Читать книгу Homefront Defenders - Lisa Phillips - Страница 12

THREE

Alana stepped back from him. “That was on her wall?”

Locke nodded, fully aware that things had now escalated. “She kept it as a memento. I didn’t really understand it, but she showed it to me every time I came. Wanted to talk about the old days when she could say what she really felt. But it was pretty harmless.” He sighed. “The yakuza soldier who tried to kill you came here to kill Beatrice and steal this.”

Alana looked at her phone. “No reply, not yet.” She told him about the text she’d sent—to the yakuza boss’s son, of all people.

Locke looked around one more time. “Okay, let’s head back upstairs and tell your brother what we suspect the man took. We need to wrap this up and make our last visit.”

“There’s one more?” She climbed the stairs behind him.

Locke didn’t turn around. “The marine, former sniper—” Something clicked in Locke’s brain as two thoughts coalesced. Was the Caucasian man he’d seen in the beat-up car their next visit? Could their day be that connected? If it was him, the man’s appearance had changed a bit since Locke had last seen him, so Locke couldn’t be sure until he saw the file.

He said, “After that we’re done for the day. Just in time for lunch.”

“I don’t think I’m going to eat for a week.” She paused. “But what was that about the former sniper?”

“I just need to look at his file when we get back in the car. That’s all.” Then he would know for sure whether it was the sixty-something guy he’d seen that morning.

She nodded, and it didn’t seem fake. She was actually holding up pretty well, and he was proud of her. He’d figured they would run across her brother at some point, but hadn’t known the sergeant was Ray until she’d confirmed it. Alana had been through a lot in her life, and now this on top of it. Did she have faith to fall back on? There was something in Alana that helped her hold it together, even now. He thought it might be pure strength of will. Unless all that bravado was just for show. Locke couldn’t tell yet which it was.

He, on the other hand, had been born and raised in Chicago, and his family had gone to the same church his whole life. Christmas wasn’t Christmas if he didn’t make the trip home to attend the carol service. Locke’s father was still the CEO of the same company he’d started forty years before. Two older sisters, the youngest of whom was six years older than him. Private school. College paid for by his dad. He’d seen a presidential detail at the age of eight and decided then that protecting the president was exactly what he wanted to do with his life.

This was the path God had put in front of him, and until Alana showed up, he’d been completely satisfied. Being a Secret Service agent took one hundred percent of his focus and attention. It was everything he’d always wanted. He’d been convinced this was the best, the only way to be a good agent. Had relied on it, in fact. Now when he saw how Alana tackled everything, it made him wonder if she was destined to fail trying to cope without relying on God for strength.

Or if he was the one who was wrong about everything.

Ray was crouched over the body of Beatrice Colburn. From the doorway Locke explained what they’d found in the basement.

The sergeant nodded but didn’t look at Alana. “You were right. It was a stab wound to the inside of her arm. The medical examiner will have to confirm, but if the cut severed her brachial artery she could have bled out in thirty seconds.” He looked at his sister. “It was precise. And intentional. If I’m right, then he knew what he was doing. There wasn’t anything you could’ve done.”

Her brother cared, though Locke had never seen a sibling act like that with another sibling. It was like they didn’t even know how to communicate with words—just the sentiments that went unspoken between them. He shuddered to think what it would be like if they were forced to talk about their feelings with one another.

Alana wandered over to the cop who knew her father, Joe Morton. The man was scrolling through the victim’s cell phone. Probably looking at Beatrice’s call and browser history. What apps she had that might give them a clue why the yakuza killed her.

Locke needed to call the other director, William Matthews. His colleague was lead on the team traveling in with the president, while Locke was lead on the advance team. Coordinating made both of their lives easier, as would their being friends. Had they actually been friends. Locke respected him fine and they’d worked together a long time, but he didn’t particularly like the man.

Alana had requested to be on William’s team for this trip, but Locke had made sure she was on his. As much as she would rather downplay her background he needed her expertise and her knowledge of local people to aid their team on this trip.

As she wrote down the numbers Morton was also noting, Locke dialed William. He was glad Alana had turned her attention to something practical, even though they weren’t part of the murder investigation. It would keep her mind off seeing her first dead body.

“Matthews.”

Like he didn’t know it was Locke calling. “William, it’s Locke.” He bypassed the pleasantries neither of them had any interest in exchanging and told William about the dead woman, the yakuza guy who’d tried to kill Alana and the missing bomb schematics.

There was quiet on the line, and then William spoke in a low voice to someone he was with.

“Can you hear me?”

“Sure,” William said. “Seems like a crazy coincidence, the two of you stumbling on a breaking and entering gone bad. Is Agent Preston okay?”

“Alana is fine.” He saw her turn and smile at him, but he didn’t believe it. Nor did he believe William’s concern was simply that. More likely the man was playing defense—determined nothing would interfere with the President’s trip, least of all a break-in. “I’m a little more worried right now about the fact this guy stole bomb schematics.”

Alana’s brow crinkled, and the smile evaporated off her face. She turned away. It wasn’t his job to make her happy. She was going to have to work that out all by herself.

“Yeah, crazy. Bomb plans are probably worth something on the black market. People will buy anything off the internet.” William’s voice quieted, and he spoke again to someone he was with. “I’m interested to know this guy’s angle. Think the local police will find him?”

Locke said, “I’ll be going over there again with Alana to look at mug shots of yakuza soldiers. We’ll figure out who he is, then the cops can pick him up. Guess we’ll unravel this, and this morning’s attack on Alana, somehow.”

Would her brother help? The man could be a valuable ally if he wanted to be.

William said, “That’s the police’s job, Locke. You’re not their director, so make sure you go see their captain and get approval for anything you do in their jurisdiction.”

Locke wanted to roll his eyes but had practiced the art of resisting that urge from the age of four. William spoke like he was Locke’s director, or at least someone he reported to, instead of his colleague. “I’ll take care of it. And I’ll file the report.”

“Report?”

Locke said, “This needs to be passed on. A woman on our intelligence list is dead, and the man who killed her stole schematics to a bomb designed with the purpose of killing the president.”

“Like I said, it’s nothing but a coincidence. Even if your killer was going to construct the bomb from archaic plans he stole, he could be planning to...kill a wild pig with it. The president? That’s a stretch.”

Locke ignored the man’s sarcasm and said, “It’s a stretch I’m supposed to make.” That was their job—to see the threat no one else saw and take appropriate steps to neutralize it. Or if there was no other choice, to give their lives to protect the president. Locke stepped outside. “I cannot in good conscience ignore a possible threat. You know that, William.”

The other director laughed. “Alana was right. You are too serious. It was a break-in, some small-time theft gone wrong. Unless there was something left out of your explanation that proves this to be a legitimate threat to the president’s life?”

As if things were ever that cut-and-dried. “It was the same man. I’ve explained that.”

But that wasn’t the part of William’s speech that had caught his attention. Locke was still stuck on what Alana had said about him to William. He turned back to the house and glared but couldn’t see her. Maybe that was why she had wanted to be on William’s detail.

“If it escalates, we’ll take care of it.” William sighed. “For now, do what you will, Locke. I’ll be there on Air Force One tonight.”

William had already hung up, so Locke tucked his phone back in his pocket. At least he thought this could be a real threat, regardless of what other people’s opinions of him were. How the attack on Alana was connected remained to be seen, but his phone call with William had only cemented the fact he was alone, just like always. He would work to keep her safe, but Alana was his subordinate—and nothing more.

* * *

“Thanks for distracting me with this, Joe.” Alana motioned to her phone and the list of numbers she’d typed into her notes app. Incoming and outgoing calls Beatrice had received on her cell phone. Nothing jumped out at her, probably just cold callers and friends Beatrice wanted to talk to. Likely the information wouldn’t yield a reason why the yakuza had killed her.

“Tell you a secret?” He leaned closer. Alana shrugged. He said, “I don’t like dead people.”

“Neither do I.” She set her hand on his arm. “I’d much rather be surfing.”

“You got that right, sista.” His expression changed, and she caught what it was about when he said, “Seen Kaylee since you been here?” Totally innocent, like he wasn’t trying to father-figure her while Ray was in the room. Her dad had left a hole in her life she hadn’t even begun to figure out how to fill in the years since.

Alana made a face. “My sister wouldn’t answer the door even if I did go over there. Kaylee made it clear she didn’t want to see me again. Ever.”

Joe made a tut sound with his mouth and shook his head. “Shame. I heard—”

“Agent Preston.” Locke’s voice was a bark.

Alana turned to her colleague. Boss. Whatever. She pasted a smile on her face. “Yes, Agent Locke?” It just sounded weird to call him that. The whole team called him Locke, and she didn’t know what his first name was. Surely it had been mentioned when she first met him, but she couldn’t remember. It was bizarre to think of calling him something else, anyway. Like he had a personality instead of just a buttoned collar and tie, shiny shoes and a gun.

“We should make our last visit for the day.”

Right. The marine sniper, the one Locke had wanted to check the file for.

“And that’s my cue to leave.” She looked at her brother. When he didn’t say anything, she decided to go for it. “’Bye, Ray.”

He muttered, “Sounds familiar.”

Locke touched her arm, and she went with him. They were so different, and yet she felt more at home with him than with her family.

Alana wasn’t going to apologize for her brother, no matter how much dichotomy there was in her life. Things were what they were. Alana didn’t regret leaving, but she did regret what things had become. If she could prove to Ray what a good Secret Service agent she was, then he’d see that it had been the right decision for her to leave for the mainland.

Locke turned the vehicle on and got the air-conditioning running, but didn’t pull away from Beatrice’s house. Instead, he grabbed his iPad from the back seat. “It’s him. I knew he looked familiar. I just couldn’t place him.”

“Huh?”

He looked over from the screen, and tilted it in her direction so she could see the photo. Clean-cut, green fatigues. “The sniper. It’s the man I saw in the vehicle this morning. Our yakuza suspect’s getaway driver. Though he looked a lot more like a beach bum, with long hair and a beard.”

Locke drove them to the last house, through the forest reserve to a deserted stretch of mountain. Dirt trail, so much foliage they could barely get through. The SUV would probably get scratched up on both sides.

“Are you sure this is the right direction?” Alana swiped through to a map on the iPad but couldn’t get a strong enough signal for it to tell her where she was.

“I’ve been here before, remember? It was years ago, but this isn’t an address you forget.” Unlike the man’s face. Though years ago Brian hadn’t had facial hair—or looked like a beach bum.

“And this guy—” she found the man’s personal information “—Brian Wells? He lives here?”

“Yes. And if I take a wrong turn, I’ll tell you. I’m not one of those guys you women complain about who can’t ask for directions. There’s no point driving around in the middle of nowhere and getting lost.”

Alana shifted in the seat. What had that been about? It was bad enough being alone in the car with him for hours. Especially now that she knew he only cared about work. Okay, so she’d kind of known that already, but sometimes when he looked at her there was this...flash. That was all, just this spark on his face, or in his eyes, that said there was more than just work under that staid business demeanor.

She really hoped there was something else. Otherwise the man had a very boring existence. Not that Alana’s life was better, but it was a whole lot more interesting. And when she proved to everyone that becoming a Secret Service agent was what she was born to do, they would know it had been the right choice.

The foliage on both sides crept back, away from the car, over the next few feet as the road widened. Heavy leaves stretched toward them, great palms that bowed low when the rain she’d been caught in so many times hiking poured from the sky. Those camping trips years ago that had been rained out were some of her best childhood memories. Alana had gone all over the world in the last year on protection detail as a Secret Service agent, and before that she’d been assigned to several different US cities. But she’d missed her home state.

They emerged into a clearing, someone’s front yard. The house was an old Airstream with bricks instead of tires that had probably been there for fifty years and weathered every storm Alana had ever been caught in. And then some. The US Marines’ flag flew high with an American flag beside a satellite dish.

“This is it?” She glanced around. “Is he allowed to live here?”

Locke actually smiled. “Technically, no. But what do you think will happen if Uncle Sam shows up with a police badge to throw a veteran out on his ear and the press gets wind of it?”

“So live and let live, is that it?”

“It’s a theory. Brian keeps to himself. He doesn’t disturb anyone and asks for the same in return.” Locke motioned to a ramshackle shed to the right of the trailer. “He carves animals out of wood and then sells them at a souvenir store at the base of the mountain. And then—” He paused. “What? Wakes up this morning and drives a yakuza soldier to the beach so he can try to kill you?”

He opened his door, but Alana didn’t move. “This makes no sense,” he said.

She could barely muster up the will to lift her hand. But she couldn’t let him know that. “So...why are we interested in this guy, other than that he was the getaway driver from this morning?”

“Maybe he and our knife-man are friends now?” Locke motioned to the file, one leg out of the vehicle. “Brian Wells got out of prison five years ago, moved here. A ten-year stint. Good for us he only dislikes what he calls ‘political pawns.’ So long as he’s taking his medication, we’ll be fine.”

She grimaced. “Is it bad that I don’t want to go in there?”

What if they found another body? She didn’t want Locke to see her lose it all over again. It was bad enough he’d seen the aftermath the last time. And why had Brian shown up in her life that morning, if not for a reason that had everything to do with the fact she was a Secret Service agent and he was on their watch list?

His smile softened. “Want to stay here?”

Was he serious? If there was a plot in place, she was going to figure out what it was. Alana stiffened. “No.” She shoved the car door open and strode over the soft mossy earth to the front door.

Locke caught up and stretched his arm out in front of her. “Let me.”

Who was she to argue? If he wanted to catch the bullet first, that was fine with her. “Be my guest.”

He knocked, but no one answered. Locke twisted the door handle and called out as he opened it slowly. This time there was no one inside.

The TV was still on, and a meal in front of the recliner was half-eaten. She’d read in Wells’s file he had a blue Chevy truck circa Bill Clinton registered to him. Alana looked around. “This doesn’t make sense. Did he just leave in the middle of eating and drive off in his truck?”

Locke wandered to the rear and a sliding door. “You’re right. It doesn’t make any sense at all.”

When Locke ducked into the bedroom—not going in there, thank you—she decided to look at the kitchen instead. The sink was full of dishes, and the range top was crusted with charred food. The man needed to crack a window and let in some of that humid hibiscus breeze.

Piled up on the end of the counter was a stack of mail. Magazines. Junk inserts advertising local sales.

A business card.

“Oh, no.”

“What is it?” Locke came close enough to look over her shoulder. Didn’t he trust her? It was only one text to someone she’d gone to high school with. “Kaylee Preston, Hilo Explorer online. Is that—”

“My sister.”

“Why does a missing sniper involved in an attempt on your life have your sister’s business card?”