Читать книгу Keeper of the Bride / Whistleblower: Keeper of the Bride / Whistleblower - Тесс Герритсен, Tess Gerritsen - Страница 9

THE SILHOUETTE FROZE.

“Hands up,” ordered Sam. “Come on, hands up!”

Both hands shot up. “Don’t hurt me!” came a terrified plea.

Sam edged over to the light switch and flipped it on. The sudden glare left both men blinking. Sam took one look at the man standing in front of him and cursed.

Footsteps pounded up the porch steps and two uniformed cops burst through the doorway, pistols drawn. “We got him covered, Navarro!” one of them yelled.

“You’re right on time,” muttered Sam in disgust. “Forget it. This isn’t the guy.” He holstered his gun and looked at the tall blond man, who was still wearing a look of terror on his face. “I’m Detective Sam Navarro, Portland Police. I presume you’re Dr. Robert Bledsoe?”

Nervously Robert cleared his throat. “Yeah, that’s me. What’s going on? Why are you people in my house?”

“Where’ve you been all day, Dr. Bledsoe?”

“I’ve been—uh, may I put my hands down?”

“Of course.”

Robert lowered his hands and glanced cautiously over his shoulder at the two cops standing behind him. “Do they, uh, really need to keep pointing those guns at me?”

“You two can leave,” Sam said to the cops. “I’m all right here.”

“What about the surveillance?” one of them asked. “Want to call it off?”

“I doubt anything’s coming down tonight. But hang around the neighborhood. Just until morning.”

The two cops left. Sam said, again, “Where’ve you been, Dr. Bledsoe?”

With two guns no longer pointed at his back, Robert’s terror had given way to righteous anger. He glared at Sam. “First, you tell me why you’re in my house! What is this, a police state? Cops breaking in and threatening homeowners? You have no authority to be trespassing on my property. I’ll have your ass in a sling if you don’t produce a search warrant right now!”

“I don’t have a warrant.”

“You don’t?” Robert gave an unpleasantly triumphant laugh. “You entered my house without a warrant? You break in here and threaten me with your macho cop act?”

“I didn’t break in,” Sam told him calmly. “I let myself in the front door.”

“Oh, sure.”

Sam pulled out Nina’s keys and held them up in front of Robert. “With these.”

“Those—those keys belong to my fiancée! How did you get them?”

“She lent them to me.”

“She what?” Robert’s voice had risen to a yelp of anger. “Where is Nina? She had no right to hand over the keys to my house.”

“Correction, Doctor. Nina Cormier was living here with you. That makes her a legal resident of this house. It gives her the right to authorize police entry, which she did.” Sam eyed the man squarely. “Now, I’ll ask the question a third time. Where have you been, Doctor?”

“Away,” snapped Robert.

“Could you be more specific?”

“All right, I went to Boston. I needed to get out of town for a while.”

“Why?”

“What is this, an interrogation? I don’t have to talk to you! In fact I shouldn’t talk to you until I call my lawyer.” He turned to the telephone and picked up the receiver.

“You don’t need a lawyer. Unless you’ve committed a crime.”

“A crime?” Robert spun around and stared at him. “Are you accusing me of something?”

“I’m not accusing you of anything. But I do need answers. Are you aware of what happened in the church today?”

Robert replaced the receiver. Soberly he nodded. “I…I heard there was some sort of explosion. It was on the news. That’s why I came back early. I was worried someone might’ve been hurt.”

“Luckily, no one was. The church was empty at the time it happened.”

Robert gave a sigh of relief. “Thank God,” he said softly. He stood with his hand still on the phone, as though debating whether to pick it up again. “Do the police—do you—know what caused it?”

“Yes. It was a bomb.”

Robert’s chin jerked up. He stared at Sam. Slowly he sank into the nearest chair. “All I’d heard was—the radio said—it was an explosion. There was nothing about a bomb.”

“We haven’t made a public statement yet.”

Robert looked up at him. “Why the hell would anyone bomb a church?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out. If the wedding had taken place, dozens of people might be dead right now. Nina told me you’re the one who called it off. Why did you?”

“I just couldn’t go through with it.” Robert dropped his head in his hands. “I wasn’t ready to get married.”

“So your reason was entirely personal?”

“What else would it be?” Robert suddenly looked up with an expression of stunned comprehension. “Oh, my God. You didn’t think the bomb had something to do with me?”

“It did cross my mind. Consider the circumstances. You cancelled the wedding without warning. And then you skipped town. Of course we wondered about your motives. Whether you’d received some kind of threat and decided to run.”

“No, that’s not at all what happened. I called it off because I didn’t want to get married.”

“Mind telling me why?”

Robert’s face tightened. “Yes, as a matter of fact,” he answered. Abruptly he rose from the chair and strode over to the liquor cabinet. There he poured himself a shot of Scotch and stood gulping it, not looking at Sam.

“I’ve met your fiancée,” stated Sam. “She seems like a nice woman. Bright, attractive.” I’m sure as hell attracted to her, he couldn’t help adding to himself.

“You’re asking why I left her at the altar, aren’t you?” said Robert.

“Why did you?”

Robert finished off his drink and poured himself another.

“Did you two have an argument?”

“No.”

“What was it, Dr. Bledsoe? Cold feet? Boredom?” Sam paused. “Another woman?”

Robert turned and glared at him. “This is none of your damn business. Get out of my house.”

“If you insist. But I’ll be talking to you again.” Sam crossed to the front door, then stopped and turned back. “Do you know anyone who’d want to hurt your fiancée?”

“No.”

“Anyone who’d want her dead?”

“What a ridiculous question.”

“Someone tried to run her car off the road this afternoon.”

Robert jerked around and stared at him. He looked genuinely startled. “Nina? Who did?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out. It may or may not be connected to the bombing. Do you have any idea at all what’s going on? Who might try to hurt her?”

There was a split second’s hesitation before Robert answered. “No. No one I can think of. Where is she?”

“She’s in a safe place for tonight. But she can’t stay in hiding forever. So if you think of anything, give me a call. If you still care about her.”

Robert didn’t say anything.

Sam turned and left the house.

Driving home, he used his car phone to dial Gillis. His partner, predictably, was still at his desk. “The bridegroom’s back in town,” Sam told him. “He claims he has no idea why the church was bombed.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Gillis drawled.

“Anything new turn up?”

“Yeah. We’re missing a janitor.”

“What?”

“The church janitor. The one who unlocked the building this morning. We’ve been trying to track him down all evening. He never got home tonight.”

Sam felt his pulse give a little gallop of excitement. “Interesting.”

“We’ve already got an APB out. The man’s name is Jimmy Brogan. And he has a record. Petty theft four years ago and two OUI’s, that kind of stuff. Nothing major. I sent Cooley out to talk to the wife and check the house.”

“Does Brogan have any explosives experience?”

“Not that we can determine. The wife swears up and down that he’s clean. And he’s always home for dinner.”

“Give me more, Gillis. Give me more.”

“That’s all I have to give, unless you want me to slit open a vein. Right now I’m bushed and I’m going home.”

“Okay, call it a day. I’ll see you in the morning.”

All the way home, Sam’s mind was churning with facts. A cancelled wedding. A missing church janitor. An assassin in a black Ford.

And a bomb.

Where did Nina Cormier fit in this crazy thicket of events?

It was eleven-thirty when he finally arrived home. He let himself in the front door, stepped into the house, and turned on the lights. The familiar clutter greeted him. What a god-awful mess. One of these days he’d have to clean up the place. Or maybe he should just move; that’d be easier.

He walked through the living room, picking up dirty laundry and dishes as he went. He left the dishes in the kitchen sink, threw the laundry in the washing machine, and started the wash cycle. A Saturday night, and the swinging bachelor does his laundry. Wow. He stood in his kitchen, listening to the machine rumble, thinking about all the things he could do to make this house more of a home. Furniture, maybe? It was a good, sound little house, but he kept comparing it to Robert Bledsoe’s house with its Steinway piano, the sort of house any woman would be delighted to call home.

Hell, Sam wouldn’t know what to do with a woman even if one was crazy enough to move in with him. He’d been a bachelor too long, alone too long. There’d been the occasional woman, of course, but none of them had ever lasted. Too often, he had to admit, the fault lay with him. Or with his work. They couldn’t understand why any man in his right mind would actually choose to stay with this insane job of bombs and bombers. They took it as a personal affront that he wouldn’t quit the job and chose them instead.

Maybe he’d just never found a woman who made him want to quit.

And this is the result, he thought, gazing wearily at the basket of unfolded clothes. The swinging bachelor life.

He left the washing machine to finish its cycle and headed off to bed.

As usual, alone.

THE LIGHTS WERE ON at 318 Ocean View Drive. Someone was home. The Cormier woman? Robert Bledsoe? Or both of them?

Driving slowly past the house in his green Jeep Cherokee, he took a good long look at the house. He noted the dense shrubbery near the windows, the shadow of pine and birch trees ringing both edges of the property. Plenty of cover. Plenty of concealment.

Then he noticed the unmarked car parked a block away. It was backlit by a streetlamp, and he could see the silhouettes of two men sitting inside. Police, he thought. They were watching the house.

Tonight was not the time to do it.

He rounded the corner and drove on.

This matter could wait. It was only a bit of cleanup, a loose end that he could attend to in his spare time.

He had other, more important work to complete, and only a week in which to do it.

He drove on, toward the city.

AT 9:00 a.m., the guards came to escort Billy “The Snowman” Binford from his jail cell.

His attorney, Albert Darien, was waiting for him. Through the Plexiglas partition separating the two men, Billy could see Darien’s grim expression and he knew that the news was not good. Billy sat down opposite his attorney. The guard wasn’t standing close enough to catch their conversation, but Billy knew better than to speak freely. That stuff about attorney-client confidentiality was a bunch of bull. If the feds or the D.A. wanted you bad enough, they’d plant a bug on anyone, even your priest. It was outrageous, how they’d violate a citizen’s rights.

“Hello, Billy,” said Darien through the speaker phone. “How’re they treating you?”

“Like a sultan. How the hell d’you think they’re treating me? You gotta get me a few favors, Darien. A private TV. I’d like a private TV.”

“Billy, we got problems.”

Billy didn’t like the tone of Darien’s voice. “What problems?” he asked.

“Liddell’s not even going to discuss a plea bargain. He’s set on taking this to trial. Any other D.A.’d save himself the trouble, but I think Liddell’s using you as a stepping stone to Blaine House.”

“Liddell’s running for governor?”

“He hasn’t announced it. But if he puts you away, he’ll be golden. And Billy, to be honest, he’s got more than enough to put you away.”

Billy leaned forward and glared through the Plexiglas at his attorney. “That’s what I pay you for. So what the hell’re you doing about the situation?”

“They’ve got too much. Hobart’s turned state’s witness.”

“Hobart’s a sleazeball. It’ll be a piece of cake to discredit him.”

“They’ve got your shipping records. It’s all on paper, Billy.”

“Okay, then let’s try again with a plea bargain. Anything. Just keep my time in here short.”

“I told you, Liddell’s nixed a plea bargain.”

Billy paused. Softly he said, “Liddell can be taken care of.”

Darien stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“You just get me a deal. Don’t worry about Liddell. I’m taking care of—”

“I don’t want to know about it.” Darien sat back, his hands suddenly shaking. “I don’t want to know a damn thing, okay?”

“You don’t have to. I got it covered.”

“Just don’t get me involved.”

“All I want from you, Darien, is to keep this from going to trial. And get me out of here soon. You got that?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Darien glanced nervously at the guard, who wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to their conversation. “I’ll try.”

“Just watch,” said Billy. A cocky grin spread on his lips. “Next week, things’ll be different. D.A.’s office will be happy to talk plea bargain.”

“Why? What happens next week?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Darien exhaled a deep sigh and nodded. “You’re right,” he muttered. “I don’t want to know.”

NINA AWAKENED to the bass thump of aerobics dance music. Downstairs, she found Daniella stretched out on the polished oak floor of the exercise room. This morning Daniella was garbed in a shiny pink leotard, and her sleek legs knifed effortlessly through the air with every beat of the music. Nina stood watching in fascination for a moment, mesmerized by that display of taut muscles. Daniella worked hard at her body. In fact, she did little else. Since her marriage to George Cormier, Daniella’s only goal in life seemed to be physical perfection.

The music ended. Daniella sprang to her feet with an easy grace. As she turned to reach for a towel, she noticed Nina standing in the doorway. “Oh. Good morning.”

“Morning,” said Nina. “I guess I overslept. Has Dad already left for work?”

“You know how he is. Likes to get started at the crack of dawn.” With the towel, Daniella whisked away a delicate sheen of perspiration. A discomforting silence stretched between them. It always did. It was more than just the awkwardness of their relationship, the bizarre reality that this golden goddess was technically Nina’s stepmother. It was also the fact that, except for their connection through George Cormier, the two women had absolutely nothing in common.

And never had that seemed more apparent to Nina than at this moment, as she stood gazing at the perfect face of this perfect blonde.

Daniella climbed onto an exercise bike and began pedaling away. Over the whir of the wheel, she said, “George had some board meeting. He’ll be home for dinner. Oh, and you got two phone calls this morning. One was from that policeman. You know, the cute one.”

“Detective Navarro?”

“Yeah. He was checking up on you.”

So he’s worried about me, thought Nina, feeling an unexpected lifting of her spirits. He’d cared enough to make sure she was alive and well. Then again, maybe he was just checking to make sure he didn’t have a new corpse on his hands.

Yes, that was the likely reason he’d called.

Feeling suddenly glum, Nina turned to leave the room, then stopped. “What about the second call?” she asked. “You said there were two.”

“Oh, right.” Daniella, still pumping away, looked serenely over the handlebars. “The other call was from Robert.”

Nina stared at her in shocked silence. “Robert called?”

“He wanted to know if you were here.”

“Where is he?”

“At home.”

Nina shook her head in disbelief. “You might have told me earlier.”

“You were sound asleep. I didn’t see the point of waking you.” Daniella leaned into the handlebars and began to pedal with singleminded concentration. “Besides, he’ll call back later.”

I’m not waiting till later, thought Nina. I want answers now. And I want them face-to-face.

Heart thudding, she left the house. She borrowed her father’s Mercedes to drive to Ocean View Drive. He’d never miss it; after all, he kept a spare Jaguar and a BMW in the garage.

By the time she pulled into Robert’s driveway, she was shaking from both anger and dread. What on earth was she going to say to him?

What was he going to say to her?

She climbed the porch steps and rang the doorbell. She didn’t have her house keys. Sam Navarro did. Anyway, this wasn’t her house any longer. It never had been.

The door swung open and Robert stood looking at her in surprise. He was wearing running shorts and a T-shirt, and his face had the healthy flush of recent exercise. Not exactly the picture of a man pining for his fiancée.

“Uh, Nina,” he said. “I—I was worried about you.”

“Somehow I have a hard time believing that.”

“I even called your father’s house—”

“What happened, Robert?” Her breath rushed out in a bewildered sigh. “Why did you walk out on me?”

He looked away. That alone told her how far apart they’d drifted. “It’s not easy to explain.”

“It wasn’t easy for me, either. Telling everyone to go home. Not knowing why it fell apart. You could have told me. A week before. A day before. Instead you leave me there, holding the damn bouquet! Wondering if it was all my fault. Something I did wrong.”

“It wasn’t you, Nina.”

“What was it, then?”

He didn’t answer. He just kept looking away, unwilling to face her. Maybe afraid to face her.

“I lived with you for a whole year,” she said with sad wonder. “And I don’t have the faintest idea who you are.” With a stifled sob, she pushed past him, into the house, and headed straight for the bedroom.

“What are you doing?” he yelled.

“Packing the rest of my things. And getting the hell out of your life.”

“Nina, there’s no need to be uncivilized about this. We tried to make it. It just didn’t work out. Why can’t we still be friends?”

“Is that what we are? Friends?”

“I like to think so. I don’t see why we can’t be.”

She shook her head and laughed. A bitter sound. “Friends don’t twist the knife after they stab you.” She stalked into the bedroom and began yanking open drawers. She pulled out clothes and tossed them on the bed. She was beyond caring about neatness; all she wanted was to get out of this house and never see it again. Or him again. Up until a moment ago, she’d thought it still possible to salvage their relationship, to pick up the pieces and work toward some sort of life together. Now she knew there wasn’t a chance of it. She didn’t want him. She couldn’t even recall what it was about Robert Bledsoe that had attracted her. His looks, his medical degree—those were things she’d considered nice but not that important. No, what she’d seen in Robert—or imagined she’d seen—was intelligence and wit and caring. He’d shown her all those things.

What an act.

Robert was watching her with a look of wounded nobility. As if this was all her fault. She ignored him and went to the closet, raked out an armful of dresses, and dumped them on the bed. The pile was so high it was starting to topple.

“Does it all have to be done right now?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“There aren’t enough suitcases.”

“Then I’ll use trash bags. And I need to take my books, too.”

“Today? But you’ve got tons of them!”

“This week I’ve got tons of time. Since I skipped the honeymoon.”

“You’re being unreasonable. Look, I know you’re angry. You have a right to be. But don’t go flying off the damn handle.”

“I’ll fly off the handle if I want to!” she yelled.

The sound of a throat being cleared made them both turn in surprise. Sam Navarro stood in the bedroom doorway, looking at them with an expression of quiet bemusement.

“Don’t you cops ever bother to knock?” snapped Robert.

“I did knock,” said Sam. “No one answered. And you left the front door wide open.”

“You’re trespassing,” said Robert. “Again without a warrant.”

“He doesn’t need a warrant,” said Nina.

“The law says he does.”

“Not if I invite him in!”

“You didn’t invite him in. He walked in.”

“The door was open,” said Sam. “I was concerned.” He looked at Nina. “That wasn’t smart, Miss Cormier, driving here alone. You should have told me you were leaving your father’s house.”

“What am I, your prisoner?” she muttered and crossed back to the closet for another armload of clothes. “How did you track me down, anyway?”

“I called your stepmother right after you left the house. She thought you’d be here.”

“Well, I am. And I happen to be busy.”

“Yeah,” muttered Robert. “She’s really good at being busy.”

Nina spun around to confront her ex-fiancé. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m not the only one to blame in all this! It takes two people to screw up a relationship.”

“I didn’t leave you at the church!”

“No, but you left me. Every night, for months on end.”

“What? What?”

“Every damn night, I was here on my own! I would have enjoyed coming home to a nice meal. But you were never here.”

“They needed me on the evening shift. I couldn’t change that!”

“You could’ve quit.”

“Quit my job? To do what? Play happy homemaker to a man who couldn’t even decide if he wanted to marry me?”

“If you loved me, you would have.”

“Oh, my God. I can’t believe you’re turning this into my fault. I didn’t love you enough.”

Sam said, “Nina, I need to talk to you.”

“Not now!” Nina and Robert both snapped at him.

Robert said to her, “I just think you should know I had my reasons for not going through with it. A guy has only so much patience. And then it’s natural to start looking elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere?” She stared at him with new comprehension. Softly she said, “So there was someone else.”

“What do you think?”

“Do I know her?”

“It hardly makes a difference now.”

“It does to me. When did you meet her?”

He looked away. “A while ago.”

“How long?”

“Look, this is irrelevant—”

“For six months, we planned that wedding. Both of us. And you never bothered to tell me the minor detail that you were seeing another woman?”

“It’s clear to me you’re not rational at the moment. Until you are, I’m not discussing this.” Robert turned and left the room.

“Not rational?” she yelled. “I’m more rational now than I was six months ago!”

She was answered by the thud of the front door as it slammed shut.

Another woman, she thought. I never knew. I never even suspected.

Suddenly feeling sick to her stomach, she sank down on the bed. The pile of clothes tumbled onto the floor, but she didn’t even notice. Nor did she realize that she was crying, that the tears were dribbling down her cheeks and onto her shirt. She was both sick and numb at the same time, and oblivious to everything but her own pain.

She scarcely noticed that Sam had sat down beside her. “He’s not worth it, Nina,” he soothed quietly. “He’s not worth grieving over.”

Only when his hand closed warmly over hers did she look up. She found his gaze focused steadily on her face. “I’m not grieving,” she said.

Gently he brushed his fingers across her cheek, which was wet with tears. “I think you are.”

“I’m not. I’m not.” She gave a sob and sagged against him, burying her face in his shirt. “I’m not,” she whispered against his chest.

Only vaguely did she sense his arms folding around her back, gathering her against him. Suddenly those arms were holding her close, wrapping tightly around her. He didn’t say a thing. As always, the laconic cop. But she felt his breath warming her hair, felt his lips brush the top of her head, and she heard the quickening of his heartbeat.

Just as she felt the quickening of her own.

It means nothing, she thought. He was being kind to her. Comforting her the way he would any hurt citizen. It was what she did every day in the ER. It was her job. It was his job.

Oh, but this felt so good.

It took a ruthless act of pure will to pull out of his arms. When she looked up, she found his expression calm, his green eyes unreadable. No passion, no desire. Just the public servant, in full control of his emotions.

Quickly she wiped away her tears. She felt stupid now, embarrassed by what he’d just witnessed between her and Robert. He knew it all, every humiliating detail, and she could scarcely bear to look him in the eye.

She stood up and began to gather the fallen clothes from the floor.

“You want to talk about it?” he asked.

“No.”

“I think you need to. The man you loved leaves you for another woman. That must hurt pretty bad.”

“Okay, I do need to talk about it!” She threw a handful of clothes on the bed and looked at him. “But not with some stone-faced cop who couldn’t care less!”

There was a long silence. Though he looked at her without a flicker of emotion, she sensed that she’d just delivered a body blow. And he was too proud to show it.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. Oh God, Navarro, I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Actually,” he said, “I think I did.”

“You’re just doing your job. And then I go and lash out at you.” Thoroughly disgusted with herself, she sat down beside him on the bed. “I was just taking it out on you. I’m so—so angry at myself for letting him make me feel guilty.”

“Why guilty?”

“That’s the crazy part about it! I don’t know why I should feel guilty! He makes it sound as if I neglected him. But I could never quit my job, even for him. I love my job.”

“He’s a doctor. He must’ve had long hours as well. Nights, weekends.”

“He worked a lot of weekends.”

“Did you complain?”

“Of course not. That’s his job.”

“Well?” He regarded her with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh.” She sighed. “The old double standard.”

“Exactly. I wouldn’t expect my wife to quit a job she loved, just to make dinner and wait on me every night.”

She stared down at her hands, clasped in her lap. “You wouldn’t?”

“That’s not love. That’s possession.”

“I think your wife’s a very lucky woman,” she said softly.

“I was only speaking theoretically.”

She frowned at him. “You mean…it was just a theoretical wife?”

He nodded.

So he wasn’t married. That piece of information made her flush with a strange and unexpected gladness. What on earth was the matter with her?

She looked away, afraid that he might see the confusion in her eyes. “You, uh, said you needed to talk to me.”

“It’s about the case.”

“It must be pretty important if you went to all the trouble of tracking me down.”

“I’m afraid we have a new development. Not a pleasant one.”

She went very still. “Something’s happened?”

“Tell me what you know about the church janitor.”

She shook her head in bewilderment. “I don’t know him at all. I don’t even know his name.”

“His name was Jimmy Brogan. We spent all yesterday evening trying to track Brogan down. We know he unlocked the church door yesterday. That he was in and out of the building all morning. But no one seems to know where he went after the explosion. We know he didn’t turn up at the neighborhood bar where he usually goes every afternoon.”

“You said was. That his name was Jimmy Brogan. Does that mean…”

Sam nodded. “We found his body this morning. He was in his car, parked in a field in Scarborough. He died from a gunshot wound to the head. The gun was in the car with him. It had his fingerprints on it.”

“A suicide?” she asked softly.

“That’s the way it looks.”

She was silent, too shocked to say a thing.

“We’re still waiting for the crime lab report. There are a number of details that bother me. It feels too neat, too packaged. It ties up every single loose end we’ve got.”

“Including the bombing?”

“Including the bombing. There were several items in the car trunk that would seem to link Brogan to the bomb. Detonating cord. Green electrical tape. It’s all pretty convincing evidence.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“The problem is, Brogan had no explosives experience that we know of. Also, we can’t come up with a motive for any bombing. Or for the attack on you. Can you help us out?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know anything about the man.”

“Are you familiar with the name Brogan?”

“No.”

“He was familiar with you. There was a slip of paper with your address in his car.”

She stared at him. His gaze was impenetrable. It frightened her, how little she could read in his eyes. How deeply the man was buried inside the cop. “Why would he have my address?” she asked.

“You must have some link to him.”

“I don’t know anyone named Brogan.”

“Why would he try to kill you? Run you off the road?”

“How do you know he did it?”

“Because of his car. The one we found his body in.”

She swallowed hard. “It was black?”

He nodded. “A black Ford.”