Dark ambitions, p.9
Dark Ambitions, page 9
But she didn’t buy that.
Her husband’s protective instincts had been activated, meaning whatever Chuck had said related to her.
“Honey . . . didn’t we promise to always be up-front with each other? To communicate and share? Tell me what he said. Please.”
He frowned into his diluted coffee.
She waited in silence.
Finally he pressed a finger against the single crumb marring the pristine glass-topped table. Deposited it on his plate. “Chuck thinks the three of us should discuss your background this afternoon, decide on a few talking points.”
She stared at him.
They were worried about her background?
She wasn’t the one with the secret that could shatter this whole endeavor if it ever leaked out.
However . . . only she and Brad knew about that.
Her history, on the other hand, was out there waiting to be discovered for anyone who wanted to dig deep.
“Hey.” He reached over and touched her cheek. “This is no big deal. No one’s going to hold your upbringing against you. In fact, you could be a role model for how to overcome a terrible family situation.”
“I’d rather not revisit those early years at all. I told you that.”
“I understand—and I’m not saying you have to. But we do have to decide how we want to spin this for the media.”
“I thought we agreed that I’d offer a few generic comments, then say I’ve put that difficult life behind me and no longer talk about it.”
“We did—and I’m on board with that plan. But why not discuss it with Chuck, tell him our position, get him on our side? He can develop a bio that skims over the details and makes it clear your early family life is an off-limits subject. In any case, all the players are gone except for your half brother, and you lost touch with him long ago.”
That was true.
It was also the reason she wanted to leave her ugly past in the past. Just thinking about those terrible days knotted her stomach.
At the same time, sticking your head in the sand didn’t make difficulties go away. The media had an appetite for the kind of juicy details she could provide—if she was inclined to capitalize on her hard-luck story. And if doing so would help Brad claim the governor’s seat, she’d suck it up and do it.
But her husband could win this election on his own merits—and she didn’t want public sympathy. Nor did she want to be the poster child for a worthwhile cause related to her history.
The first-lady role was prize enough for her.
Still . . . she needed to cooperate with Brad’s campaign manager. Talking with the man could do no harm.
“All right. Shall I meet you there at two?”
He twined his fingers with hers and gave her a warm smile. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”
“Every day.” She lifted his hand and kissed his fingers. “But don’t ever stop.”
“I don’t intend to. I know I’m the luckiest man in the world—and I’ll never forget that.”
After a quick kiss, they went back to their breakfast and moved on to less intense topics—but as Lindsey finished her toast and wiped a linen napkin across her lips, her husband’s comment about luck replayed in her mind.
He might be the luckiest man in the world—but she was the one who’d hit the jackpot the day he’d walked into that bar and swept her into a life that was the stuff of fantasies.
She would never forget that—and no matter what challenges lay between them and the governor’s mansion, she would stand by his side and do her part to earn the title of first lady.
“Eat lunch, or head straight for the locker?” As they approached the highway exit for Lexington, Heather glanced at her passenger.
Rick continued to thumb in a message on his cell. “One sec.”
She flipped on her blinker and stifled a sigh.
So much for the lively conversation she’d hoped they’d have en route. Thanks to a crisis with the septic system at the camp, he’d spent the majority of the trip texting, emailing, and talking on the phone with contractors and his director of operations.
“Sorry about this.” He set the phone on his leg and sent her an apologetic look. “If I’d known the minor sewer backup last night was going to mushroom into a major issue, I would have bailed.”
“I’m used to working alone—and I don’t mind quiet. Did you get everything resolved?”
“Joyce is going to go out there to meet with a couple of contractors this afternoon. She’s a whiz at handling the day-to-day operations of the facility. I’m just glad this didn’t happen while camp was in session. That would have been a colossal mess.” He slid the phone into his pocket. “Did I hear you mention lunch?”
“I asked which you preferred to do first—eat or check out the locker?”
“My stomach votes eat . . . but my curiosity trumps my appetite. What about you?”
“The locker gets my vote.” She flipped on her turn signal again, following the directions from the GPS on her phone. “While you were dealing with your crisis, I heard from my PD contact here. The BOLO alert that was issued paid off. Boomer’s car was found in a parking garage at the airport.”
Rick’s brow puckered. “He flew to St. Louis?”
“Maybe. The police are reviewing passenger manifests to see if his name shows up. They’ll also be checking with the car rental companies, in case he just switched vehicles.”
“Why are they suddenly interested in searching for him?”
“There was blood in the car. On the driver’s side.”
“That’s consistent with what we know.” The puckers deepened. “Am I going to be getting a phone call for a police interview?”
“Could happen—but the presence of blood doesn’t constitute a crime scene. We may have more answers before they zero in on you . . . if they do. Also, his car’s been in the lot since a week ago Monday.”
“If he flew into St. Louis then, why did he wait until Friday to contact me?”
“I’m thinking he rented a car at the airport here and drove somewhere else for a few days first.”
“Where?”
“I have no idea.” Heather motioned ahead of her. “There’s our destination.”
The ice rink loomed less than a block away.
“Did you alert the rink manager we were coming?”
“No reason to. The locker area should be accessible. It is at most rinks.”
“You sound like you’ve spent a fair amount of time on the ice.”
“I was a recreational figure skater in my younger days.” She swung into the parking lot, claimed a space, and set the brake. “Let’s hope our long drive yields something useful.”
Once inside, it took only a few minutes to locate the locker that matched the number on Boomer’s key. Like the ones she remembered from her childhood, the cubbyhole was sized to accommodate no more than a pair of shoes and a few personal items.
“I feel a little like I used to at the critical point on a mission in the Middle East.” Rick inspected the locker.
She retrieved the key from her purse and held it out to him. “You do the honors.”
He took it from her, inserted it, and twisted.
As he opened the door, they both leaned forward to peer inside.
A memory stick lay in the shadowy center.
There was nothing else inside.
“I don’t know what I expected—but that isn’t it.” Rick stared at the data storage device.
“Me neither. However, good things can come in small packages. Let’s plug this into my laptop and see what’s on it.”
Heather slipped on a pair of latex gloves, extracted the item, and deposited it in a ziplock bag.
“You carry gloves and bags with you?” Rick raised an eyebrow.
“Standard detective gear—and most of the same supplies come in handy as a PI. Let’s see what we have.” She hurried toward the exit.
He followed her to the car, opened her door, and slid into the passenger seat as she booted up her laptop.
“Well . . . here goes.” She stuck the flash drive into a port. Clicked on the icon.
The stick contained one item—an Excel spreadsheet.
Heather opened it.
Rick leaned closer to examine the document that appeared on her screen, his breath a puff of warmth against her cheek.
Focus on what’s in front of you, Heather.
She forced herself to ignore the faint woodsy, masculine scent that was invading her personal space and scrutinized the information.
The entries on each line were dated with the day and month. No years.
The abbreviations throughout the document meant nothing to her.
The various sets of initials with each entry could represent anything—or anyone.
The dollar amounts on each line were small.
She hadn’t a clue what any of it meant.
“Does any of this . . .” Her voice trailed off as she turned her head and found Rick inches away, his broad shoulder brushing hers, his gaze riveted on the screen.
Keep those lungs inflating and deflating, Heather.
She cleared her throat and tried again. “Does any of this mean anything to you?” Somehow she managed to keep her voice from squeaking.
He looked at her . . . and she almost drowned in his blue irises.
It didn’t help when his Adam’s apple bobbed—as if he was affected by their close proximity too.
He backed up a few inches, lending credence to her suspicion. “No.”
She moistened her lips and redirected her attention to the screen. “Not the best news I’ve had. It’s Greek to me, but I was hoping the fact that Boomer came to you with this meant you’d be able to decipher it.” She closed the document and right-clicked on properties. “It’s not new. This was created six-plus years ago and last worked on a little more than four years ago.”
“While Boomer was overseas.”
“Right.” She saved the document to her computer, pulled out the flash drive, dropped it back into the plastic bag, and peeled off her latex gloves. “I wonder if this could have any connection to Beth Johnson, given her recent death under circumstances that seem dubious in light of what’s been going on.”
“That thought crossed my mind.”
“I definitely think another conversation with Nathan is in order. I tried to call him last night but never connected. A conference call with you on the line may be more productive, anyway. If you’re in on the discussion, it may trigger a memory that slipped his mind during our first chat.”
“I’m fine with that.”
“I also want to talk to Boomer’s neighbors, see if any of them can offer any leads or insights in person that they weren’t willing to share by phone. I made an appointment with the director of the food kitchen where he volunteers too.”
“Speaking of food—I think that should be our next stop.”
“Agreed. There’s a local sandwich shop nearby that gets high marks on TripAdvisor. Does that work for you?” She put the car in gear and backed out of the parking spot.
“You researched lunch spots?”
She flashed him a grin. “Absolutely. I don’t like to waste calories on bad food.”
“Did you consult TripAdvisor on the hotel too?”
“Of course. I don’t like surprises.”
“Remind me to hire you as the travel agent for my next trip.”
“Are you on the road a lot?” She pulled onto the main road and accelerated.
“No. I did as much work travel as I ever want to in the military, and it’s not much fun to vacation alone.”
“No single friends who could go with you?”
“Not anymore. What do you do on vacation?”
She gave an unladylike snort. “What’s a vacation?”
“You never take time off?”
“Not much. Police work is intense. My dad and I have taken a few trips together, but mostly I hang out at home if I have a few days off. I’m hoping this job will give me more downtime.”
“Is that the reason you changed careers?”
“It was a factor.” But not the biggest one. And talking about the end of her detective career wasn’t on the agenda for this trip. “There’s the lunch place.” She pointed down the street. “My taste buds are all set for their pastrami sandwich. Reviewers raved about it.”
Thankfully, Rick didn’t ask any follow-up questions about her prior career.
But the subject could come up again during this trip. They’d be spending hours together.
And if it did, she might be tempted to share a few of the details—if he opened up about his family history . . . and told her why he’d gone from being a Night Stalker to running a camp for foster kids . . . and dropped a hint or two that he was interested in moving their relationship from professional to personal once this case wrapped up.
For now, though, she’d pull up Boomer’s document again while they ate and hope that, between the two of them, they could spot a nugget of information that would give them a clue to follow.
Because if they didn’t . . . and if none of the interviews she had planned for the remainder of their stay panned out . . . and if Boomer never resurfaced . . . the reason for his visit to Rick’s camp on that cold, snowy day almost a week ago could forever remain a mystery.
9
“Where you at, girl? Don’t you hide from me. You know it’ll be worse if I have to come a-lookin’ for you.”
From the tiny spot she’d squeezed herself into behind the logs in the woodshed, Ruby June cringed as her pa bellowed from the back door of the hovel they’d called home for all of her ten years.
He was probably spun out on the latest batch of meth he and Ma had cooked. The whole house stunk like cat pee from it. Same as a bunch of people’s houses did here in the Missouri Bootheel, once you got off the main roads.
“Ruby June, you’re tryin’ my patience! Get out here!”
She peeked through a tiny opening in the pile of logs.
Pa was walking back and forth, jeans flapping around his scrawny legs, waving a willow switch.
Tears brimmed on her lower lashes.
If he found her, she’d be going to school again tomorrow with red welts on her back. The ones that hurt whenever she leaned back in her desk.
But she couldn’t complain to nobody.
The one time she’d ratted on her pa, after her teacher asked about the marks on her legs, the state had sent a man in a fancy suit to the house to talk to him and Ma.
And she’d paid for that. Her back ached just thinking about that whipping.
After that day, her pa was careful not to switch her anyplace anyone could—
Her heart skittered.
He’d stopped walking and was staring straight toward her.
No!
He couldn’t have seen her behind all these logs. And she’d never hid here before. Why would he think to look here?
His eyes got meaner than a spittin’ cat’s, and he whipped the switch in the air.
She cringed.
Please, God, don’t let him find me. Please!
But God must not have heard her, ’cause Pa started toward the shed.
Whimpering, she tucked herself tight into the darkest corner and kept praying—up to the second his shadow fell across the logs and he leaned over the top to glare down at her.
He flicked the switch again, and she flinched.
“I told you to come out, girl.” He leaned closer, his rotting teeth as crooked and black as the mouth of a charred jack-o’-lantern. “You’re a piece of filthy . . .”
She wrapped her arms around herself and tried to block out the ugly words he hurled at her.
When the tirade ended, he snatched her arm and yanked her from her hiding place.
“No! Please, don’t hurt me, Pa! Please don’t . . .”
“Lindsey! Relax, sweetheart. You’re fine.”
Expelling a shuddering sob, she jerked her eyelids open. Sucked in a deep breath. Went limp.
It was okay.
She was safe.
The arms holding her were gentle. The voice soothing. The face above her filled with compassion rather than contempt.
“Sorry.” She lifted a trembling hand and massaged her temple. “D-did I disturb you?”
“I heard you while I was coming up the steps. It sounded like a bad one.”
“Yes.” Brad knew all about her nightmares. If she could have kept them secret, she would have—but you couldn’t control your subconscious while you were asleep.
“Migraine?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll get you a pill.”
She closed her eyes, and the bed jiggled as he stood—which didn’t help the nausea that always accompanied the searing headaches.
He was back fast with the medicine and a glass of water. The bed dipped again as he sat. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Today’s meeting with Chuck brought this on, didn’t it?”
“I guess so.” She swallowed the pill with a gulp of water, handed him the glass, and sank back onto the pillow.
“He agreed to abide by the rules we set down.”
“I know. Talking about my past just brought it all back.”
“I’m sorry to put you through this. I know how bad your childhood was.”
No, he didn’t. She’d shared a lot—but not everything. What was the point? It would only upset him.
“I’ll be better after I rest for a bit.”
“It’s not too late for us to change our decision, you know.”
“No.” That was the last thing she wanted to do. Brad was meant to be governor—and perhaps more. “Give me a couple of hours and I’ll be back on my feet.”
“Are you certain? Your peace of mind is more important to me than the job in Jeff City.”
“I appreciate that—but I’m not going to let memories from my past stand in the way of your future.”
He hesitated . . . but at last he stood. “You’re an extraordinary woman, you know that?”
“You’re prejudiced.”
“No. It’s true.” He touched her hand. “Call if you want anything. And if you’re up to it later, I’ll run out and pick up dinner for us. How does that sound?”
