Chapter Eight

Linc entered the interrogation room carrying two bottles of water. The defense lawyer sat next to Lopez, a yellow legal pad in front of her. She held out a hand to shake. “I’m Stacy Browning, Marshal. I represent Mr. Lopez.”

Lopez had an attorney in a higher tax bracket than a public defender. Interesting. He shook her hand. Hector Lopez sat slouched in his chair, his disinterested pose contradicted by the tension in his body. He looked coiled tight and ready to spring, the sneer on his face an indication of the sullen bad attitude of a career criminal. The kid was all of twenty-two years old.

Linc sat in the straight-backed chair opposite Lopez, staring the younger man in the eye for a long-drawn-out minute. Lopez broke the stare and looked at his hands.

Linc handed Lopez and the attorney each a water bottle. He’d found it was always a good idea to start friendly. Lopez reached for the bottle with his left hand and Linc got a good look at the tattoo. The triangular head of a rattlesnake, jaws opened wide and fangs prominent, covered the back of his hand. The letter Z was interwoven with the diamond pattern on the head of the snake. He might as well have a neon sign over his head blinking Zecena.

“Look, Hector, let’s not waste your time or mine. Both your victim and I identified you as the guy on the trail with the knife yesterday.”

Lopez didn’t raise his head. Instead, he studiously picked at the skin next to his thumbnail.

“My client denies being on any trail yesterday afternoon, Marshal.”

Linc spared her a glance. “I’m sure he does, but the fact remains that he was there.” He focused on Lopez. “We know you were hired to attack Ms. O’Kane.”

The young man brought his thumb to his mouth to use his teeth to chew the skin.

Linc didn’t take his eyes off him. “Interesting tattoo you have on the back of your hand, Hector.” Lopez paused, sucking where his thumb had begun to bleed. His gaze flitted to Linc’s, then away again. “That’s the Zecena brand. You run with the cartel, Hector?”

“Mr. Lopez is not affiliated with any crime organization. Many young people have tattoos, Marshal. That’s hardly unique.”

“I’d say his is unique.” Linc continued to watch Lopez as he began chewing on the nail of his index finger. “Paco know you failed, Hector? That you didn’t kill the woman?”

Lopez’s head jerked up, sitting straighter, and he drew in a quick breath. The attorney laid a hand on his arm. He slumped in his seat, but the look of panic was undeniable. Linc turned his attention to the lawyer. “Who hired you, Ms. Browning?”

“I’m not obligated to tell you that.”

The interrogation continued in the same vein with Linc asking and Lopez silent as the attorney deflected. It didn’t matter. It would have pissed Linc off if it hadn’t been for the flash of fear in Lopez’s eyes when he’d taken the chance and mentioned Paco. That reaction confirmed that Peter the ex was the connection.

Linc studied the kid. Money could buy loyalty, but in this case, fear appeared to be the motivator keeping his mouth shut. Having gotten all he would, Linc concluded the interview.

He entered the observation room where Mikayla sat, still gazing through the glass at Lopez. The sheriff stood, posture erect, in the back of the room. He hadn’t wanted to let Linc conduct the interrogation, but since the attack had happened in federal jurisdiction, the sheriff hadn’t had much leverage. Not getting anything out of the kid irked Linc more when he saw the sheriff’s smirk.

Linc motioned to Mikayla and she preceded him from the room. He tortured himself by inhaling as she passed in front of him. He shouldn’t notice things about her. Didn’t want to notice things about her. Things like dimples and the clean fragrance of her shampoo.

Shit. She was getting to him.

Once in the hall she turned to face him and when that green gaze locked on his, he had to brace himself. Like in the storeroom, he had the uncomfortable feeling he was foundering, sinking with water closing in over his head. Experiencing such a heightened response to any woman was new and distracting. He didn’t like it.

“What’s next?”

Linc started walking, his hand on her elbow. “Lopez will be formally charged and bail set. You’ll have to give a statement and attend the trial, whenever that is. I’ll have to testify as well.”

“Unless he pleads guilty.”

“Yeah, unless he pleads guilty.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

They passed a breakroom. Linc reached for his wallet and pulled out a couple of bills. “You want coffee? I want coffee. Would you buy us some while I make a quick call?”

Mikayla gave him a quizzical look but took the bills. Once she was out of earshot he called his brother, whose voice came over the line, terse and harried. Terse was par for the course with Seth Jameson. Harried? Not so much.

“Where the fuck are you?”

“Utah, what’s going on?”

“Hang on a sec.” Linc could hear a door slamming shut before his brother came back on the line. “Okay, I can talk now.”

“You’re in your office and you can’t talk with the door open?”

“Not anymore. I’ve got a new deputy who’s a pain in the ass.”

Linc laughed at the exasperation in Seth’s voice. It took a lot to get under his brother’s skin. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had. “What’s he done? Or is it a she?”

“She. Definitely a she. And she never gives me a moment’s peace. I should have her reassigned.”

“Is she a rookie? If she’s that bad, she’ll wash out.”

“Yeah, she’s a rookie, and she’s damn good at her job. But she’s still a constant source of tension headaches. Can we talk about something else, like why Mom’s riding my ass because you haven’t called her?”

“Ah, shit. Sorry. But listen, I’m involved in something here I need your help with. Tell Mom I’m fine and I’ll call her when I get a minute.”

“What do you need?” No one could cut through the bullshit as well as Seth.

“You at your computer?”

“Yeah.”

“Look up this name. Peter Wellington. The third, if that matters. See if he’s got a history.” Linc could hear faint tapping on a keyboard as his brother put the name into the system. He paced the hall, then frowned when he glanced through the window into the breakroom where Mikayla was filling paper cups with coffee. Leaning back against the counter, a heavyset deputy was having a great time, chatting and smiling at her like a dumbass. Didn’t Bland run a tighter ship than this?

Seth’s voice came across the line. “What’s your interest in Wellington, Linc?”

“I’ll explain later, tell me what you’ve got.”

“A dead guy.”

“What?” He lowered his voice. “Wellington’s dead?”

“Housekeeper found him with a bullet to the brain when she arrived for work.”

“Burglary gone bad? Suicide?”

“No, homicide. From the look of it he knew his killer.”

“When was this?”

“Housekeeper got there at eight o’clock Monday morning. The coroner puts time of death between nine and ten-thirty Sunday night.”

“Fuck.” Linc rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes never leaving Mikayla. She’d capped the cups and stood holding them while the deputy yakked away.

“There’s not much here, but if you give me an hour, I’ll see what I can dig up. The only note in the file is that there’s a suspected tie to the Zecena cartel.”

“Son of a bitch. I had a feeling.”

“Okay, like I said, give me that hour.” Seth paused. “You back on the job?”

He knew Seth was asking about more than his physical recovery. Mikayla walked into the hall and handed him a cup. He was back on the job as long as it took to keep her safe. “Looks like. I’ll call you back later.” He disconnected and slipped the phone in his pocket.

“Girlfriend?”

“No.” Damn. He’d have to tell her. He paused as a thought struck and felt his blood turn to ice. Mikayla would be a suspect. She’d already admitted to being at Wellington’s house at the approximate time of death. She’d tried to break up with him and he hadn’t let her. Love and money, the two strongest motives for murder.

He considered the possibility she might have killed her ex, then rejected it. His sister might be the one with the famously reliable gut instincts, but in this case Linc knew his were dead on. Mikayla could no more have killed Peter Wellington than Linc could have.

When the thought occurred that his gut had failed him before, and that he hadn’t suspected his partner’s betrayal or had any clue that his father was a traitor, he pushed it firmly back. He’d begun to realize that with Donny he’d ignored what he should have attended to. There had been things about his partner that were off, that had stuck him as incongruent at the time, but he’d dismissed them out of loyalty. Or perhaps his irritation with his partner’s ongoing drama. Whatever it was, Linc had left Donny to sort out his own issues and had nearly gotten killed as a result.

His father, though, had been a master at deceit and had caught everyone unaware.

But Mikayla? He wasn’t wrong about her. Now it was even more imperative to tie Lopez and the attack the previous day to the cartel. If Wellington had ties to the Zecena, it was likely his killers did too. The quicker that was established as fact, the quicker Mikayla could be cleared.

He looked around the dingy hall. The antiseptic odor only added to the bleakness. Not here. He couldn’t tell her Wellington was dead in this place. He took a sip of coffee and found it surprisingly good. Making a quick decision, he took Mikayla’s hand and hurried her through the hall and out the glass doors to the parking lot.

She tugged at the hold. “Wait, Linc. Don’t I need to give my statement?”

“Yeah, we’ll take care of that later.” He unlocked the Jeep and put his cup in the holder. Once they were both belted in, he reversed the vehicle out of the space and drove onto West Main Street.

“Where are we going?”

“Not sure.”

Concord wasn’t all that big and he needed to find someplace they could talk without being overheard. He saw a sign and took a quick turn to the right, then whipped the Jeep into a tight U-turn to stop at the curb of a city park. There were a few moms with strollers and kids on the swings, but the rest of the park was deserted. Rounding the hood, he found Mikayla hadn’t moved so he opened her door.

She sat in the seat. That furrow forming again between her brows. “What’s going on?”

“We need to talk. Come with me.” When she didn’t move, he added, “Please.”

She got out of the vehicle slowly, and they walked through the grass to a park bench where Mikayla sat, expression troubled. “You’re starting to make me nervous.”

God, he hated death notifications. They were the worst part of his job, and this one made him sick to his stomach. He sat next to her and took her hand, rubbing a thumb over her knuckles. He was stalling. He cleared his throat and began. “I was on the phone with my brother. He’s also a US Marshal, chief deputy of the LA office. I had him look up Wellington, see if he has a criminal history.”

Her hand clenched in his. “Geez, Linc. I told you—”

“Mikayla, Peter Wellington is dead.”

He didn’t think he’d ever before seen a person’s face actually leach of all color. Already fair, the blood drained from her cheeks, leaving her skin ashen. That reaction alone would have convinced him if he’d had any doubt of her innocence.

“That’s not true. Peter is alive.”

“It is true. I’m sorry.”

She surged to her feet, pulling her hand free, arms crossing defensively in front of her. “No, I saw him three days ago. He’s not dead. Your brother got it wrong.”

He checked the urge to pull her close. The impulse caught him off guard. All he knew was that he’d gotten way past the “don’t get personally involved” mantra that was drilled into the head of any law enforcement officer.

“I don’t know why you’re telling me this when you don’t have proof.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “There’s not much chance it’s a mistake.”

She tightened her arms as if she could somehow cage in her emotions. A muscle twitched in her jaw and her eyes looked dry and hot. “How did this person you think is Peter die?”

Telling himself he was all kinds of an idiot, he gave in to the need and cupped her shoulders, holding firm when she stiffened at his touch. “He was shot. A housekeeper found him Monday morning.” He didn’t think it was possible for her to lose any more color, but now even her lips looked bloodless.

“Oh god.” She let him draw her close and dipped her head forward and laid it against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, resting his cheek on top of her head.

“Peter’s alive, I know he is. Someone got it wrong.”

The words were muffled against his shirt. And he was doubly an idiot to feel a stab of jealousy over a dead man. Of course she was devastated. Even if she’d broken up with him, she’d been engaged to the guy. Most assuredly had sex with him. Linc’s brain shied away from that one. He rubbed a hand slowly up and down her back. “I got you, Mikayla. Hold on to me for a minute.”

She finally unclenched her arms and he pulled her closer when she wrapped them around his waist. He couldn’t help noticing how perfectly she fit with her head nestled under his chin. “You’re positive it’s him?”

“Yes.”

She stood in his embrace for several long minutes, until finally loosening her hold and tilting up her face. The furrow was back between her eyebrows. “You had my fiancé investigated?”

“Ex,” he corrected automatically.

“Why? I told you he didn’t have anything to do with the attack.”

“He might have had something to do with it. In fact, now I’m thinking it’s likely.”

“You’re being mean. I don’t know why you don’t like Peter, but that’s no reason to have him investigated.” Anger brought a touch of color back to her cheeks.

“He was the obvious person to look at when I realized Lopez was working for someone, and probably someone from LA.”

Green eyes glittered, but there were no tears. Reluctantly, he loosened his hold and she stepped back. He wondered if she missed the contact as much as he did.

“You said you saw him the night before you left. What day was that?”

“Sunday, a little before nine.” She cleared her throat. “Is he really dead?”

“Yes.” He knew how this worked. Unless a person actually witnessed a death, all sorts of scenarios suddenly became plausible. There’d been a mistake. Someone had misidentified the body. The loved one would appear any minute now and clear up all the confusion.

She seemed to draw further into herself, her arms again locked in front of her, a protective shield against the pain. “When was he killed?” Her voice quavered on the last word.

“That night. The coroner said between nine and ten-thirty.”

Whatever color had returned to her cheeks disappeared, leaving her looking so pale he thought she might need to sit with her head between her knees to keep her from fainting.

“I’m a suspect, aren’t I? The police will think I did it once they know I was there.”

“You’ll be questioned.”

“Do you think I did it? That I shot him?”

He shook his head slowly. “No.”

“Those men.” She drew a deep breath. “Those men he was arguing with. They must have killed him.” He nodded, and she stared at him with a heartbreaking expression. “If I’d gone in there, into Peter’s office and let them know I was there, they might have left. But I didn’t, and now Peter’s dead.”

“Sweetheart, if you’d done that you’d be dead, too.”

When she raised troubled eyes to his, he knew she had made the connection. “You believe the killers sent Lopez after me.”

“I want you to think carefully. Could either of those men have seen you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“But you saw them.”

“Yes. I’d started down the hall when I heard the argument coming from Peter’s office. There’s a big mirror on the far wall of the room so even though the men were around the corner, I could see them in the mirror.” She sat on the park bench and drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around them, pulling into herself. “I listened for a few minutes, thinking I would go in when there was a pause in the conversation. But then I realized Peter wouldn’t want me seeing him losing control like that. It was so out of character. Plus, the argument scared me. I wouldn’t be able to give Peter his ring back in front of strangers anyway. So I turned around and went back out the kitchen door. I left Peter there to die.”

“There was nothing you could have done. If you’d stayed, you’d be dead, too.” He paused. “Think about it. Leaving saved your life.”

Haunted eyes rose to meet his and he realized she’d reached the other obvious conclusion.

“I’m the only witness then.”

“Yeah, you are. And somehow they knew you were there, because they sent that little shit sitting in the sheriff’s office after you.”

She frowned. “He doesn’t seem particularly good at his job.”

“No, which makes me think he’s someone new and they were testing him. Or he was expendable. He failed and my bet is he knows he’s in trouble. They probably figured if Lopez blew it, you’d come back to LA and they could hit you where they’ve got resources and where it’s easy to keep tabs on you.”

“How’d they know where I am? I don’t see how they could have gotten my credit card number to track me. I hadn’t even told Peter where I was going. I mean, I told him I would be camping in Utah, but not what campground, or even what part of the state.”

“Did you and Peter have tracking apps on your phones?”

Her eyes darkened and stood in sharp contrast to the pinched pallor of her skin. “Of course, that’s how they found me.” She fumbled her phone out of her pocket. After tapping through several screens she shoved it into her pack. “I deleted the app and powered off my phone so I can’t be tracked. Anymore, at least.”

Linc studied her face, then came to an abrupt conclusion. Mikayla was scared and shaken to the core. She needed to regroup. “Let’s go get some lunch. We can come back tomorrow to give your statement. Sheriff Deadeye can wait.”