Lawman Protection

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“Take all the time you need. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

By the time she’d finished the coffee, showered and dressed, she felt she had a better grip on her emotions. Janey curled up on a pillow and watched as Emma brushed out her hair and completed her makeup. Unlike her mistress, the cat had seemed perfectly content with their temporary quarters. “I’ll agree the curmudgeonly captain has a certain charm,” Emma said as she slipped on a pair of gold hoop earrings. “I just haven’t decided if that makes up for the fact that he doesn’t approve of what I do for a living.” Though he’d probably never admit it, she was sure Graham still viewed journalists as his adversaries.

Janey followed her into the kitchen, where they found Graham serving up eggs and toast. “It’s nothing fancy,” he said, and set a plate in front of her.

“It looks great. Thanks.”

He refilled her coffee, then set a bowl of water and another of food on the floor by the sink. “I opened up one of the cans of cat food you brought over.”

Janey rubbed against his ankles, her purr audible across the room. “She never gets quite that enthusiastic when I feed her,” Emma said, amused.

“I get along with most animals.” He took the seat across from her.

“Just not most people,” she said.

The corners of his mouth quirked up in acknowledgment of the gibe. He had nice lips, full and expressive. Her memory flashed to the kiss they’d shared last night, before the threatening phone call had destroyed the mood. What would have happened if the phone hadn’t rung? Would she have spent the night in Graham’s bed? And then what? They weren’t exactly on the same side of things right now. Yes, she’d agreed to help him as much as she could, but she wasn’t naive enough to believe he’d be even half as open with her. She’d have to dig and fight for information as much as ever. It didn’t strike her as a good formula for a healthy relationship.

“Were you able to trace the call to my phone last night?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No luck. Anyone who watches television these days knows to use a cheap throwaway phone that can’t be traced. And if the caller really was the same person who shot at us yesterday afternoon, he’s a professional.”

“I still don’t get why I’m a target all of a sudden,” she said.

“What was in those notes that were stolen from your house?”

“Nothing that wasn’t in the articles I wrote.”

He took a bite of toast and crunched, a thoughtful look on his face. “You must take notes on some things that don’t make it into the articles,” he said after he’d swallowed.

“Oh sure—little details, background information—but nothing important.”

“Were the notes you took during the weeks you spent with Richard Prentice in those files?”

“They were. Along with notes for a lot of stories. Everything I’d managed to pull together about Lauren Starling and her disappearance was in the file on the table. But why would they take everything?”

“Because they weren’t certain what they were looking for? Or maybe they wanted to disguise their focus—take everything so it wouldn’t be obvious what they were really interested in.” He mopped egg from his plate with a triangle of toast and popped it into his mouth.

“It’s not as if taking my notes would stop me from writing a story,” she said. “I still have my memory, and my recorder—that was in my purse. I could even go back and interview people again.”

“What are you working on right now?” he asked.

“I have to turn in a piece about your press conference yesterday.”

He made a scoffing sound. “You couldn’t have gotten much out of that.”

“I’ll have a few inches of copy, by the time I lay out the background behind the conference—Senator Mattheson’s challenge and Richard Prentice’s lawsuit.”

“I can’t see anything threatening in a story like that.”

“I’m also providing background for a story on the plane crash and Bobby’s murder, though because of my relationship to him, my editor is assigning another reporter to write the main article.”

“Anything else?”

“I’m trying to find out everything I can about Lauren Starling and her disappearance.”

“If it is a disappearance.” He held up a hand to forestall the objection he must have known she’d have. “I’m not saying she isn’t legitimately missing—only that we don’t have proof of that yet. And she does have a history of erratic behavior.”

“She didn’t show up for work.”

“At a job where she was rumored to be on her way out.”

The sharp look he sent her told her he knew she’d underestimated him. “I guess you’ve been doing your homework,” she said.

“I have. And everyone on the team has been on the lookout for any sign of Ms. Starling. Despite what you may think, we are taking this very seriously.”

“That’s good to know,” she said. “And thank you for telling me. I know you didn’t have to.”

He nodded. “Back to the problem of whoever threatened you. Maybe there’s something in your notes that you don’t realize is important, but whoever took them does. Maybe something you noticed about Richard Prentice that he doesn’t want someone to find out.”

“Do you really think Richard Prentice is behind this, or is it just that the man has made himself such a thorn in your side?” she asked.

He stabbed at the last bite of egg on his plate. “I already told you, I don’t have any proof that he’s done anything wrong. I just have a feeling in my gut that he’s up to something.”

“Raul Meredes was operating near Prentice’s estate, wasn’t he?” The criminal with ties to a Mexican drug cartel had been killed while attempting to take a college student who was conducting research in the area hostage, but law enforcement officers at the scene swore they hadn’t fired the shot that had ended his life. He’d been done in by a sniper, who fled as soon as Meredes was dead. The task force had linked Meredes to the deaths of several illegal immigrants in the park, who they suspected were part of a marijuana-growing operation and human-trafficking ring operating on public lands. If he’d lived to testify, he might have identified the person in charge of the operation.

“He would have had to cross Prentice’s land to get to his operations,” Graham said. “I don’t believe for a minute that Prentice didn’t know what was going on. The man has guards and cameras all over that place.”

“Maybe he thought it wasn’t his responsibility to report it,” she said. “He’d say he shouldn’t have to do law enforcement’s job for them.”

“He would say that, wouldn’t he?” Graham’s face twisted in an expression of disgust.

“Even if you’re right and he’s responsible for the crimes you’re trying to control, why target me?” she asked. “I was with him for hours at a time for two weeks and he never showed the slightest hostility. And that was months ago. Why suddenly decide I’m a threat?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with the pilot who died.”

“Bobby?” A dull pain centered in her chest at the memory of Bobby’s lifeless body slumped in the seat of his plane. “We were just friends. We’d get together to talk, mainly. It wasn’t anything serious.”

“Maybe Prentice doesn’t know that. He might have heard you two were dating and feared Bobby told you something he shouldn’t have. Like what that plane was carrying, and who the cargo was intended for.”

“What was the cargo?”

His expression grew wary. “We’re still looking into that.” He drank the last of his coffee. “If you’re done with breakfast, we’d better go. I need to get to work.”

“So do I.” She carried her plate and cup to the sink. “I can wash up.”

“Leave it. I have a woman who cleans for me. She’ll take care of them. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like, though.”

“No, I’ll head back to my place. I’m sure the police have finished there by now.”

He turned toward her, his big body filling the doorway, effectively blocking her in the kitchen. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go there alone,” he said. “Whoever attacked before could be waiting for you.”

“He already took my notes and warned me off. He’s not going to waste any more time with me.” But she sounded more confident than she felt.

“Let me send someone with you. One of my men—”

“No! I do not need a babysitter.” She told herself he was merely concerned, not being deliberately overbearing, and she softened her voice, trying to appear less angry at his suggestion. “I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine,” she said. “I promise I’ll be careful.”

“I don’t like it.”

“This isn’t about what you like and don’t like. I’m not your responsibility.”

He opened his mouth as if to argue this point, too, but thought better of it. “Call me when you get to your place,” he said. “Let me know you’re okay.” He hesitated, then added, “Please.”

She wondered how much effort it took for him to add that last word. “I’ll call you,” she said. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

He stepped aside to let her pass and she retrieved her bag from the guest room. He helped her load it and the cat supplies into her Jeep. “Thanks for taking me in last night,” she said. “I think I would have been a lot more upset if I’d been alone when I got that call.” Though she resisted his overprotectiveness, she had to admit his strong, calm presence last night had made her feel safe. She hadn’t worried about anyone getting past him to get to her.

“I hope I’ll see you again under better circumstances.” He put a hand on her arm, his gaze focused on her mouth, as if debating the wisdom of another kiss.

She made the decision for him, leaning in to kiss him. The contact was brief, but intense, heat and awareness spreading through her. His grip tightened on her arm, but he didn’t resist when she pulled away. “I’d better go,” she said.

“Call me,” he reminded.

“I will.” And in the meantime, she’d try to figure out exactly what she felt for Captain Graham Ellison, and what she wanted to do about those feelings.

* * *

“SO THIS CRATE definitely contained a Hellfire missile?” Graham studied the debris they’d collected from the crash site, each piece tagged and cataloged, lined up on folding tables or set against the wall in a room in the trailer that had formerly been used to store supplies. The charred bits of wood and twisted scraps of metal told a story, though it was up to the task force to put that story together in the right order.

“According to the investigator the army sent over from Fort Carson, it did.” Marco consulted a notepad. “They even know the serial number, a partial of which was stenciled on the box. If we find the missile, the numbers on the tail fin should match.”

“Where did the missile come from?” Michael Dance, a tall, dark-haired lieutenant with the Border Patrol, asked. The newest member of the task force, he was also recently engaged to the woman who’d been instrumental in helping them find and target Raul Meredes. Abby was finishing up her masters in botany from the University of Colorado.

“Originally, from a shipment of Hellfires destined for Afghanistan,” Marco said. “But a number of them disappeared along the way, probably to the black market in the Middle East and Africa.”

“So, how did it end up here?” Carmen Redhorse, the sole female member of the task force, with the Colorado Bureau of Investigations, asked.

“Anyone with enough money can buy anything,” Lance said.

“How much do you think one of these would sell for?” Michael nodded toward the busted crate.

Marco shrugged. “Half a mil? Maybe not that much, if you knew the right people.”

Lance leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest. “So who do we know around here with that kind of smack?” he asked.

“Being able to afford a missile doesn’t mean Richard Prentice bought one,” Carmen said.

“But the fact that the missile was on a plane flown by a man who was known to work for Prentice gives us reason to question him,” Graham said. He turned to Lance. “What did you find out about Bobby Pace?”

Lance uncrossed his arms and stood up straight. “He keeps his plane in a hangar at Montrose Regional Airport. The Fixed Base Operations manager saw him there three days ago, checking out his plane, but Bobby said he didn’t have a flight scheduled. I asked if he seemed nervous or anything, but the man I talked to—” he checked his notebook “—Eddie Silvada, said Bobby always seemed nervous lately. Jumpy. Silvada thought it was just because he’d been having financial problems. His kid has cancer and even with insurance, the treatments are expensive.”

Graham nodded. This fit with what Emma had told him.

“Does he have other family in the area?” Carmen asked. “A wife?”

“Ex-wife,” Lance said. “Susan Pace. They’ve been divorced a year and she says they don’t talk much—just about the kid. She doesn’t know what he was up to.”