Steele, p.9
Steele, page 9
The faint light of dawn was just on the horizon when Steele awoke. He hadn’t slept well, partially because the sofa was too short to be comfortable and partially because of the way Harper had kissed his cheek.
There was something seriously wrong with him that he had trouble falling back to sleep because all he could think about was kissing Harper. Not on the cheek, and not in a brotherly fashion.
Why did his memories of Monique seem so blurry? Two years had passed, but he’d had no intention of moving on. Especially not with a pregnant woman.
He really needed to get a grip. Being here with Harper was messing with his determination to remain single. After losing Monique, he’d lost interest in settling down, but now it seemed he couldn’t imagine moving on with his old life. One that didn’t include Harper.
And her baby? He gave himself a mental shake. She was a package deal. An adorable package deal, but he wasn’t ready for that level of commitment.
Was he?
Nope. He stood and headed to the small coffee maker. A good jolt of caffeine should help keep him focused on the important issues facing them.
Not his personal life.
Hearing sounds of movement from Harper’s room reminded him of her blisters. He crossed over and lightly rapped on her door. “Harper? I’ll help you bandage your feet when you’re ready.”
“Okay.” Her voice sounded muffled as if she might be in the bathroom.
He poured himself a cup of coffee, then guiltily remembered she could only drink decaf. Rummaging in the small basket beside the pot, he found a package of decaf. He’d make that as soon as he’d finished the real stuff.
While he waited, he booted up the computer and began searching on Starkey, Waylon Brooks, and Tommy Grotto. They’d tried routine searches before but had come up empty. Yet there was always the possibility that something new might pop up, especially on social media. He’d heard of criminals doing illegal business through social media sites. It sounded crazy, yet they hadn’t gotten caught right away.
The internet was full of information. The only problem was that he needed to sort through all the junk and fake news to get to the real intel.
Harper stepped out of her room a few minutes later. She held her shoes and socks in one hand and the antibiotic ointment in the other. “My blisters look much better this morning.”
“Glad to hear it.” Maybe his fear of her wounds becoming infected was irrational, but he didn’t want to take any chances. “Let me see.”
She dropped onto the sofa. He knelt beside her, taking a moment to examine her toes. The reddened areas were still there, but they weren’t weeping the way they had been. He nodded in satisfaction. “They do look much better. Do they hurt?”
“Not nearly as much as before.”
“Good. I think we should put more ointment on, though. Just to be on the safe side.”
“Okay. I took a bath but didn’t shower since I don’t have anything to use on my hair.” She touched the long blond strands self-consciously. “I would love to pick up a hairbrush and some other toiletries to replace those we left behind at the American Lodge.”
“You’re beautiful, and we might be able to stop on the way home from the precinct.” He wasn’t lying to make her feel better. He took the tube of ointment from her hand and turned his attention back to her feet.
“Jesus washed the feet of his apostles,” she said in a low voice, “to show how much he cared for them. And to show how he wasn’t any better than they were, despite being sent by God.”
“Really?” He glanced at her in surprise. “I hate to say it, but I don’t know much about the Bible.”
“Maybe someday you’ll have time to learn.” He was glad she wasn’t being pushy about it. He’d never been interested enough to read the Bible, but the image of Jesus washing the feet of his apostles stuck with him.
When he finished with the ointment, he helped her with the socks and shoes. Then he stood and shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching for her. “Ah, I forgot about the decaf, so I’ll have to make a new pot.”
“It’s fine.” She waved toward the small kitchenette. “I can heat up water in the microwave for herbal tea. No need for you to sacrifice caffeine for my sake.”
“Okay.” This constant awareness of her made him feel awkward. “Just let me know when you want to order breakfast.”
She crossed to the kitchenette to make her herbal tea. Glancing at the computer, she asked, “Are you checking emails?”
“No, just trying to find information on our perps.” He sipped his coffee, waiting for her to finish.
“Like on social media?” She wrinkled her nose. “That seems silly. It’s not like a criminal is going to post stuff on there for everyone to see.”
“No, but you’d be surprised at how many people with criminal records are actually friends with other criminals.” He shrugged. “But so far I haven’t found anything useful, so you’re probably right about it being a waste of time.”
“I’m not the expert. You are.” She took the seat next to him. The space was small enough that their knees brushed. “I gave up social media. I found myself comparing my situation to others and decided it was a silly way to spend my time.”
“I’m not on there, except for a dummy page.” He shrugged. “Most cops avoid that stuff. Rhy always said that cops were enough of a target without making it easy for people to find us.”
“True. I hadn’t thought of it that way.” She frowned. “I should have thanked you for getting me away from the American Lodge. I’m so glad Brock and Joe weren’t injured.”
“They’re fine. And you don’t need to thank us.” He didn’t want or need her gratitude. “It’s our fault for not doing a better job of keeping you safe.”
She sipped her tea, then leaned forward to grab the menu. “I can’t believe I’m hungry.”
“Eating for two, remember?” He finished his first cup of coffee while she decided on breakfast. Then he placed their order.
“You’re sure this interview is necessary?” she asked when he’d finished.
“The ATF thinks so.” He didn’t want to admit that he wasn’t happy about their request. It’s a risk they shouldn’t have to take. He trusted the ATF agents, but not enough to have them come meet at the hotel. In his opinion, their location was a need to know, and they didn’t need to know. “We’ll leave here around eight thirty. I’ll take the long way to the precinct.”
“Sounds good.” She glanced around the suite. “This is a really nice place. I hope the police department is reimbursing you.”
He had no idea if Rhy or Assistant Chief Michaels would ultimately get the department to cover the cost, but she didn’t need to worry about that. “It’s fine. Not as expensive as some places.”
“What about the damage to the American Lodge?”
“We’ll take care of that too.” He reached over to pat her hand. “Harper, just concentrate on relaxing for the sake of the baby, okay? This other stuff isn’t important.”
“Okay, I’ll try.”
Thankfully, their breakfast arrived in record time. He jumped up, dug out some cash for a tip, and set the tray on the table. As irritated as he was about the need for the ATF to interview Harper, spending the day with her alone was driving him nuts.
Harper had closed and moved the computer to make room. The scent of bacon and eggs made his mouth water. He lifted both domes, setting them aside.
This time he was prepared for Harper to say grace. “Dear Lord Jesus, we are so blessed by this food You’ve provided to us. We ask that You please continue to keep everyone on the tactical team safe in Your care. Amen.”
“Amen. Thanks for keeping us in your prayers.” He glanced at her before reaching for his fork. “It’s much appreciated.”
“Always,” she said lightly. “I respect the work you do very much.”
Thirty minutes later, they were out in Rhy’s SUV. Harper still wore his coat, but she had to leave it open as it didn’t fit over her stomach. Thankfully, the area outside the side door of the hotel was empty. Once Harper was seated, he ran around to take the wheel.
The trip took longer than he’d expected because traffic was a bear. An accident on one side of the interstate had brought them to a standstill. Stupid gawkers, he thought, feeling impatient.
They managed to get to the precinct with about ten minutes to spare. Steele had no doubt the ATF agents were already in the conference room waiting. Yet he took the added precaution of driving around back and parking Rhy’s SUV near the exit.
“To think I’ve never been inside a police station until I became a victim of a crime.” She shook her head as Steele escorted her inside. “There are times I can barely remember what my life was like before all of this.”
“Things will get back to normal soon,” he assured her.
“I hope so.” She stood to the side as he closed the door, then he led the way through the cubicles.
Flynn Ryerson came walking toward him. “Hey, Steele. I heard you guys are working some hot leads on the warehouse case.”
“I’m not sure they’re hot,” he responded in a wry tone. “Flynn, this is Harper Crane. Harper, Flynn is another member on the tactical team.”
“You’re not in uniform,” she said. “Do you have the day off?”
“I’m on sick leave until my arm heals up.” He made a fist and bent his elbow up and down. “It’s getting there.”
“What happened?” For some reason, the concern in Harper’s gaze made him want to stand between her and Flynn.
“Bullet grazed my arm during the warehouse shooting.” Flynn glanced at Steele. “Steve Banner saved my life.”
“He did?” That was news to Steele.
“Yeah. He shot the guy who fired at me before he could get off a second round.” Flynn massaged his bicep. “I’m hoping to be cleared to return to duty next week.”
“Take all the time you need.” Steele grinned. “We’ll have this case wrapped up by then no problem.”
“You should,” Flynn shot back. Then he smiled again at Harper. “Nice to meet you, Harper. Later, Steele.”
Flynn left through the same side door they’d entered. He told himself that Flynn was just being his usual easygoing self. Not flirting with Harper.
“Are we using the same interview room as last time?” Harper glanced around. “I don’t remember where it is.”
“This way.” He escorted her to the interview room. As predicted, both Steve Banner and Bryon Perkins were already there waiting.
“Ms. Crane.” Banner stood and offered his hand. “I’m Agent Steve Banner. This is my partner, Bryon Perkins.”
Perkins shook her hand too.
“I guess you both know who I am,” she murmured, taking the chair directly across from them.
“Yes, ma’am,” Bryon said.
“Please call me Harper.” She folded her hands on the table, but Steele had noticed her fingers were trembling. “I want to help in any way I can. I’m afraid that I don’t know anything, though.” She glanced at him, then added, “Officer Delaney and Officer Greer questioned me after I was almost kidnapped.”
“We heard.” Banner looked annoyed for a moment, but then he smiled. “We appreciate you taking the time to speak with us too.”
Harper nodded, then waited for them to move on.
“Ms—er, Harper, can you tell us when you last saw Ellis Starkey?” Bryon Perkins asked.
“It was probably a week or two before I left my husband.” She stared down at her hands for a moment. “I haven’t seen Jake in over seven months. Since the night . . .” Her voice trailed off, and a flush darkened her cheeks.
Banner seemed to take pity on her. “So roughly seven and a half months ago was the last time you saw Ellis Starkey? Would that be correct?”
“Yes. As far as I remember.” She frowned. “Ellis and Jake were business partners. Legitimate business, or so I thought. Anyway, Ellis stopped by on occasion, so it wasn’t really like a visit with him would stick out in my mind, you know?”
“Sure, that makes sense,” Banner said. “How long did you know him?”
“Two and a half years.” She answered without hesitation. “I wouldn’t say we were close or anything, but he was Jake’s best friend and stood up at our wedding. He came across as a nice guy. That’s why I was so shocked to learn about their illegal business dealings.”
“You mean the buying and selling of guns,” Perkins pressed.
“Yes. That’s what I was told.” She lifted her chin and looked directly at Bryon. “I never saw any guns for myself.”
“You didn’t go to the warehouses at all?” Doubt tinged Bryon’s tone.
“Never. Why would I?” She shrugged. “I kept busy with my full-time job.”
“Yes, working for Gibson and Roberts, right?” Steve asked.
“That’s right.” She didn’t expound on that, and Steele was proud of her for maintaining her cool professionalism. He knew the two ATF agents were just doing their job, but he resented the implication she was hiding something from them.
“I still find it hard to believe you never went to the warehouses,” Bryon said. “Unless, of course, you knew what your ex-husband was doing.”
“I didn’t.” Her voice was calm, but Steele caught the flash of anger in her green eyes. She leaned forward. “I would never condone selling guns. I work for an attorney. Do you really think I’d allow my ex-husband to drag me down with him?”
“A criminal defense attorney,” Bryon pointed out. “Seems like your boss deals with criminals all the time.”
“Alleged criminals.” Her chin tipped higher. “Innocent until proven guilty in a court of law, right?”
Neither ATF agent said anything for a long moment. Harper didn’t speak either. She sat calmly, waiting for their next question.
Finally, Steve asked, “Do you know where we can find Tommy Grotto? Or Waylon Brooks?”
“No. If I did, I would tell you since it’s highly likely one or both of them have tried to shoot me.” She shook her head and sighed. “Really, why won’t you believe me? Do you honestly think I’d risk the life of my baby by holding back the truth? Because I can tell you I would never do that. Never.”
“Look, guys, she’s told you what she knows.” Steele stepped forward, determined to put an end to this.
“This interview isn’t over until we say it is,” Perkins snapped.
Steve Banner was obviously playing the role of good cop. “Harper, we have one more question.” He opened an envelope and slid a photograph across the table. “Can you tell me who this is?”
Steele clenched his jaw when he saw the picture of Harper chatting with a man while standing on a sidewalk. The man she was talking to was none other than Kenny Dillon, a.k.a. Dillweed.
One of the three men who were killed during the shoot-out at her ex-husband’s warehouse.
Chapter Eight
Harper stared at the glossy photograph the ATF agent slid across the table. It was eerie to see her standing there talking to a man when she had no idea anyone was close enough to take a picture of her.
Just how long had they been following her?
“Harper?” Steele prodded.
She glanced at him, shocked to see wary suspicion simmering in his eyes. She didn’t understand the significance of this picture. “This is Glenn Vice. He attends my church sometimes.”
“Your church?” The scathing doubt in Perkins’s tone was like nails on a chalkboard. “You really expect us to believe that?”
She abruptly pushed the photograph back across the table toward him. “Yes. We are standing on the sidewalk outside the church. And if you were there taking this picture, you already know that.”
“How well do you know Glenn Vice?” Steele asked.
It hurt to know he was grilling her like a suspect. Like spending five minutes chatting with a fellow church member was wrong. She didn’t look at Steele, keeping her gaze focused on the two ATF agents across from her. “I don’t know him very well at all. We ended up sitting in the same pew, and he introduced himself. I returned the favor. We chatted for a few minutes after services, and that was the end of it.”
“He didn’t ask you to go out with him? Dinner or a movie?” Steve Banner asked.
“No.” Then she amended her statement. “Sort of. He mentioned his favorite restaurant, a steak place I’d never heard of. I told him to enjoy and turned away. Maybe he intended to ask me out, but it didn’t happen.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “What does Glenn Vice have to do with anything?”
“He’s dead,” Bryon Perkins said bluntly. “Killed in the shooting at your ex-husband’s warehouse two weeks ago.”
That was a surprise. “You’re saying he worked for Jake?”
“His name isn’t Glenn Vice,” Steele said. “His real name is Kenny Dillon, a.k.a. Dillweed.”
The tiny hairs on the back of her neck rose in alarm. Glenn was Kenny? He’d worked for her ex? And had tried to get close to her by attending the same church she did? “I had no idea.”
“How often did you see Dillweed at church?” Perkins asked.
She clenched her jaw, holding back a sharp retort. “I saw the man I knew as Glenn Vice about three times. He wasn’t always at services. And to be honest, I wasn’t always able to attend either.”
“I thought that was part of your routine?” Steele said.
It took all her willpower to remain calm. “Yes, except for the early days in my pregnancy when I suffered morning sickness. And there was the time I came down with a bad cold. Then there was that snowstorm too.” She thought back to the times she’d stayed home on a Sunday. “On a rare occasion, Trent Gibson would ask me to do some work from home on the weekend. If I didn’t get to it on Saturday, I’d get caught up on Sunday.” Now she turned in her seat. “Do you want me to ask my boss for evidence of each time I worked from home?”
Steele shook his head, but his expression remained serious. “That’s not necessary. We’re just trying to understand the connection between you and Kenny Dillon.”
“There is only a vague connection between me and Glenn Vice.” She didn’t care if she sounded obstinate. There was nothing she could do to force them to believe her. “I have no idea why he pretended to be someone else. Or why he attended church services.”
