Double Cross (12 page)

10:40 P.M. THURSDAY

After the emergency room trip, Laurel drove back to the stable with her right shoulder bandaged and in a sling. So lucky the bullet hadn’t penetrated the bone. She masked the apprehension stalking her with an agent persona while her insides cratered. Floodlights lit up the night sky, illuminating the crime scene and those seeking evidence related to her shooting. Too many Montgomery County cops, FBI agents, and media types combed the area. She avoided the FBI. No point getting into a shouting match. The shooter could be among any of them, and she’d never know. She slipped among the law enforcement, looking for a clue.

This morning she’d texted SSA Preston about Josie Fields to ensure Wilmington had told the truth.

Had Geoff Cayden or Josie Fields called the hit? Had Morton Wilmington? Was it a threat? Had the shooter missed on purpose, or had Laurel gotten lucky?

Laurel observed the investigation. Most of the items retrieved were collected in plastic and leakproof containers. She’d bet next month’s paycheck on nothing incriminating being found. Thank goodness she’d seen the movement and Phantom jumped
 
—and not tossed her off.

Miss Kathryn would have called it a God-thing.

“Agent Evertson.”

She recognized the voice and slowly turned. “Officer Hilton.”

“Daniel.”

“Okay. I’m Laurel. What brings you here?”

He frowned in the shadows. “The obvious. Are you okay? Looks like you should be home in bed.”

Fresh blood seeped through the sterile wrappings. As soon as she finished here, she’d get some rest. “The hospital fixed me up. Got the bullet.”

“I see your red badge of courage. Did you drive yourself there?”

“It wasn’t that bad.” Actually she’d fought to keep her car on the road, and her shoulder stung horribly.

“Which means you drove back to the crime site. Why am I not surprised?” He pointed to reporters taking pics and videos. “You’re the focus of every camera.”

She cringed. “I’m trying to avoid them. A good investigator has to check out the crime scene.”

“Who are you working for?”

“Myself.”
Think, Laurel, before you’re exposed.
“I’m done here. Hard to retrace a shooter’s path in the dark.”

“What did the doctor give you?”

“Intravenous antibiotics and a shot of morphine.”

“Now I understand your lack of common sense. Couldn’t have been much more than an hour ago. You could have killed yourself driving here. What are you doing, setting yourself up for another close-range bullet?”

Laurel swallowed a response, noting the pain and morphine would be talking. She and Daniel barely knew each other, but she sensed an unspoken attraction between them, or maybe that was wishful thinking on her part. “I wanted to make sure my horse was okay, brushed down.”

“Really? Aren’t there people in the stables to take care of that?”

She stiffened, more with the pain than his question. “This is none of your concern. I’m the victim here, and I wanted to check for evidence.”

“As if it’s not bagged and marked. What else did they give you for pain?”

“Prescription meds.”

“Have you filled it?”

“When I leave here, I’ll find a 24-7 pharmacy. I want the shooter found, and I want the motive. The guy fired to my left, making it weird my right shoulder caught the bullet.” She drew in a weary breath. “If Phantom hadn’t bolted, law enforcement would be investigating a murder.” She paused, allowing reality to settle to the bottom of her stomach. “Can’t figure out why he didn’t shoot again. What ran him off?” Looking back at the stables, she remembered the crowd of people. “He was afraid of being seen.”

She was talking too much. Must be the drugs flowing through her veins. She and Daniel walked toward a section of the pasture beneath the canopy of the live oak where the shooter had been positioned. A police officer carrying a flashlight greeted them. Another officer searched through the leaves with his K-9’s nose to the ground.

“I saw movement here, but it could have been an animal. Then again, the wind could have affected the bullet’s trajectory,” she said.

“The shooter had to be aware of your schedule,” Daniel said. “Followed you and didn’t leave a trace.”

“A pro doesn’t leave a calling card.” Laurel moved toward the area where others sifted through pine needles and brush. “I looked there too. Clean.” She blew out her exasperation. “I seem to attract the volatile ones on both sides of the law.” The fire in her shoulder marred her good sense. “You mean well, Daniel, and I appreciate your being here. But you’re stepping on treacherous ground. It’s best you leave here now. I
 
—”

“Ma’am, can I have a word with you?”

Laurel whirled toward the male voice. She hadn’t heard anyone approach. In the dim light it was difficult to make out his features. He had light hair swept back to his collar and wore jeans, a cowboy hat, and a University of Texas sweatshirt. “What can I do for you?”

“I work at the stables, and I’d like to brush down your horse.
Don’t look like you’re up to the job. Can’t remember your horse’s name.” He drew out his words, a good ole boy.

“It’s a he, a stallion, and his name is Phantom. I’d really appreciate it. Your name?”

“Alex Lockhart.”

“Thanks.”

He nodded and turned toward the stables. She studied his back . . . hadn’t seen him before. Could he be Geoff Cayden, or was she being paranoid? She shivered. Rest would clear her mind. She called to the man. “Alex, can I see your ID?”

He returned to her side and pulled out his wallet
 
—Texas DL. Matched up. “Thanks.” She handed it back to him. Her thoughts ran crazy. Geoff Cayden wouldn’t be stupid enough to not have ID. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m good.”

“Sure, ma’am. Just wanted to offer my assistance.” He tipped his hat and walked away.

“Laurel, like the stable hand, I want to help.” Daniel’s words were gentle. “You can’t solve what happened tonight in your condition, and I agree the likelihood of a shooter leaving anything behind is slim. Be glad the doctor yanked the bullet from your shoulder because it’s all you have.”

“Laurel.” She recognized Wilmington’s voice. He touched her shoulder and she cringed. Would this night ever end? “Sweetheart, are you all right? I just heard you were shot. Why didn’t you call?”

Oh, the things she’d like to spit at him. Instead she forced a smile and kissed his cheek. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

He glanced at Daniel and stuck out his arm. “I’m Morton Wilmington.”

“Officer Daniel Hilton.”

“Looks like you were taking care of my girl. I have the situation under control now.”

Laurel gazed into Daniel’s face, wishing for the impossible. “Thank you for your help. Be safe.”

12:02 A.M. FRIDAY

Laurel sat in her car, seeking energy to climb the stairs to her apartment. But Wilmington had followed her, and he would stay parked until she disappeared up the stairs. She’d held her own in hand-to-hand combat, even knocked out two of Wilmington’s bodyguards when the FBI surrounded his condo five years ago. Bruises and sore muscles were part of the game, but not the steady throb of taking a bullet to the shoulder, even if it wasn’t serious. Every time her heart beat, a surge of white-hot pain tore across her flesh, leaving her angry in one breath and wanting to cry in the next.

She was such a girl.

Grabbing her purse, she exited her car and waved at Wilmington. Exhaustion pelted every inch of her flesh, and her wound hurt worse than when the doctor did his probing and numbed her. As she took the last flight, she bumped her shoulder rounding the turn and cried out. Now she was bleeding. Tears welled her eyes, not just for her injury but for the regrets stalking her. Tomorrow she’d feel better.

Glad none of her neighbors were out at this hour. They’d see the blood oozing from the bandage and call 911. She unlocked the door to her haven, the sights and smells of spiced apple greeting her. Tonight her fragile spirit required comfort that came only from her private domain.

Standing in the tiny kitchen of her apartment, she grabbed a glass. Oops. She laid the pain relievers on the counter and searched her pantry for peanut butter. No way would she take those babies on an empty stomach. After washing down the peanut butter with a swallow of orange juice, she reached for the pills and the antibiotic, the size of one of Phantom’s pills.

Her phone rang, and she grabbed it. “I’m inside and good,” she said.

“I’ll get to the bottom of this.” Wilmington’s voice ground with determination. “Cayden or his sidekick is responsible.”

“Okay. I’m going to bed. Uh, Morton, we’re supposed to catch them, not kill them.”

He chuckled. “Thanks for the reminder.”

She was hit with a burst of pain from her shoulder. Yep, she was taking two of the prescription pain meds. If someone with murder on their mind got inside her apartment, he’d have an easy kill. “I gotta go.” And ended the call.

She crawled into bed and snapped off the lamp. Officer Daniel Hilton popped back into her mind. Correction: far-too-good-looking Officer Daniel Hilton.

11:35 A.M. FRIDAY

Daniel never knew what to expect when he worked Fridays. Usually crazy. People not at work or in school were in a hurry to get an early start on the weekend and didn’t appreciate anyone or anything getting in their way. They were testy, rude, and careless. And those were the good guys.

So far, it was a typical Friday, not giving him a free moment to think about the situation with his grandparents or Laurel. He’d left the crime scene last night when Morton Wilmington apparently took over things. Laurel had thanked him. . . . She didn’t seem too pleased to see the ex-con. Strange, the two were supposed to be cozy.

Late morning he responded to a 911 call. Another possible home invasion. A frantic woman was concerned about her friend. Blood droplets outside the door alarmed her. The friend’s car was parked in the designated area, but when the woman rang the doorbell to check on her, no one responded. Neither did the friend answer her phone. The blood indicated a possible crime. He turned on his lights and sped to the address. A long time ago, he realized God would have him respond to the cases where he could do the most good. Potentially finding a woman’s bloody body made him question that resolve.

The brick complex sat behind an iron fence. Attractive, well-kept, and encased behind a security gate. He hated those things when responding to a call. He showed his creds and parked in front of the address before hurrying up the stairs to the second floor. Sure enough, blood drops spattered the cement steps and the floor outside the door. Pulling his Glock, he patted his Springfield XD on his vest
 
—his own backup.

When the resident didn’t answer the doorbell, he knocked and identified his purpose. Nothing. He turned the knob. Locked.

“Open the door. This is Houston Police Department.”

No sound came from inside. He located the manager’s office, but it was empty. Didn’t give him much choice.

Daniel returned to the woman’s apartment. When she didn’t respond to another knock, he mule-kicked the door. Gun drawn, he peered inside. A darkened room meant someone had something to hide.

Silence greeted him. Spiced apples met his nostrils.

He peered into dark corners, his eyes adjusting to the lack of light. On the left he cleared a kitchen and dining room. Dark spots on the floor indicated more blood. To the right an open living area. From the looks of the furnishings, an older woman lived here. Down the hall he pushed in a bathroom door. Why did the woman live in a cave?

A gun jammed into his back.

“Drop it now,” a woman said. “Or I’ll blow a hole through you.”

“Ma’am, I
 
—”

“Who are you?” She pressed the gun deeper. “And why are you breaking into my home?”

“I’m a police officer.”

“Right. And I’m Sherlock Holmes.”

Great. This wacko lady planned to shoot him for breaking and entering. “If you’d turn on a light, you’d see my uniform, badge, and ID.”

“Testy, aren’t you? I have a mind to search you.”

A wacko and a pervert.

“Don’t turn around.”

Furious best described him. “Look, lady, I’m responding to a call that a woman was in distress, a possible home invasion. When you didn’t answer the door, I assumed you needed help.”

She flipped on the bathroom light and groaned. “I know who called you
 
—my overprotective neighbor. Turn around, Officer. I owe you an apology.”

She gasped.

Special Agent Laurel Evertson held him at gunpoint.

11:55 A.M. FRIDAY

Laurel had nearly put a bullet into Daniel, thinking he worked for whoever had shot her. Didn’t help at all that she stood there in flannel Mickey Mouse pajamas.

“I’m so sorry.” She stepped back. “The lady who lives downstairs is the motherly type, and I’m her special project. I imagine she panicked when I didn’t answer the door.” She ran her fingers through tousled hair. “I took a few pain meds before I went to bed last night.”

A hint of amusement sparkled in his brown eyes. “It’s all right, really. Glad you’re not hurt.” He radioed in the all clear.

He looked good in his uniform, while she resembled a castoff from a Disney cartoon.

She moved from the bathroom door down the hall to the living area. When she pulled back the drapes, golden sunshine illuminated the room. Normally it thrilled her, filling her with peace. Now it highlighted the warmth rising from her cheeks.

She groped for words. “Would you like a cup of coffee? I have a Keurig.”

“Sure. How’s the shoulder?”

“It’ll be fine.” Actually it throbbed, but she wouldn’t admit it. Walking into the kitchen, she snapped on a light. At least she’d
cleaned this week, as if it mattered. Great. Dried blood spotted the floor. She wet a paper towel and bent to clean the stain.

“I can handle that,” he said.

Dizziness hit her hard, and she wobbled like a drunk. Strong hands steadied her, his touch increasing her discomfort. Taking in a long breath, she regained her balance. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah.” She forced a smile.

Blood spots dripped all the way to the doorway. She moaned. “Can’t believe I missed this before I went to bed.”

“My guess is you were exhausted. There’s more telltale signs outside your door.”

She swung toward him. “No wonder my neighbor thought a crime had been committed.”

“I thought the worst too.” Daniel ripped a paper towel, dampened it, and proceeded to clean her bloody trail.

“Odd you were the officer to respond.” Perhaps it was better he responded than an officer she didn’t recognize. Yet her reasoning seemed muddled.

“This is my beat. No coincidence.”

When he opened the door, she peered over his shoulder at the blood. “Really, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t be doing this.” What was she thinking? Her neighbors might see her standing in her pajamas talking to a police officer.

He grinned and headed back to the kitchen. “Won’t take a second. I’ll clean right outside your door and no one will ever suspect you prompted a 911 call.” He tore off more paper towels.

“Thanks.” His eyes were like a love potion, milk-chocolate pools. Must be a side effect of the pain meds. She kept the door open so they could talk. “I’ll fix your coffee. What kind do you like?”

“Breakfast blend, if you have it. And a spoonful of sugar.”

“I’m on it. How are your grandparents?”

“The same. Gran’s feisty, and Gramps is stubborn.” He scrubbed the spots on the floor.

She smiled. “I like them. Where do your parents live?”

“They’re both out of the picture.”

She startled. Her first impression of the handsome officer was a product of total function. “I’m sorry.”

“About my parents or how you almost shot me?” He grinned.

“Both, I guess.”

“You’ve said ‘sorry’ three times, and there’s no reason.” He stepped inside with the red-tinted paper towels in his hand. “Don’t look so shocked. I figured you’d already run a background on me.”

“I hadn’t thought of it.” She opened the cabinet beneath the sink and pointed to the trash can. They had at least one thing in common, but she wouldn’t vocalize it. “Then your grandparents raised you?”

“Yep. They took over when I was two.”

“From what I’ve seen, they did a good job.”

He leaned against the refrigerator, inches away. “I’ll pass that on.”

“You were telling me about them.”

“They’re doing fine with round-the-clock bodyguards and nurses. Both grumble, but it’s working.”

“They were comfortable at the facility. Feeling accepted and loved often overrides other challenges.”

“Gramps would agree, and Alzheimer’s patients need lots of understanding. I don’t like his claim to have purchased a life insurance policy for him and Gran. Whoever sold it now has both Social Security numbers along with financials.” He shook his head. “More money’s missing from one of their accounts.”

“I’m sure law enforcement are on it.” She wished she could tell him more. “Guess that sounds lame.”

“The elephant in the room is the likelihood of the scammers collecting big-time in the event he has an accident. As in the note Gran received with the funeral flowers.”

“Wish I could help.” Lying to a friend, who’d just cleaned up a bloody mess, made her feel disgusting.

“But you’re working undercover.”

She scrunched her forehead. “I was fired.”

“Your Glock and badge are behind the toaster.”

Her gaze flew to where she’d left her tools of the trade. She hadn’t expected visitors, least of all Daniel.

“Laurel, what is going on?”

Could she trust him? “Sit down, Daniel.” She reached for a mug beside the single-cup dispenser and pressed the On button. “I promised you coffee.” She avoided his stare, still feeling uncomfortable about her pajamas and, worse yet, his discovery about her work.

“I’ll be patient,” he said. “Good-looking apartment. I like your collection of antiques, especially the library table. Works great with the ladder-back chairs.”

“Thanks.” He made number four who’d been inside her private domain.

He pointed to the framed photos of Miss Kathryn. “A grandmother?”

“No, but a dear lady. Are you an antique collector?”

He shook his head. “My little house is a mix of whatever was on sale when I needed it. My grandparents have a houseful of antiques blended with contemporary. Reminds them of the past and present. They reminisce about the old days, when life was simpler. Not easier, but when they were in better health.”

“Do you live far from them?” She handed him the coffee.

“Twelve minutes, give or take. They live inside the beltway in Bunker Hill, and I’m outside. It’s just a few minutes’ drive to Silver Hospitality.”

“Your grandmother looks frail.”

He nodded. “Degenerative heart disease.” He took a gulp of coffee. “This tastes wonderful. Thanks. I’m rattling on like an old man. I need to spend more time with those my own age.” He glanced up. “I’m ready for the truth.”

“Not quite yet. Thanks for cleaning up my messes.”

“And thank you for not blowing a hole through me.” He laughed and she joined him.

Change the subject, Laurel, before he thinks you’re attracted to him.
“Hey, do you like Snickers?”

“Now you’re talking like Gramps,” he said. “Can’t keep him away from them. And don’t get me started on his diabetes.”

She opened the freezer and handed him one. “Dip it in your coffee. It’s heavenly.”

He tore off the wrapper and tried her suggestion. “Pretty good.”

“My dad got me hooked on eating them like this when I was six. Back then, it was hot chocolate. He’d give me math problems to solve, and when I mastered them, we celebrated.”

“Sounds like a great dad.” He glanced at his watch. “I have fifteen minutes left.”

She couldn’t think of a lie to explain why she had her badge and Glock. She liked Daniel, and her judgment of character had always been solid. “I need your word you will keep this to yourself.”

“You got it. So you’re relieved from the FBI, and the next day Wilmington is released from prison. I don’t buy the love affair that went beyond your undercover work or the media’s take on your heading to the dark side.”

“Let’s hope a few people do.”

“So I’m right. My guess is Wilmington has made a deal to give the FBI information about the elderly fraud case in exchange for his freedom.”

She scooted into a chair across from him. “Pretty close.”

“Meaning . . . ?”

“Nothing else. Do you see how innocent people can get killed if this leaks out? The scammer will go dark until he comes up with another scheme.”

“I do see. My grandparents are directly in their path.” He peered into her eyes, and her stomach knotted. “I need to get back to work. Thanks for the coffee, Snickers, conversation, and a good scare.”

“Anytime.”

“Don’t forget to call your neighbor and tell her you’re okay.”

“Will do, right now.”

He left and she leaned back against the door. How did a girl like her find a decent guy? Impossible. She’d have to lie or settle for a loser. Like herself. At least then she stood in familiar territory.

All the lights were flashing, telling her not to fall for Officer Daniel Hilton, but the warnings didn’t stop her heart. Her phone alerted her to a call. She grabbed it: Wilmington.

“Officer Hilton stayed there quite a while,” he said coldly.

She trembled just knowing he had someone watching her every move. “One of my neighbors saw blood on the steps and . . .” Easing onto the sofa, she anticipated his response. He’d once broken a bodyguard’s nose for looking at her.

“We already know my friend has eyes on you.”

“I learned a few other details about Mr. Cayden that you could have already shared.”

“Good for you. Want to fill me in?” His dry tone unnerved her.

“He works for Almet Pharmaceuticals in Miami, a company that manufactures drugs for those suffering from dementia. No priors. Outstanding work record. Stay-at-home wife and young daughter. Recently he took a medical leave of absence and is here in Houston being treated at the VA hospital. Staying at an extended-stay property. We confirmed the doctor’s diagnosis of a heart problem related to stress.”

“He covers his tracks, one step ahead of you all the way. I’ve already told Preston
 
—don’t tail him or haul him in for questioning. He’ll bolt.”

“What about Josie Fields? She’s wanted for numerous crimes.”

“Same thing. I really don’t think these two are the masterminds behind this scam. Josie is a maniac, and she has disappearing down to an art.”

“Yes, sir.” She gritted her teeth.

“Hey, you need me to pull this off and don’t forget it.”

“I’m sure you won’t let me.”

“You’d better hope his people saw the blood and discounted
your relationship with Hilton, since he was in uniform. I’m meeting with Geoff tonight, see what I can learn.”

“Call me. I don’t care what time.”

“Okay. You and I are having dinner tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up.”

Her head and shoulder ached. “I suppose.”

“Listen, Laurel, I saw the way you looked at Hilton last night, and if I detected it, then others will too. Keep him safe. Cool off until this is over. Neither of us wants anyone else hurt.”

Were his words a threat or a warning?