’re trying to figure out who the deceased really is, running his prints and such.” She got up. “But we’re also not going to assume you aren’t in danger. Until we know for sure, we can’t make assumptions.”

Declan nodded. That made sense.

Especially halfway to the hotel, when he realized he was being followed.

By a tan truck.