Mint Juleps and Justice (7 page)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I
f the car had a thermometer, Goto would’ve bet his life that it would read in the triple digits. If not, it had to be close, because it sure felt that way after sitting in the sweltering heat for over an hour.

Suddenly, he straightened behind the wheel of the beat-up Grand Am, and wiped the back of his hand across his sweat-beaded lip. A whole six weeks of tracking the do-gooder, and all had seemed pretty much a waste so far.

He cursed himself for letting pride win over practicality when he bought this piece of shit Grand Am. No air and the bucket seats made sleeping in it no picnic. He could’ve been chillin’ with some cool air-conditioning in that minivan. It wasn’t like he was out trying to pick up women, so why had he allowed himself to get sucked in by the sportier car when Wheelie gave him the choice?

One mistake. He always allowed himself one. Didn’t do you any good to try to be perfect. That would just drive you insane. So he’d made his one mistake already and got it out of the way. Just as well. He wouldn’t want to make one when it really mattered.

He leaned forward. “Well, well, well. How do you like that? It’s about time.” He hadn’t seen anyone interesting come or go from that office except Mike Hartman in the weeks he’d been watching—until now.

He watched intently as a short brunette made her way up the stairs. His legs tugged against the seat as he leaned over to pull a small pair of binoculars out of the glove box. As he shifted his weight to his right butt cheek trying to unglue himself from the vinyl seat, his sweating legs resisted the movement. It was like pulling himself off a big-ass Band-Aid every time he tried to move.

He raised the binoculars to take a closer look, but she was already out of sight.

Coming back here after eight years of being in the slammer was like landing on a new planet. You used to be able to get a courtesy cup of ice water anywhere; now it cost you a buck just to quench your thirst. And nothing looked the way he remembered.

He leaned back in the seat, fixing a stare on the front of the building. Maybe she wasn’t a customer. Maybe he was getting him a piece of that hot ass right this instant. He closed his eyes. He could almost hear the sounds of it, smell the sweat, and hear the screams. He did love a good scream. Not that kind, but a scream was a scream in his book.

Goto slapped the steering wheel. Then slapped his face to make himself quit thinking about that girl and sex.

When he was in prison they’d called him Goto.

Not Franklin or Frank. Not Daniel or Dan like his mom always had.

Not Gotorow. Goto.

At first it made him mad that they didn’t get his name right, but then he’d fallen in love with it because the nickname had come from all the media coverage he’d gotten all those years ago.

The “Goto Hell Murderer” had splashed national headlines.

Those news guys—they loved a good story. And he’d loved the attention. He wouldn’t mind giving them another.

He pulled a spiral notebook out from under the seat and flipped to a back page. Putting pen to paper he started drawing small circles and waves.
Three circles and a row of waves. Three more circles and a row of waves.
The exercise was supposed to help him get past
that feeling
whenever it came over him.

His teeth ground.
Three more circles and a row of waves.

He’d faked it a million times when he was in prison, but now he needed it to work.

Focus. That’s what he needed. He only had a few weeks to finalize and execute a plan. Not just any plan either. The perfect plan. He hadn’t waited this long to screw it up, but if he didn’t get it done and get the hell out of Dodge, he’d probably end up back in prison and he had no plans to do that.

There was no room for error, and a woman would be a distraction. He bore down so hard on the next row of circles that he ripped the paper.

CHAPTER TWELVE

B
rooke stood outside the door of Hartman Security and Investigation, LLC trying to push back the swell of nausea. She let out a long, slow breath.

Was she letting Keith win by letting him get under her skin? Was she overreacting? Sometimes it felt that way, but standing here made the situation last night feel more real, more threatening. More importantly, was the nervousness she was feeling right now an overreaction to Mike Hartman?

She’d earned the reputation of being in control no matter what, yet these things were leaving her frazzled and feeling a bit helpless, and
helpless
was not a word she wanted to describe her.

She patted her sweating palms against her pants. Asking for help wasn’t one of her strong points. With one last deep breath, she knocked and pushed the door open.

The man behind the large wooden desk looked up and smiled.

“Hello, again.” His confident smile reached his eyes.

She extended her hand, almost speechless. She’d hoped she was wrong, but here he was…again.

“You knew it was me when I called?” She shook his hand. Her skin looked so pale against his. Those fine lines that danced like exclamation marks around his bright-blue eyes made her breath hitch. His muscular frame pulled the shoulders of the white dress shirt tapering into worn blue jeans, his slim waist accenting the width of his shoulders. He cleaned up nice. “Why didn’t you say something on the phone?”

“Didn’t think it mattered.”

“I guess it doesn’t.” She hadn’t mentioned it either. Guess that evened the score. She set her purse next to the chair, but remained standing, hoping her nerves would settle and he wouldn’t notice the shake in her voice. “Thank you so much for seeing me on such short notice.”

“No problem.”

“Connor recommended you. He says you’re good people.”

“I put that on top of my résumé
.
” He smiled and those little lines danced around those blue eyes like skipping rocks sending out ripples. “That’s why I get paid the big bucks.”

Their eyes held for one of those extra-long moments, and she fought an unexplainable urge to bolt from the building.

A bark from somewhere across the room sent Brooke into a spin. “What?”

“Hunter. It’s okay,” Mike said. “Sorry about that. We’re still working on his manners.”

Brooke laughed off the nervous energy, and stooped down as the German shepherd moved to Mike’s side and sat right next to him with just a hand signal. “He’s beautiful,” she said. She reached out her hand and Hunter not only gave it a sniff, but gently licked the top of it and then looked up at Mike.

“I think he likes you,” he said.

“Good thing. He’s going to be a big dog. Look at the size of those feet.”

“He’s a good boy. Hunter, load up.” The dog ran across the room and went into his kennel and lay down.

“He’s smart too.” She stood up, feeling a little less apprehensive. “I wasn’t sure if I should have called someone in Virginia Beach. I mean, we are kind of out in the boonies.”

“I have all the same high-tech solutions as they do in any city. Trust me. I can take care of you just fine.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, Keith, my hopefully soon-to-be-ex, he’s in Virginia Beach. I’m here. I just wasn’t sure if it mattered.” Great. Now she was rambling. “I hope I’m not wasting your time. My brother thought I should’ve called someone a couple weeks ago. I’ve been having some problems and I think my soon-to-be-ex might be behind them.”

Mike seemed to be sizing her up. “Have you called the police?”

“Of course.” Did he think she was stupid? “They’ve been out to my house a few times. They think I’m a fruit loop. Well, not Sheriff Calvin. He’s nice, but that deputy of his definitely thinks I’m crazy.”

“Well, you’re here now, so let me be the judge of that.”

She wasn’t sure if him judging her was exactly where she wanted to start. “What do we do?” She followed his lead, taking a seat in a nailhead-trimmed leather chair in his office. She stroked the soft, worn leather, tracing it slowly with her fingertips.

He grabbed a pen and wrote something on the pad in front of him. Even his hands looked strong. Butterflies, extra big ones, knocked around her stomach. Was it the situation, or was it Mike? Being around him should not have this effect on her. Her focus was on getting rid of a guy, not getting one.

“Tell me what’s going on,” he said without looking up.

“I don’t even know where to begin. I…” Still avoiding his gaze, she leaned forward in the chair.

“Relax.” He leaned back in his chair. “Just start from the beginning. Take your time.”

She let out a slow breath.
Here goes nothing.
“I’m in the middle of an ugly divorce,” she explained. “It’s been a huge mess. At this point, he can have the material stuff. I just want out, but now he’s decided he won’t sign the papers.”

He tilted his head. “Why won’t he sign the papers?”

“He’s the one who originally filed the separation, but now he’s saying he wants to get back together.”

“You said he lives in Virginia Beach. Right?”

“Yes.

Mike took notes. “What’s his name?”

“Keith Farrell.” She paused to spell it for him. “He was originally from Pennsylvania. We met at a charity car show event a few years back. He was so different back then.” Or maybe she’d really just
wanted
him to be different back then.

In hindsight, someone else had dragged Keith to that event. He really didn’t have a charitable bone in his body. He’d even been too selfish to support the kids who’d come knocking on the door to raise money for school athletics, and every time they’d gone to a fund-raiser he’d bellyached about the cost of the tickets versus what was in it for him. She’d learned to tread lightly around those discussions to avoid his rants.

“Keith can be a little…unpredictable. You never really know which mood or attitude you’re going to get from him.”

“What’s he do for a living?”

“He’s a computer guy. He works for a government contractor out West, but he works from home. He can do his job from anywhere.”

Mike nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“The trouble all started when I was still living and working in Virginia Beach. I figured he had kept a house key or something. Plus I was so close, it was easy for him to come over and mess with my mind. Snip a phone wire, siphon my gas, and put goldfish in the hot tub we had…stupid stuff. Not dangerous. Just a hassle more than anything. I thought maybe it was sour grapes because I was living in our house. When the job opened up in Adams Grove, I put in for a transfer.”

“But it’s still happening? The mischief, I mean. Even after you relocated?”

Brooke ran a hand through her hair, dipping loose strands behind her ear. She looked up at him and their eyes caught for a moment too long. “Yes.” She swallowed. What color crayon would those blue eyes be? “At first it seemed so crazy I didn’t tell anyone. But then stuff kept happening and I called the police. Keith’s been in my house in Adams Grove. I can’t prove it, but I know it. Things have been moved or shuffled around. Potted plants toppled. I smell his aftershave. That kind of thing.”

“Things moved? Do you lock your doors and windows?”

“Yes. I’ve even had the locks changed and upgraded, but it hasn’t helped. I’m no domestic goddess, but everything has a place. I started getting freaked out, so I started a list to be sure it wasn’t in my head and to see if there was a pattern.”

“Did you?”

Her brow wrinkled. “Did I what?”

“See a pattern?” Mike asked.

“Oh, no. It’s just a really long list.”

“And that’s why you’re here. Can I see the list?”

“Sure.” She dug the notebook out of her purse. “It was all little stuff…until yesterday. Yesterday he went too far. If I hadn’t gotten home when I did…my dog would…” Her gestures showed her frustration, and her hands slapped her thighs as she let them drop to her lap.

Mike leaned back, elbows on the arm of the chair. “Your dog?”

“She’s fine, thank god. You have a dog. You know. They’re like family.”

He nodded.

“If anything had happened to Stitches…”

“Stitches is the dog?”

“Yes. She was a stray. She had stitches across one of her legs when I found her, so I named her Stitches. I notified all the local vet clinics, but no one ever claimed her. Who loses a dog that just had surgery?” she rambled. “Anyway, that isn’t important, is it? When I got home from work yesterday, Stitches was outside in my hot tub treading water.” She pushed back the tears that threatened to spill.

“Could it have been an accident?”

“No. She was in the house when I left that morning. I’ve gone over it in my head a hundred times. I have no idea how long she’d been out there. She could’ve drowned. That’s when I called Connor and got your name.”

“And this happened in the house here in Adams Grove?”

She nodded, biting back tears. Still the thought of something happening to Stitches scared her. “Yes. Just last night. I haven’t lived here that long, but I’ve called the police practically every week over things. Adams Grove is not turning out to be the safe place I’d hoped it would be.”

“Well, let’s fix that.” He raised a brow. “How do you think he got into your house?”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea. No sign of forced entry. Again.” She shrugged. “I confronted Keith last night about this. He swore it wasn’t him, but I don’t believe him. He’s recently become obsessed with us getting back together.”

Mike jotted a couple of notes on the pad in front of him.

“You’re frowning. What? You think I’m crazy, too, don’t you?” Great. It would be a little hard to be able to do her job advising on the pasture and grazing plan if he thought she was a nut job. This was a huge mistake. She should’ve found someone else.

“No. That’s not it at all.”

Brooke peered across the desk, trying to see his notes. “You look all serious over there. Do you think it’s
not…
not so serious?”

“Maybe.” It was a statement, not a question. “No children?”

“No.” She answered without hesitation.

“Okay.” Mike took note.

“That didn’t sound right. I love other people’s kids. I just don’t think I’d be a good mom. I never ramble like this, or maybe I do, but not this badly. Even
I
think I sound like a crazy idiot today. I’m sorry.”

Mike didn’t even look up. “Any chance of reconciliation?”

“What?” She nearly shouted it.

“I had to ask.” He tapped his pen against the pad on his desk and shrugged.

“Not a chance,” she answered firmly, crossing her legs.

Mike set down his pen and focused on her. “People can pull some crazy stunts when they feel they’re running out of options. Keith Farrell might fall into that category. Give me a week. If nothing else, we might figure out how he’s getting into your house. Better safe than sorry.”

“I don’t know, listening to what I just told you, I feel like a neurotic worrywart. I’m probably wasting my time, not to mention yours.” Her mouth pulled into a tight line and she felt the color rise in her cheeks.

“One week and if there’s nothing there, it’s on me.”

“I can hardly pass that up, can I?” She shifted in the chair. “I sure hope I’m not blowing this out of proportion.”

“Brooke, if more people followed their gut feelings there’d be a whole lot fewer problems in this world. Besides that, estrangement homicide is on the rise. It isn’t something to play off lightly.”

“Homicide, like murder?” She grasped the arms of the chair.

“Basically. It’s a homicide that is driven by the feeling of a loss of control. You see it in couples, sometimes parent-child relationships too. This could fit that escalation profile.”

“Are you trying to scare me?” Brooke folded her arms across her chest. She didn’t like being in the damsel-in-distress role. She could take care of herself…usually.

“It may be nothing at all. I just don’t want you to take this lightly.” He came around the heavy wooden desk and balanced a hip on the edge, crossing one long leg over the other. “One week. We can decide after that. At the very least, you should get some peace of mind.” He leaned back against the desk. “It’s your call.”

She stared out the window like she was expecting to see an answer pop up on a cue card. “Cardinal, good luck,” she said just above a whisper as she spotted the lucky bird dancing in the flower box just out the window.

Mike swung his attention toward the window in response.

Guess I said that in my outdoor voice.
“I guess there isn’t much harm in one week,” Brooke said, trying to act nonchalant. “Figuring out how he keeps getting into my house would be a good start. So what do we do?”

“Aside from a few additional details today, you don’t do a thing. Be yourself, go about your business. I do all the work in this relationship.”

“That’ll be a switch. I might just enjoy that.”

He walked to the corner of the office, patted the chair in front of the computer, and gestured for Brooke to take the seat there.

Mike reached across her and, with a tap, the screen came to life.

He was giving her instructions and she’d already missed half of them while she was focused on that wedding ring on his finger. It hadn’t been there the other day on the farm visit; she was sure of it.

“The software will walk you through a series of questions. If you don’t know it, just skip it. It ensures I don’t waste our time finding out what you already know.” He clicked through a couple preliminary screens, assigning a case number and startup questions, and then patted her shoulder. “I’m going to grab a cup of coffee. Can I get you anything?”

“No, I’m fine, but thank you.”

He walked out of the office and she got down to the business of filling in the screen with information. She was able to fill in most of the blanks, which she wasn’t sure was good or bad.

When he came back in the room, she was pushing back from the desk. “One last thing and we’re done. I need your itinerary for the week.”