Out of the Mist (Can't Help Falling Book 1) Page 12

  She mumbled something unintelligible. Assuming that translated to her desire for another minute, he nodded to Finn, who stood watching them by the warehouse door. While her complexion reverted from green to merely ashen, he contemplated his next move. Finally raising her head, she appeared mortified.

  "I've never-" Her husky voice crawled down his spine.

  "Found a stiff in your trunk?" Losing the battle, his fingers traced a soothing pattern across her shoulders. Matt found himself reluctant to traumatize her further. Five days in— and he still didn't know what to make of her. Each time he inched closer to believing her, a new setback reactivated his doubt. How was he supposed to explain away drugs and a double homicide?

  He couldn't afford a mistake on this case. Mullaney— and even his SAC Leo— had gone out on a limb bringing him in. Failing would be bad enough, but screwing up because lust got in the way-

  He'd be a legend— for all the wrong reasons.

  "Should I-" Her quavering voice interrupted his thoughts. "Do I have to— look at him?"

  "It's two bodies. One is Matias."

  "And the other?" She swallowed convulsively. "Is h-he the one I fell over?"

  "Does the name Griggs mean anything?"

  As far as reactions went, Julie didn't disappoint. Nearly there anyway, she dropped to her knees.

  "William. He's . . . on KTec's b-board."

  "When did you see him last?"

  Her blank expression slowly dissolved as her brain re-engaged. "The board . . . meets quarterly. I saw him last month." Honeyed freckles stood in stark relief against pale skin. "Why would he be out here?"

  Matt ignored her question, having far too many of his own. Whatever was going down, Juliet Kimball was at dead center bulls eye. "We can default to fingerprints."

  Her eyes flashed with relief. "You're unaffected by this gruesome stuff, but I— can't."

  He didn't bother correcting her. He still saw too many faces. Nameless junkies who died with a smile on their lips . . . innocent bystanders, caught in the maelstrom of drug deals gone bad. Worst were the kids— an expression of unspeakable trauma etched in their eyes, the orphaned by-products of families destroyed by drugs.

  But his investigative juices were finally flowing after nearly three months trying to recover from Pam. Guilt over her death would never leave. For the first time since the shooting, Matt had allowed himself to envision returning. The timing felt right. This case could prove he was ready after all.

  ***

  Julie walked to his car, grateful they would finally leave this horrible place. "What happens now?"

  Matt glanced at Agent O'Brien before scrutinizing her over the roof, his eyes missing nothing as he appeared to weigh his options. What would they do with her? Barnes was so damn suspicious of everything. Hell, he'd had trouble believing she'd been kidnapped. But now— a carload of drugs and two dead bodies?

  "Looks like you get your wish. We're taking you back to Boston."

  "As a prisoner," she muttered, unable to summon any joy over the prospect. Shoulders slumping, she climbed in. "I probably wouldn't believe me, either."

  "Stranger things have happened in this line of work."

  Despite the horror of the living nightmare she found herself in, Julie couldn't help the tremulous smile of hope. Did he finally believe her?

  "Who could make up something this twisted?"

  Her smile dissolved, fading with the reality of her situation. Her old life in Boston seemed a million miles away. There was nothing like a dead body to make her realize how good she'd had it before. Earlier that morning, all she'd had was a failing company and someone who wanted her dead.

  Barnes' gaze remained stubbornly glued to the road stretched before him, as though wishing her away could make it happen.

  "Did you identify the other guy?"

  "Munoz. But his license says Jaime Sanchez." Her startled gasp caused him to swerve before he jerked the wheel back. "Let me guess . . . you know him, too?"

  Her throat hijacked by terror, Julie struggled to speak. "We have a Jaime Sanchez who works in the w-warehouse."

  Agent Barnes released a weary sigh. "Of course you do."

  Dangerously close to hysteria, she grabbed his arm. "Someone is doing this— and making it look like me."

  His eyes glinted with mocking amusement. "They're doing a damn good job."

  "Why would I lead you to Jaime if I killed him?" Panic threatened to swamp her. "Why would I tell you I tripped over Mr. Griggs?"

  "Honey, this is waaay above my pay grade." His rigid voice spoke volumes.

  Should she run? If Barnes turned her over to his cop friends, she could be trapped for weeks. What would happen to KTec while she was in jail? Her frantic thoughts splintered in a million directions. Good Lord, should she call Dandridge? Who would run the company?

  "I guess I need a lawyer?"

  "Jules— you need all the help you can get. Because where I'm sitting, you look guilty as hell."

  Glancing at the speedometer, she imagined hurtling from his car. She shifted her gaze to Matt's stony profile, then back to the dashboard.

  "The doors are locked. Don't even think about it."

  Panic morphed to annoyance when Matt stared at her with those damn electric eyes— as though mentally picking the lock on her brain.

  "Finn's right behind us. Two staties behind him. Three locals behind them."

  "I've given up trying to make you believe me." Why did getaways always look so easy on television?

  "I'm relieved to hear it."

  If she had one wish right now, it would be for deathray vision so she could incinerate Agent Barnes. "I want my life back. I want to go back to work. I want to pretend none of this ever happened."

  Matt's eyes turned wintry. "As of an hour ago, what you want ceased to matter."

  "Like it ever did?" She slumped in her seat. "All you care about is your investigation. It doesn't matter that I don't know why this is happening."

  "You're all we've got right now. That means we're stuck together for the foreseeable future."

  No concern that her life was eroding before her eyes. "I knew you wouldn't keep your word." Weary of sparring with him, her sullen words were meant to goad him.

  "Don't you get it?" Though his gaze returned to the road, anger smoldered from him. "Matias— or Jaime— tried to kill you. He tried again. Twice," he emphasized. "Whoever is behind this knows he didn't succeed."

  His words vibrated through her. "If he's dead-"

  "It doesn't change anything. Matias was acting on someone's orders."

  The air in his car grew suffocating. Julie dragged in a panicky breath then another before clutching her throat in confusion. "I can't b-breathe."

  "Drop your-" Releasing an exasperated sigh, Matt reached over, pushing her head between her knees.

  For several seconds, she struggled to draw a breath. All the while, she felt the light pressure of his fingers stroking her nape. Though his voice dropped to a whisper, it ordered her to relax. Surprisingly, his calm voice soothed her. Finally, she raised her head.

  "Okay now?"

  She nodded. "What you said— are you sure?"

  "Someone wants you out of the way."

  "I'd hoped it was . . . bad luck."

  "A fake client with a fake address. Then you're kidnapped and left for dead." He rattled off facts. "Next, your employee— and a board member are murdered. Bodies left in your trunk." He shook his head derisively. "Your car loaded with heroin? Jules— you're starring in your own one hour crime drama."

  His words hung in the air as she tried to grasp that life as she'd known it had ceased to exist. Her insular world had imploded. She ran a business. She volunteered. How could she be involved in drugs? Even by accident?

  "How many employees have high level access to your systems?"

  "Six? Maybe eight, including me," she responded automatically, part of her brain still locked in denial over the nightmare she found herself in. "Most hav
e been with the company forever."

  "When we get back, I want a list of all employees— manager and above. I want to know the systems they can access, how long they've been there . . . you get the picture." Agent Barnes morphed into drill sergeant mode. "Then I want a list of the people who have it in for you."

  She experienced a flash of irritation. "My only option is finding someone else to pin it on?"

  His unflinching stare sent a tremor down her spine. Despite witnessing his suspicious nature in action, Julie startled at the realization she wanted Matt to believe her. To believe in her.

  "It's possible someone set you up. Maybe it's someone at KTec." He was quiet for several seconds. "Or, it's possible you did this all on your own."

  "I have enough problems with the company I'm supposed to be running," she pointed out. "You really think I'd have time to be a drug linchpin-"

  "Kingpin," he corrected, his features expressionless.

  "Whatever— so I have time for that, too?"

  "You said your business is in trouble." Matt's gaze remained on the road, but the granite set to his jaw indicated he didn't appreciate her punching holes in his theory.

  As futile as it seemed, Julie tried to explain. "If everything fails, I can sell the company and walk away. We've had offers before."

  "If it's not what you want to do-"

  She stared at him. "You've never felt an obligation before?"

  His nod was reluctant. "Okay, I get that."

  "KTec is all I have left of my father. Even though it's not what I want . . ." She glanced away, afraid Matt wouldn't understand her explanation— afraid it would hurt worse when he didn't. "I feel him there. I . . . walk in the conference room and— he's there." She risked a glance to her left. A muscle in his jaw working overtime, he stared at the road ahead. Give it up, Jules— he doesn't want to believe you.

  After her father's death, the endless pressure-filled days had blurred into a surreal dream she couldn't awaken from. Everyone pulling at her. Everyone wanting something. Employees. Lawyers. Board members. Most with the opinion she should take the money— lots of money, and leave. "It probably sounds crazy, but part of me . . . doesn't want to give that up. Once I sell . . . it'll be-" She released a ragged breath. "Official. And I'll have nothing of him."

  For several minutes he drove, not looking at her. The quiet not exactly unpleasant . . . but each mile that eroded seemed to leave her confession on the side of the road, forgotten. "Whatever you choose," he finally said, "you won't forget your dad." He glanced at her, compassion in his gaze. "I see my father in most things I do. I still hear his voice when I'm in a situation I'm not sure how to handle."

  She nodded, relief flooding her. Nothing had actually changed, yet something about their conversation made her want to smile. "I guess I know that."

  "If it's not KTec, what do you want?"

  "I'm not even sure," she admitted. "That problem is about ninety-seventh on the list today." She stared at the blur of color out her window, her mind scattering over a tumult of problems, when a random thought made her smile. "Aside from everything else . . . you're really not giving me credit for much intelligence."

  That got his attention. "Why do you say that?"

  "Do you really think I'd lead you here if I was involved?"

  "Jules— whatever you are— you're definitely involved," he shot back.

  "Can you at least concede that I'd be smart enough to cover my tracks?" When he resolutely kept his gaze on the road, she gave up. "I did go to Brown, you know."

  "Book smart and street smart are completely different." His lips twitched in a brief smile. "I'm not sure I'm qualified to answer . . . since I only went to BU." Silent for several moments, he finessed the narrow two-lane road. "We're going back to the cottage."

  A frisson of apprehension raced up her spine. "Is is safe?"

  "There are a lot more of us now." Wrist over the steering wheel, he shrugged. "We need a base of operation for the next twenty-four hours. And if we're heading back to Boston, I need to make sure the cottage is secured before I take off indefinitely."

  Frustration burned in her throat. Never one for tantrums, Julie realized she wanted badly to indulge in one. "I don't suppose you'll let me go home once we're back?"

  To his credit, Barnes didn't lie. "Until we get a better grasp on what's going down, you'll go into a safehouse."

  "Safe? Like a prison cell?" Resignation staining her voice, she acknowledged she'd basically surrendered to the bizarre circumstances she found herself in.

  "Safe from whoever's after you," Matt corrected, his tone bordering on compassionate. He could afford it, since even he knew he'd won. "It will look like a normal house from the outside, but it's been fitted to be more like a bunker."

  "For how long?" She kept her gaze on the road ahead.

  "For as long as it takes."

  "How do I run my business that way?"

  "Could be it's only be a few more days."

  Blinking back a sudden deluge, she was reminded once again the drastic turn her life had taken. 'A few days' was agent-speak for 'who the hell knows'. KTec could go bankrupt while his team bumbled to track an elusive dealer and she wasted away in a safehouse.

  He glanced her way. "We might be able to work something out to get you back to work. That will be a team decision."

  She almost wished he'd lie. "How long have you been looking for this guy?"

  Several heartbeats later, he finally answered. "A long time."

  The edge to his voice told her all she needed to know. This was a grudge. A score to settle. And for some reason, it was deeply personal to Agent Barnes.

  ***

  In under an hour, Matt's cottage filled to the point of exploding. Along with Mullaney and the three troopers who would escort them back, Steve Jonas had arrived, appearing tense but resigned to how the investigation would play out. He was greeted like a rock star, largely due to his grocery bag laden with burgers.

  To his credit, Steve had mustered three volunteers to board up the busted windows. The ear-splitting sound of a drill at close range pierced through the rumble of voices. Since it was being used to repair his kicked-in front door, Matt couldn't really complain. Aside from cleaning up shattered glass, his cottage had withstood the attack rather well. He made a mental note to thank Jonas later, though he suspected Steve's actions were more on behalf of his mother than him. Jonas and Madeline went back easily fifteen years.

  Clearly overwhelmed, Julie had toyed with her sandwich, eating little before she rose from the table without comment. In the five days he'd known her, she'd barely eaten enough to stay alive. Frowning over the trail of his thoughts, Matt steered his focus from their prime suspect. He turned to Sean Mullaney, who leaned back, sighing with satisfaction, his craggy face reminiscent of a wizened raisin. A thirty year veteran of the state police, the wiry, almost-retiree had consumed a cheeseburger, the size of which might have felled an ordinary man.

  "Bring me up to speed, old man."

  Mullaney craned his neck, scanning the living room for Julie. "She gone?"

  Finn took a seat at the table. "She's in the bathroom."

  "Someone tossed her place."

  "How bad?" O'Brien reached for another sandwich.

  "Methodical— searchin' for something specific. We might get lucky and get prints out of it. There were cameras in her lobby so we're checking that."

  "I'd love to know what they were after." The kid shrugged. "Hell, if she's tied to Viper, it could be anything. Client list; cash-"

  "She said she filmed footage of her warehouse operation," Matt reminded, ignoring the flash of annoyance O'Brien's words caused. "Maybe that's what they were after."

  The old man frowned. "I thought she gave that to the consultant?"

  "Yeah, but Munoz didn't know that." He wondered whether there were copies. They needed to get the film from Keyes Group.

  "It wasn't on the list of contents from her purse," Finn's voice piped in, his tho
ughts following the same direction.

  Mullaney scratched his head. "On another front, we've had a tap on KTec's lines for two days. Not much action yesterday because of the weekend, but we're getting data today. Mojo's already hacked their system." He leveled his gaze on Matt. "She's basically on standby for whatever we need."

  Finn stopped scribbling. "Who's Mojo?"

  "His daughter, MaryJo," Matt explained. "She's an IT genius. Moonlights as a hacker for the state police."

  "The state police employ outside hackers?"

  Mullaney raised a brow. "Where have you been? They're better than us. We need 'em on our side."

  "What about mail?" Matt was impatient for details. "Phone messages? You tap her land line?"

  When provoked, Mullaney's eyes could glow like an inferno. "Three messages. Two from Tori Stansky— and the other from the receptionist at KTec. Apparently, Julie missing work today was a stop-the-presses event."

  Matt frowned. "Why would Tori bother calling her if she knew she wasn't home?"

  Mullaney checked his notes. "The first was from last Wednesday . . . something about havin' a good time on her vacation." His face colored. "She was . . . uh . . . pretty detailed in what she hoped would happen."

  Finn raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

  "I'm not gettin' into the graphic details." His ears burning, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Let's just say Ms. Stansky has a very healthy interest in sex. She was suggesting Julie should . . . seek companionship while she was away."

  Finn cracked up. "This— I gotta hear." Balling up his burger wrapper, he took aim at the trashcan.

  "Yeah— you and about fifteen analysts so far," he admitted. "Now, half of 'em are looking her up on the dating sites." Mullaney watched his shot bounce off the trashcan. "Man, you suck."

  "She's still missing," Matt reminded, bringing the conversation back to business. He acknowledged a rare, grateful look from Sean. A woman was missing. Possibly dead. "You said two calls. When was the second?"