Читать книгу Full Force Fatherhood - Tyler Anne Snell - Страница 11

Chapter Four

The weatherman might not have been completely wrong. As Mark stepped out of his taxi, he wondered if he should have brought his jacket. His long sleeves might not cut it if the temperature dropped even further.

It was just after dinner, and he was back at the bar he’d been at the night before. He had a feeling the place would be seeing a lot of him in the next few weeks, especially if this meeting went south. He’d finally called Kelli back and was surprised when she’d asked to meet him somewhere later that night. Nothing more was said beyond that, and now here he was, showing up a half hour early. Nerves or anticipation? He couldn’t tell which, but he made his way to one of the booths tucked into the corner. It gave him a clear sightline to the front doors.

From habit, he took in his surroundings. Men and women of varying careers were all dressed down to some degree—one of the women at the table next to him had on flats, though a pair of heels could be seen sticking out of the bag at her feet, while the other had let her hair loose across her shoulders; an older man at the bar had his tie undone around his neck, beer in hand and eyes on the TV; a group of yuppies had their blazers draped over chair backs while they threw darts next to the front door; a man walked in and immediately went to the bar, hand up, ordering a beer.

A few more patrons came in and before he knew it, the half hour had passed. Mark hadn’t spent enough time with Kelli Crane to know if she was punctual or not.

No, he didn’t really know her at all.

The Orion Security Group had done its homework on the now twenty-nine-year-old woman before the contract had started. It was imperative to do the research to make the protection side of the job most effective. He’d learned that Kelli Crane—formally McKinnely—had a degree in art therapy and worked with the elderly at the community center. She came from a small family that all but disappeared after a car crash killed her parents when she was young. Socially she had kept out of the spotlight, staying close with a childhood friend named Lynn.

In that regard, she was quite the opposite of her late husband. Victor Crane had been a networker, thanks to his job. He had more connections than even Orion’s analyst had been able to uncover. Mark had tracked down as many as he could, trying to find a tie between the man’s death and the fire, but it was hard to find a link when you didn’t know what you were looking for in the first place.

Mark couldn’t help but focus on the blonde as she paused to survey the room before meeting his gaze. There was no hesitation in her bright eyes. She made a beeline for him.

Although he’d recognized her easily, he had to admit she looked different from the woman he’d known through the contract. Kelli walked with unmistakable purpose. Her once-long hair was shortened to her chin with bangs that cut straight over her eyebrows. The dirty blond had lightened as her skin had darkened—she’d been getting sun. He’d bet her kid had something to do with that. Instead of the almost prim outfits she had worn at the cabin, she was dressed more casually—a blue button-up with jeans and black flats. There was no flashy jewelry—he noticed no wedding ring, either—and even her purse seemed more practical than pretty.

Seeing her made him wonder what he looked like in turn. Had he changed in the past two years?

“Hi,” Kelli greeted him, sliding into the seat across from him without pause. Whatever was on her mind, it had her determined.

“Hi,” he responded. Mark didn’t know what to feel, seeing her so informally, as if they were old friends reconnecting. The only thing they shared was a tragedy. Did she feel the same self-loathing he did?

“Thanks for meeting me, by the way. I know it must be strange.”

“It’s the least I can do.” He cleared his throat. “So, how have you been?”

“Good. Busy, but good.”

Mark smiled. It was the same thing he’d said to Nikki the day before. He wondered if Kelli actually meant it.

In record time, the waitress popped over and took her drink order before they could dive in to their conversation. Kelli asked for beer and cracked a big smile. Mark couldn’t help but raise his eyebrow at her expression.

“Sorry. I haven’t gotten out much since Grace.” She tamped her grin down a fraction. “And I certainly haven’t been to a bar and ordered beer. I almost feel like this is a minivacation.” Her smile instantly vanished, like a candle blown out. Silence followed as she dropped her gaze.

“Kelli, why did you want to meet?”

The blonde quirked her lips to one side as she concentrated. She was choosing her words carefully. Finally she found them.

“After the fire, the cops came. You told them you’d seen a man running from the house,” she started. This time she didn’t shy away from his gaze. “When they picked up Darwin McGregor—” she paused, eyes momentarily glazing over with emotion “—you said it wasn’t the same person. At the time I didn’t even think to question it—he admitted to setting the fire—but now...”

“But now?” he pressed.

“Well, I think I should have listened to you.”

Mark was an impassive man. He didn’t know if that was what had made him such a good bodyguard— before the fire—or if it had been the other way around. Sure, like anyone, he had emotions. He felt things like the next man. It was his ability to mask those feelings, those shifts in conversation that surprised him, that he had mastered through the years. However, as the words left Kelli Crane’s mouth, once again he had to struggle to keep from gaping.

Not so much at their meaning. It was the implication behind them.

“I don’t understand,” he said honestly.

Kelli’s drink arrived, but she didn’t touch it. Her minivacation was apparently over.

“The story Victor was working on at the cabin—did you ever read it?”

“No.” Mark didn’t want to lie, but he also didn’t want to admit why he hadn’t. He’d tried before but even the headline had made his guilt expand. Reading the article was salt on the wound of not being able to save the man. If Kelli was offended, she didn’t show it.

“The Bowman Foundation, a charity, had been operating anonymously in Texas for a few years but decided to go public. Victor did an in-depth spotlight on them—what they had already accomplished, what they hoped to accomplish, that sort of thing.” She moved her hand to hover over her purse but paused before placing it back on the tabletop. “It was published a week after the funeral.” Her smile was weak at the word. “While I was packing—we’re moving to a new house— I found Victor’s journal with a copy of his notes about the story. Now I’ve read the published article over and over again. I’ve memorized every detail.”

“Okay...I’m not following.”

“The two don’t match up.” He could tell she was getting frustrated, but at what or whom, he wasn’t sure.

“The published story and the notes?” he asked.

Kelli nodded. “Names, not important in the grand scheme of the foundation.”

Mark took a drink of his beer. “So they got the facts wrong. What does this have to do with anything?”

Kelli’s fists balled slightly, a move that someone else might have missed entirely. Mark was suddenly aware of how aware he was of Kelli’s movements.

“I talked to the editor of the Scale. He says it was Victor who was wrong, but I don’t believe that. Victor was using that spotlight to show he was capable of writing more feature articles. He figured it would help him get local work so he wouldn’t have to travel as much when Grace came. He wouldn’t have made that many errors.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m still not following.”

When she continued, her voice was noticeably lower.

“I think Victor might have stumbled across something that he shouldn’t have...and was killed for it.”

* * *

MARK’S EYEBROWS STAYED STILL, and his lips remained in their detached frown, but Kelli saw a twinge of movement in his jaw. He was trying to pretend he didn’t have a reaction to her accusation, but she’d seen it clear as day. She thanked two years of people trying to hide their pity for the widowed mother. She’d seen that look so many times that she had learned to read when most people were trying to hide what they really felt.

Mark had a reaction, but she didn’t know what emotion was behind it.

“Do you have any evidence to back that up?” he asked, voice even. “Aside from the difference between notes.”

Kelli remembered Dennis Crawford’s sharp stare as his hand stayed firmly on the photocopies she’d brought to him.

“Have you ever had a gut feeling, Mark? One that starts out as a tiny doubt and then grows and grows until you can’t ignore it anymore?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “But having a gut feeling can only take you so far. What you’re trying to say is someone targeted and killed Victor. You need more than a gut feeling to back that up.”

“But aren’t you convinced that Darwin didn’t start that fire? What about the man you saw running from the cabin that night?”

Mark took a long second before he said, “Darwin admitted to it. Why would he do that if he didn’t actually start it?”

“Maybe he was put up to it. Maybe he was threatened. Maybe—”

“Kelli.” Mark’s jaw definitely hardened, along with his tone. She must have reacted, because just as quickly he softened. “It was an accident.”

“But you—”

Mark’s set his beer down hard. “I was wrong, Kelli.” The women next to them glanced over. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you with this.”

It was an unmistakable end to the conversation.

Just as the pity of strangers had taught Kelli to read subtle reactions, her daughter had taught her the face of stubborn resolve.

“Then I’m sorry to have wasted your time.” She pulled out some cash to cover her untouched beer. “Thanks again for meeting me. Good night.”

Mark looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. Kelli left the table without a look back, not even pausing as she brushed shoulders with a man leaving the bar.

Her face was hot and the outside air did little to cool it down. The heat came from either embarrassment at not being believed, or anger for the same reason. Maybe a mixture of both. Or, maybe her emotion wasn’t even meant for the ex-bodyguard.

Kelli took a deep breath.

Seeking out the only person who ever suspected foul play, and to have even him turn you down...

She let the breath out.

You really are overreacting.

Kelli followed the sidewalk, passing back by one of the bar’s open windows. The farther away she walked, the more convinced she became that the whole conspiracy was in her head. Moving out of the only home she’d ever had with Victor while juggling work and Grace was a lot of stress to carry. She thought she’d been handling it well enough, especially with Lynn’s help, but maybe she hadn’t.

Time to put it behind you, Kel.

“Don’t make a noise.” The harsh command came beside her ear just as a sharp point dug into her shirt. A large hand grabbed her upper arm. Kelli’s stomach dropped as her heart began to gallop. Before she had time to decide if she was or wasn’t going to comply, the man yanked her into a nearby alley. It was empty. No one yelled after them. “Turn around and I cut you,” the voice growled. “Make one move or sound and I cut you. Got it?”

Kelli felt her head bob up and down. She was facing the brick wall of a business she couldn’t remember at the moment. Her mind filled with images of Grace. The thought of her child put a bit of spirit back into her, but not enough for her to be careless.

“Drop your purse,” the low voice ground out.

Kelli slowly raised the arm that he wasn’t holding and maneuvered the strap off her chest and shoulder. She tried to gauge the size of the knife, but her nerves were too frazzled. The purse was on the ground for less than a second before the man snatched it back up. She saw his black-gloved hand. It made the terror in her rise even more.

Instead of leaving, he applied more pressure with the knife. She winced but didn’t make a noise.

“There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” His breath brushed against her ear. It sent a chill up her spine.

“You have what you wanted,” she said, voice shaking.

The knife bit deeper. This time she let out a small yelp.

“Didn’t I say no talki—”

“I have a gun,” interrupted a cool voice from even farther behind her, definitely not her original attacker. “Hurt her and I’ll—”

Kelli was pushed into the wall as the man let go of her arm and struggled with the newcomer. Pain burst in her cheek as it scraped the brick. She didn’t pause to check it. She braced herself against the wall as she turned around.

Her attacker was a white man—she couldn’t guess an age well enough—dressed in all denim and black with a red baseball cap. He wasn’t tall but he was wide. In one hand he held her purse. The other was busy trying to fend off her savior.

Who just happened to be Mark Tranton.

“Give me the purse,” Mark commanded. His arm was cut, but he was holding a knife. Apparently having a gun had been a bluff.

The mugger eyed what used to be his weapon before darting to the left and out of the alley, taking the purse with him. For a large man, he was lithe.

“Are you okay?” Mark asked, eyes roaming her over.

“Yeah,” she breathed.

And then he was running.