Hotshot (Buchanan-Renard #11)

Hotshot (Buchanan-Renard #11) Page 12

“I knew he was a letch, but I didn’t realize just how dangerous he was until one night he tried to break into my motel room.”

She told him some of the vile things Drew had shouted through the door, about how she would love what he was going to do to her.

“That bastard,” Finn muttered. “Why in God’s name didn’t you call the police?”

Tears came into her eyes. “I should have. I was so scared I hid in the bathroom the rest of the night. I don’t think I stopped shaking until morning. It took all I had not to get in the car and drive back to Texas. I wanted to get away from there as soon as possible, but I had come up with this plan to record him . . . I know that was stupid, too,” she said. “I just wanted to find a way to stop him from going after other women.” She took a breath and said, “I did try to file a complaint with HR, and I was told I hadn’t been there long enough.”

“Long enough to be sexually harassed?” he asked, shaking his head.

“I was told no one ever complained about Drew and that I should come back in three months if I wanted to complain.”

“That’s one hell of a company you worked for,” he said. “This isn’t my area of expertise. Did you file a complaint with the EEOC?” Thinking she might not know what the letters stood for, he said, “Equal Employment Opportunity Commission.”

“No, I haven’t filed a formal complaint yet. I still have time to do that, don’t I?” He nodded, and she continued, “I wish there was a way to go after the guy who shot at me, but I couldn’t identify him.”

“Let me worry about him.”

“I had hoped that one of his bullets had lodged somewhere in my car, but they went through. I was thinking the bullets would lead back to him.”

“I’m going to have a tech go over your car. Bullets can spin out and land in the oddest places.”

“How long will you be in Brentwood?” she asked.

“Ronan and I are leaving in the morning, but I’ll be back the following afternoon.”

“Who’s Ronan?”

“Agent Ronan Conrad,” he said. “My partner, temporarily anyway. We have a meeting in Dallas, and then he’s taking a week to see his girlfriend, Collins.”

She stood when he did. She didn’t want him to go, but she couldn’t think of a reason to get him to stay.

“I’m going to do a little research and talk to an attorney who specializes in harassment cases. Be patient a little longer.”

He was heading to the door, and she had the insane urge to throw herself in front of it to keep him from leaving.

“Would you like to stay for dinner? I’ll cook for you.”

He reached for the doorknob. “I can’t tonight.”

“Thank you for helping me.”

She thought only to kiss his cheek, but he turned suddenly, and she ended up kissing his mouth. It was quickly done, and she should have stepped back, but she didn’t. She kissed him again, and this time she lingered.

Finn didn’t respond. He just stood there, looking astonished. She was mortified. What had she been thinking? He opened the door, and she thought he was going to leave without saying a word and pretend that the kiss never happened, but he didn’t. He shut the door, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her back. And, oh, could he kiss. His mouth was hot as it covered hers. Passion flared as he pulled her tight against him. It was a long, intense kiss that held nothing back, and she never wanted it to end.

He came to his senses before she did, and he gently pulled her arms away from his shoulders. Then he walked out the door and quietly pulled it closed behind him.

Peyton couldn’t catch her breath. Her hands trembled as she pushed her hair back over her shoulder. What had just happened to her? One kiss and her insides turned to mush. She’d been kissed before but never like this. Kissing Finn was different. Why had she done it?

It was crazy, this connection she felt to him. She hadn’t seen him in years, only wrote to him once a year on her birthday, and he rarely wrote back. She knew next to nothing about him, where he lived, what he did for the FBI. Her only link to him had been the bits and pieces her mother had passed on to her after talking to his mother. She had heard all about his triumphs; it was difficult not to. He had accomplished the most exceptional things.

She supposed, when she was a little girl, she felt a special bond with him, and in her child’s mind he somehow belonged to her. But that was long ago. She doubted Finn knew anything about her life. Why would he? She hadn’t done anything exceptional.

The truth stung. She wasn’t a child any longer, and she wasn’t part of his world.

NINE

The nightmare always began the same way. Finn was sitting at a desk looking at an empty file folder. He closed it, carefully placed it in the center drawer, then stood and slowly put on his suit jacket. The office was crowded with agents, and he could see them talking, but he couldn’t hear anything, not a word or a sound.

He walked through a long, narrow tunnel to the interrogation room and adjusted his tie before he opened the door and stepped inside. Everything was gunmetal gray: the walls, the ceiling, the floor. He could smell death in the room.

His trainer and assigned partner, Special Agent John Caulfield, was sitting at a square metal desk, facing the suspect. His back was to the door, and Finn couldn’t see his face. The suspect was chained to the table. He saw Finn and grinned up at him. Yellow teeth, one front tooth crossed half over the other, small beady eyes. His skin and clothes were mottled with dirt and ash from the fire.

Finn could feel the evil radiating from the man. It sickened him. The suspect averted his eyes as if he knew Finn could see through his shell to the filth beneath.

Caulfield opened a folder. Finn stood behind him and watched him place a photo of a young woman on the table. The back of the agent’s hand was black, the skin gone. He presented four more photos—the woman’s children—two boys and two girls, all under the age of ten.

The suspect looked down at the pictures, struggled to form a serious expression, and said, “I didn’t have anything to do with that fire. I swear it.”

Caulfield pointed to the mother’s picture. “Lisa Packart’s husband, Louis, must have gotten tired of her and their children. He didn’t want a family any longer, did he? He paid you to set that fire, didn’t he?”

“No, no, you’re wrong.”

The suspect continued to proclaim his innocence over and over, then changed his story. It had all been a terrible accident, and that was the truth of it. He just happened to be walking past the house and saw the flames shooting out the windows.

“I ran inside to help get the family out. That’s why I’m covered in soot.”

Caulfield told him, no, it hadn’t been an accident, and he had the proof right there in his charred hands.

And once again the suspect changed his story. “Yes, Packart paid me, but I was told only his wife would be home. I didn’t know the children would be there.” His eyes darted to the left, and he snickered as he added, “I would have charged more.”

Caulfield slammed his fist on the table and began to scream. The nightmare ended with the tortured sound jarring Finn awake.

Nearly every night now the same nightmare. He wished to God he could figure out a way to stop it. And why did the nightmare center on the Packart investigation? There had been others as horrific.

Usually the remnant of the nightmare would linger, but tonight was different. He awoke, and instead of focusing on the dream, he thought about Peyton. An image of her face replaced the dark images. From dark to light. He thought about her, and his mind stopped racing and became calm. And the kiss. He thought about the kiss, too. Her lips were even softer than he’d imagined they would be, and the taste of her was also better. He could linger on that memory all day, but it was time to get up. He pushed the thought aside and got out of bed. There was work to be done.

Early Monday morning a gentleman from the Bureau, showing proper identification, asked for Peyton’s car keys and promised to have the vehicle back by the end of the day.

Though barely awake, Lucy heard the request. She waited until the man had left to question her sister. “Why does that officer want your car keys?”

“He’s not an officer,” Peyton said. “He’s with the FBI and he’s taking my car in to look it over.”

“What’s he looking for?” she asked on her way to the kitchen.

“Bullets.”

That stopped Lucy in her tracks. “Did you say bullets?”

Peyton followed her into the kitchen and turned on the flame under the teakettle. She wanted a cup of hot tea. What she didn’t want was to go into a lengthy explanation now. It was too early.

“Yes, I did. Finn noticed bullet holes in the back of my Camry.”

Her sister opened her mouth to speak but was so dumbstruck she couldn’t talk, which was a rarity. The silence didn’t last long.

“It happened in Dalton, right?”

“On the way home from Dalton. I can’t prove it, though. I didn’t hear gunshots.”

“I thought you told me everything about what happened with that creep. Jeez, Peyton. Bullet holes? Thank God you’re out of there. Was it that degenerate, Drew?”

“No. I think he sent a man named Parsons after me. I can’t prove that either because there was no one around to witness it.”

“Bullets,” Lucy whispered, shaking her head.

“I look at it as a little going-away gift from the Swift family.”

“This is serious,” she chided.

“I know it is. It’s also frustrating. Finn’s going to help me. Harassment isn’t his specialty,” she added, “but he’s talking to some experts, doing some research. Isn’t that sweet?” She filled the teakettle and put it on the stove. “I don’t want to talk about bullets or anything else to do with Dalton.”

Lucy didn’t insist. She took two bowls from the cupboard and placed them on the table, then reached for the cereal. “Today’s going to be my last day at the furniture store. I’ll offer two weeks’ notice, but business is so slow. They’ll let me go right away. I won’t be leaving them in the lurch.”

They sat at the table eating their cereal in silence. In between bites, Lucy made a list of everything she needed to get done before she left for Bishop’s Cove.

“Are you still worried about what we’re taking on?” she asked.

Peyton nodded. “Yes, but I’m not going to change my mind. I was thinking about the employees. I wonder how they’ll react to all the changes.”

“Uncle Len said there’s just a skeleton crew there now. I know one thing. They can’t have three women telling them what to do. We’ll have to divide duties. Only one of us should be in charge of the staff. Don’t you agree?”

“I want to hire an accountant.”

“What about the accounting firm in Port James Len has been using?”

“They can continue on. I just think we should bring in our own.”

“That’s not a bad idea. Do you have someone in mind?”

She nodded. “I might also bring in a chef in training. What do you think about that?”

Lucy shrugged. “Depends on salaries, I guess. Oh God, there’s so much to learn . . . so much to do.”

“Uncle Len has great faith in the new manager, though he’s only been in charge three or four months,” Peyton told her. “Len thinks he’s good and insists we keep him on. He told Ivy we could learn from him.” She propped her elbow on the table and rested her head in her hand. “There’s a lot to think about,” she said, trying very hard not to panic over the colossal job they were taking on. If they were successful, Bishop’s Cove would stay in the family. That was something positive to aim for, wasn’t it? Think of it as a wonderful adventure, she told herself.

Peyton didn’t have to work today because the restaurant was closed on Mondays, so she spent the morning going through her recipe notes and organizing them. There were two new entrées she wanted to try, both including grits. Since she didn’t have all of the ingredients, they would have to wait.

She spent a lazy afternoon going through her closet sorting clothes. Her bedroom looked like a cyclone had hit, but by five it was all picked up and organized again. A stack of clothes that she was going to donate had been neatly folded and placed in a large box by the door.

Her car was returned at six by a different young man, who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell her whether anything had been found.

Weary and hungry, she showered and put on clean clothes, pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and searched her room for her purse. She found it under a pillow and sat down to count her money. It didn’t take long. She had exactly eleven dollars . . . and next to nothing to eat in the refrigerator. No wonder. She couldn’t afford to shop, and Lucy, who would go to great lengths to avoid the grocery store because she absolutely hated to cook, went out every night. Thank goodness payday was tomorrow.

She needed boxes and her suitcases, which were stored in her parents’ attic. She decided to get them now and eat dinner at their house. Her mother always wanted to feed her daughters. Peyton figured she could handle another one of her mother’s lectures if she was eating.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, so she grabbed her khaki raincoat from the hall closet. As she was crossing the lot to her car, Finn pulled in and parked next to her.

He got out and asked, “Where are you going?”

“I thought you were in Dallas.”

“I was. I’m back now.”

They stared at each other for several seconds. Peyton felt uneasy with the awkward silence, but what could she expect, considering the way they had parted when they’d last been together.

She spoke up and broke the tension. “I’m hungry.”

“Okay.”

Okay? What did that mean? She wasn’t asking him to take her to dinner. Yet, she also didn’t want to go to her parents’ house any longer now that Finn was here.

“I was going out to eat,” she said. “I’d invite you along, but I’ve only got eleven dollars, and you look like you’d eat a lot more than that.”

He smiled and walked around his car to open the passenger door for her. “Eleven dollars, huh?”

“I could probably buy you a soft drink, but that’s it,” she offered.