Blind Trust (26 page)

“
Julie
, he asked me to dinner. Not to marry him.”

“Just saying.” Julie fluttered her hand with that gleam in her eye. “You can't tell me you haven't thought about it.”

Kate laughed. “Apparently not as much as you have.” Although she had to admit, she kind of liked being called auntie by Tom's nephews. She pictured her friend Beth's permanent smile these days, her tummy bulging with new life. How she seemed to unconsciously cradle it with her palm.

Realizing that her hand had dropped to her own stomach, Kate casually tried to reposition it before Julie noticed and made a federal case of that too. Except the thought of having a family with Tom filled—

“Earth to Kate.” Julie waved a hand in front of Kate's face. “Still with me?”

“What?” Kate let her exasperation with Julie's theatrics sound in her voice.

Julie leaned back in her chair and laughed. “You are so over
the moon, you can't even remember you're in the middle of a conversation with a lowly earthling.”

Kate swatted her arm. “I'm not.”

“You are. And I love it. It's so good to see you happy.”

Kate hugged herself. “I am.”

“So . . .” Julie squeezed her hand. “You going to do what I said and get your hair and nails done?”

Kate rolled her eyes. “No, I'm going to rescue a few samples of that plant I found on Verna's property.”

“Why? Surely, Brian won't be allowed to sell it if they're charging him with trying to poison his mother.”

“He was so mad at me for interfering, I wouldn't be surprised if he destroys the plant just to spite me.”

Julie shook her head. “Don't you think you might be overreacting?”

“Maybe. But to be honest, I'd like the chance to study the plant.” She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. Maybe studying the plant would help her understand what compelled her father to let the police take him away rather than give GPC the plants in exchange for his freedom.

“Well, be careful. I'm sure Tom wouldn't like to know you're going out there by yourself.”

No, he wouldn't. She stuffed away the niggling voice that said she shouldn't go without telling him. “I'll be fine.”

Tom scanned the windows as he pulled up behind Hutchinson's squad car parked in front of the Lawton house. Isabelle Lawton had lied about her daughter's dentist appointment. No surprise there. Weller had found proof that she'd printed over a thousand dollars' worth of counterfeit ten- and twenty-dollar bills, probably figuring stores didn't scrutinize the smaller bills as carefully.

Hutchinson opened Tom's door. “No car in the driveway.”

“Could be in the garage. Check it out, then cover the back, in case she gets it into her head to run again.” Tom didn't expect her to give them any trouble, but he'd been surprised by her type before.

By the time he reached the front door, Hutchinson was at the garage window. “No vehicle. Still want me to go around back?”

“Yeah, I see movement inside.”

Hutchinson took off at that, and Tom rapped on the door.

Trisha Lawton opened it. “Oh, hi. Detective Parker, right?” She pushed a hank of black- and blonde-streaked hair behind
her ear and chewed on a chipped purple nail. “Um, can I help you?”

“Is your mother home?” Tom asked, watching her body language carefully for any hint of lying.

“No, she doesn't get off work until 5:00.” Trish pulled a pink cell phone from her back pocket. “I can call her for you.”

“That's okay.” He didn't want to get her daughter in the middle of this. “How old are you?”

“Fifteen. Why?”

“Any relatives in the area?” They'd want to bring both her parents in for questioning, and if her dad turned out to be complicit in the scheme, she'd need somewhere to go.

“My aunt lives down the street.”

A familiar-looking dark-haired teen appeared behind her. “What's up?”

“And you are?” Tom asked.

She gave him a look that said, “What cave have you been living in?” “Addie King. The mayor's daughter.”

“Hello.” Tom's cell phone rang. Figuring it was Hutchinson, he checked the screen. Dad. Looking at Addie, he tilted his head. “You have a cell phone?”

“Sure. Who doesn't?”

Yeah, and he bet she had her dad's number programmed into it. His phone rang again. “Excuse me a second.” He half-turned before pressing Connect. “What's up?”

“Got a flat tire out on Sixteen Road, and I left the spare in Tessa's garage when I had to make room for all those boxes she had me deliver this morning.”

“And you need me to bring it out to you.” Tom watched the girls drift back to the living room.

“If you can spare the time.” Dad sounded apologetic.

Addie snatched up a cell phone that had been lying on an end table, where anyone in the house could've glanced through the numbers saved on it. Like Izzy Lawton.

“Xavier is out of town,” Dad went on. “I hate to ask her to close up the shop and load up the boys to run it over.”

“No problem. I just have to finish what I'm doing first.” He disconnected and then called to Trish, “Patricia?”

“Yeah?”

Yup, that explained the “VIP” on the family photo on Isabelle Lawton's desk—Victor, Isabelle, Patricia—and maybe the “PL” on the sign-in list at the library. “Do you ever use the computers at the library?”

“Sure, for the internet. We had to disconnect ours after Dad lost his job.”

“Your parents too?”

“Nah, Mom has it on her work computer.”

“How about your dad?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes he'll do a quick search of the job ads when I'm on.”

Or send
the mayor a text message.
Tom smiled to himself. So the Lawtons were counterfeiters, and also likely behind the backhanded harassment against Kate. Now he just had to find them.

Standing at the edge of Verna's property with her shovel and bucket, Kate glanced up at the sky. Clouds had rolled in. If she didn't hurry, she might get caught in a downpour. She hurried down the hill and across the meadow to the stand of trees that flanked the spring-fed stream. The sky grew darker
by the second. Maybe going in now wasn't such a great idea. She peered through the trees at the shadowy trail. The patch was only a couple of a hundred yards in. She'd be in and out in no time.

She plunged ahead. Mosquitoes dive-bombed her. Yanking her hoodie over her head to keep them from feasting on her neck, she picked up her pace.

The ping of metal hitting rock sent a chill through her veins. She froze and listened.

The sound of shoveling rose from the direction of the creek. Maybe Grandma Brewster was collecting samples. Even as the thought crossed Kate's mind, she knew it was wishful thinking. Grandma B collected leaves and flowers. She didn't dig things up. Then again, maybe she needed the root of some plant for something.

Kate edged closer, using the trees for cover so whoever was digging wouldn't see her. Ten yards farther she caught a glimpse of the digger and stifled a gasp.

He—definitely not Grandma Brewster—was digging up the amendoso and shoving the plants into burlap sacks.

Her fists clenched. He was going to destroy them. The plants wouldn't survive just anywhere.

Everything in her wanted to run out and demand he stop his wanton destruction, but even with him stooped over a shovel, she could tell he outweighed her by a good fifty pounds and had the height to match. If he decided to make trouble, she'd be neck deep in it.

She studied him for a moment. She couldn't see his face, but his build reminded her of the guy Tom had chased out of here the day she happened upon Greg and Pedro—Michael Beck, or whatever his real name was.

Tom had assured her she didn't have to worry about Beck. But what if she was wrong and this was someone else? Or what if Tom was wrong?

The man shuffled to the last few plants still in the ground and stomped his spade into the dirt.

She couldn't just stand there and let him destroy them all. She pulled out her cell phone and scrolled through her contact list as she stepped forward. “Stop!”

The guy whirled around, sheer panic glazing his eyes.

Eyes that seemed vaguely familiar. But behind her leaves crunched.

“No!” the guy shouted.

Then blackness swallowed her.

Mike roared toward his daughter's attacker. The guy's shovel glanced off Mike's back as he plowed straight into the guy's gut and backed him against a tree. He grabbed the guy's arm and slammed it hard against a low-lying branch until he dropped the shovel.

The guy grabbed him by the neck and drilled his thumbs into Mike's windpipe.

Desperately prying at the guy's hands, Mike kicked and twisted. Dots danced before his eyes. He couldn't utter a sound.

A rifle shot cracked through the tree above their heads, spitting bark.

His assailant's arms shot up. Mike gasped for air. He recognized the guy from the tea shop. He had to be connected to GPC. Who else would come out here with a shovel?

A squat woman in a ratty cardigan and dark, heavy skirt stepped into the clearing, sighting them down the barrel of her rifle. “Don't move.”

Lifting his hands, Mike's gaze veered to Katy. The sight of his precious daughter's body crumpled in the dirt tore at his
soul. Impulsively he stepped toward her, but the old woman motioned him away with the muzzle of her gun. “She needs help,” he argued, even though he wasn't the one who should give it to her, no matter how much he longed to take her in his arms.

Hands still in the air, Katy's attacker eyed the burlap bags Mike had filled.

Katy began to stir.

The instant the old woman's attention turned, Mike snatched up the bags and the phone Katy had dropped and sprinted through the trees. The old woman would make sure Katy was okay.

The other guy crashed through the underbrush after him, a bullet kicking up the dirt behind them.

Mike ran five miles a day, but he could hear the other guy closing in fast. Mike cleared the trees and picked up his pace across the meadow. Behind him, the guy breathed heavily. Rain stabbed Mike's face. Weighed down by the sacks, he slowed on the hill up to the road.

The guy lunged for a sack, catching it at the base and going down to his knees.

Mike plowed his heel square into the guy's chest without a second's remorse, considering what the creep did to his Katy, and sprinted the rest of the way up the hill. He threw the sacks into the passenger seat of his car, turned on the ignition, and gunned the gas just as her attacker stumbled across the ditch.

Watching the road with one eye, Mike thumbed through the contact list on Katy's phone. At Tom's name he hit Connect. He barely heard Tom's hello past the roar in his ears. “Katy's been attacked. She's with an old German woman in the woods.”

Tom invited him to leave a message.

Voice mail.
Mike cursed under his breath as he waited for the beep. He repeated what he'd said. “Didn't see what the guy was driving. Wearing a gray windbreaker, jeans, early forties, dark hair. Make sure she's okay, then get him.”

A silver pickup rounded the bend behind him, gaining fast.

Mike clicked off the phone and lowered his window. Once he lost this guy, he couldn't risk them using the phone's GPS to track him down, which was likely how they'd cornered Katy. He chucked the phone out the window.

Rain battered the car.

Mike fought the steering wheel to stay on the winding road.

The truck swerved into the other lane and squeezed him against the guardrail.

A car appeared ahead of them.

The truck veered back into its lane, and Mike took the opportunity to surge ahead. But the instant the car passed them, the truck was back on his side, shouldering him off the road.

Mike cranked hard to the left to avoid the ditch. The truck clipped his back end. Trees raced around him. His map book flew off the dash and winged the side of his head. The car banked the ditch and cartwheeled down the ravine.

He must've blacked out because the next thing he knew, the car was on its roof and he was suspended by his seatbelt. Blood rushed to his head—what little wasn't pouring out of him. His legs were wedged under the crumpled dash. And—
Lord, no!—
he couldn't feel them.

The guy appeared at the passenger window, tried to yank open the door.

Terrified, Mike slapped down the lock.

The sound of the guy at the door faded as darkness crept
over him. Then a crash shattered the fog clouding his mind. Chunks of glass blasted through the window. The guy cleared the edges with the rock in his hand, then reached through the window and cursed. “Where are they?”

The plants. He wanted the plants.

The guy lifted his hand holding the rock.

Mike twisted away too late. Pain exploded in his head. Then nothing.

Standing on the side of the road next to his dad's disabled car, Tom ended Hutchinson's call confirming Isabelle Lawton was now in custody and immediately returned Kate's. He pulled up the hood of his jacket against the spitting rain. Why wasn't she answering?

Glancing at his watch, he prayed she hadn't gotten cold feet about tonight's dinner plans. They could really celebrate now that they'd found their counterfeiter. “You managing okay?” he asked his dad, who already had the spare tire fitted in place.

Kate's phone went to voice mail.

“Returning your call,” he said, then clicked off and listened to the message she'd left. At the sound of her dad's voice instead of hers, his heart slammed into his ribs.
Katy . . .
attacked
. . . in the woods.
He raced to his car. “I've got to go. Kate's been attacked.” Tom choked on the word.
Please, God, let her be
okay.

His dad dropped his wrench and jerked to his feet. “Where?”

“Verna's property!” Tom jumped into his car.

Eight minutes later, squinting through the intensifying downpour, he spotted Kate's car and parked behind it. Racing
down the hill, which was already slick from the rain, he spotted two figures staggering from the woods. Kate and . . .

Grandma Brewster stopped her with a slash of her arm and raised what looked like a rifle.

Tom skidded to a halt, arms raised. “Whoa! Kate, it's me, Tom.”

Kate said something to the old woman, who slowly lowered the weapon.

This time Tom closed the distance at a slower lope so as not to get Grandma Brewster antsier.

“Tom, how'd you know I was here?” Dirt was smudged on Kate's left cheek. Leaves and twigs were tangled in her hair. But she didn't look cut or bruised. She pressed a palm to the side of her head.

At the sight of her wince, he scooped her into his arms. “Never mind that. Let's get you to the house. Where are you hurt?”

“My head. Someone knocked me out.”

Anger surging, he picked up his pace. “Did you see who it was?”

“No, I didn't even know he was behind me until it was too late. But I saw his partner. It was Beck.”

The accusation in her voice bit at his conscience. If she only knew that Beck/Baxter/her father was the last person who'd ever hurt her. Nagy's real estate agent must've alerted their buyer—GPC, if Tom's guess was right. Baxter must've figured out what was going on. He glanced at Grandma Brewster, who'd matched his swift pace despite her age and long skirt, wet from the pelting rain. “Could you describe the men?”

“One was older, gray hair, beard. The other”—Grandma B slanted her head, seeming to size him up—“like you, but skinny.”

“How do you mean like me? My height? Dark hair? Clean shaven?”

“Ja.”

Tom paused halfway up the hill to catch his breath and reposition Kate in his arms.

She pressed her palm to his chest. “I can walk.”

He brushed his lips across her forehead. “I like carrying you.”

The sweet smile in her eyes loosened the knot that had been strangling his gut since Baxter's call. “The bouncing kind of hurts my head.”

“Oh.” He lowered her feet to the ground. Her pupils were equal size and no more dilated than he'd expect in the fading light. He fanned a hand over one eye, then the other—something he should've done at the bottom of the hill to rule out a severe head injury. Thankfully, her pupils reacted to the change in light normally. He wrapped an arm around her waist. “Why did you come here?”

“To dig up some of the plants. But Beck—or whatever his name is—beat me to them.”

Tom bit back his irritation with the pair of them.

“Had 'em in burlap sacks,” Grandma Brewster added. “The younger one looked like he wanted 'em.” She walked ahead, then suddenly stopped and lifted her rifle.

At the top of the hill, Tom's dad shot his arms into the air.

“It's okay. He's here to help,” Tom said.

“Kate okay?” Dad called down the hill as the old woman lowered her gun.

“She needs to see a doctor. Could have a concussion.”

“I'm fine,” Kate protested even as the climb grew steeper and she leaned more heavily into him.

“We'll let a doctor decide.” His heart had felt like it ripped from his chest at the news of the attack. He wasn't taking any chances. “I can't believe you came out—”

“Save the lecture.” Dad strode to Kate's other side and lifted her free arm over his shoulder. “I can take her to the hospital. The police radio's buzzing. A car went off the road at Turner's Hollow.” Dad caught Tom's gaze above Kate's head. Insistence flared in his eyes. “You need to go.”

Realizing the victim might be Kate's attacker, Tom gave her one last hug. “Promise me you'll stay with Dad until I get back.”

“I won't let her out of my sight,” Dad vowed.