Kara sucked in a ragged breath. “I don’t understand.”
His face grim, Shane carefully set the postcard on the narrow table beside the door. “This was planned. It had to be. It’s not like you can buy a postcard from Florida in the gift shop.”
“I don’t get it.” She held up her hands as though warding off the truth. “I don’t get any of this. How did someone find me? My records are sealed. Why come after me now? Now that Nick is dead? What’s the point?”
Not once had she ever contacted anyone from her old life. She’d been using the same identity for so long, she barely remembered who she’d been before. How did someone else?
“I don’t know,” Shane said. “This feels off.”
A scorching wave of anger singed her. “I’m contacting the marshals immediately.” She spoke through clenched teeth. “If someone leaked my identity or my location, then the information came from the marshals’ office.”
She was furious at the marshals but more furious at herself. A part of her had known all along she was responsible for Walt’s death. She simply hadn’t wanted to face the truth. If she held on to the anger, she could forestall the grief and shame for another few hours. Anything to alleviate the pain. The guilt was rolling across her like a slow-moving glacier, grinding everything in its path to dust.
“Sit,” Shane ordered gently. “Let’s think about this before we jump to any conclusions.”
“How can we not jump to conclusions?” She threw up her hands. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?”
Only two days ago everything had been normal. Right. Then the bottom had dropped out of her world. She felt as if she might shatter at any moment. She perched on the edge of the sofa and hung her head, praying she’d wake from the nightmare.
A gentle hand touched her chin, and Shane urged her to meet his gaze. His touch was soothing, his understanding reached through her, warming her. She’d always thought being alone was the better choice. There was safety in solitude. At least that’s what she’d thought. A chill swept through her. Having someone share her burden was a luxury she didn’t deserve.
“No matter what happens,” he said, “Walt’s death was not your fault.”
“But—”
“No buts. You are not responsible for someone else’s action.”
Her gut knotted. When she’d heard Nick Amato had died, she’d taken her first full breath in fifteen years. She’d let herself relax her guard. Kodiak Springs was another fresh start and a new beginning. She was going to put down roots this time. She was finally going to have a home.
“Why didn’t he kill me?” she asked in a watery voice. “Why did it have to be Walt?”
This end was inevitable. Every good thing in her life had gone bad, one way or another. It was only a matter of time before this interlude of happiness ended. Every time she found her footing, it seemed like something came along and knocked her back down.
“I don’t know why Walt was killed,” Shane said. “All I know is that something about this doesn’t feel right.
“Walt was killed because he knew me. That’s why. I’m the only connection. This proves it.”
“But why the cloak-and-dagger with the postcard? Why not simply finish the job?”
“To let me know I’m next.”
“To what purpose, though? The more bread crumbs he leaves behind, the more he risks getting caught. This feels personal. Immediate. Who in Nick’s life held that kind of a grudge for fifteen years?”
“What if he’s not dead?” She recognized she was grasping wildly at straws, but she didn’t care. “What if Nick, I don’t know, faked his death and now he’s after me?”
Shane hoisted an eyebrow. “If he was smart enough to fool a prison guard, a medical examiner and an embalmer, he’s not going to be dumb enough to trap himself in Alaska at an isolated resort. He’d need plastic surgery, as well. I studied the case. I saw his picture. You could spot that nose from across a football field.”
His doubt gave her pause. She touched the spot on her forehead where he’d kissed her. For a moment when he held her, she’d thought she saw hurt in his eyes. That didn’t make sense. When they’d argued, he hadn’t seemed the least bit fazed by walking away from her. He’d always been independent and self-contained, so the idea that something she said could hurt him rocked her back a step.
How had everything in her life gotten so off balance? No one was behaving the way she expected them to, least of all Shane.
“Wait a second.” She narrowed her gaze. “I don’t get it. This morning you were certain this was about me. Now we have proof and you’re waffling.”
Why the sudden change in Shane’s opinion?
He threaded his hands behind his head, then lowered his arms to his sides once more. “All I can do is trust my gut. Someone is making a concerted effort to let us know your cover has been blown.”
“He wants to see me suffer before he kills me.”
“Except he already tried to kill you.” Shane gestured toward her leg. “You’ve got the bullet wound to prove it.”
They were both frustrated. Kara felt as though someone had mixed up the pieces of two different puzzles and put them in the same box. They were finding patches of evidence that fit together but also appeared to be totally separate.
There was only one way to make certain they hadn’t missed anything. She had to put all the pieces on the table.
She pushed aside the sorrow that threatened to overwhelm her.
“If this all leads back to Nick Amato,” she said. “Then I need to tell you everything. Not just what you can read in a report or in the papers. All of it.” Well, almost all of it. There were some details that she’d never surrender. Not to anyone. “I want to talk about my case. The one that put me in WITSEC.”
His expression softened. “Even if we discover the why, I’m not sure that’s going to help us find the who. The killer could be anyone at this point.”
“I want to do this.” What was the point of hiding anymore? She’d already lost the person who mattered most in her life. “I should have told you everything. If something from my past is the key to solving Walt’s murder, we have to consider every detail. No matter how small.”
He was wavering. She watched the play of emotions across his face until Sergeant Capital T Taylor prevailed. The officer in him knew she was right—the postcard had forced her hand.
“Okay,” he said with a decided lack of enthusiasm. “We can talk. I’ve read the newspaper reports already. The minute this gets to be too much, we stop. Agreed?”
Immediately after the murder, she hadn’t been able to go a day without seeing Jack’s face. Now weeks went past without the memory surfacing. She feared that if she spoke about what happened that day, Jack would be with her again. In the present.
In her nightmares.
“Agreed.”
Shane moved to the seat across from her. He pulled out his phone and swiped at the screen, then set it on the low coffee table between them. She had an unsettling echo of déjà vu.
Shane pressed a button to start the recording. “Do you give your permission for me to record this?” he asked.
“I do.”
Another time, she might have laughed at the odd turn of phrase.
“Tell me about that day.”
Her appearance in court had been the last time she’d spoken about the case. There’d been no reason to relive that awful day. Attached to the horror and grief was an underlying sense of guilt that she hadn’t completely understood. Not until now.
Kara sucked in a fortifying breath. “We moved around a lot growing up. Me and my mom. Sometimes she’d have a boyfriend, sometimes she didn’t.” Seeing the question on Shane’s face, shame scorched through her. “I never knew my real dad. I don’t even think my mom was certain who he was. When we moved to Jacksonville, Florida, things were mostly the same. Then mom started dating Jack. He repossessed cars for a living. He was good at it. He taught me all the tricks of the trade.”
“Like how to get a car in neutral if you don’t have the key?”
“Yep. He was the only one of mom’s boyfriends that was halfway normal. Didn’t take her long to break up with him. She never liked the nice guys.” The wind had picked up again, and Kara stared at her reflection in the window. “When I turned eighteen, I went to work for Jack. Mostly clerical stuff.” Her stomach knotted. “He repossessed the wrong car one day. Seemed like a regular job. Turned out the car belonged to Nick Amato’s son, and there was something in the car Nick wanted back.”
The harder she fought against the emotions attached to the memories, the deeper they pulled her down. Most times when memories from her past surfaced, they felt disconnected, as though she was looking at another person. In an instant, however, everything abruptly became real and immediate.
“So Nick came looking for the car,” Shane prodded, startling her from her reverie. “What happened then?”
She felt herself slipping into the past and feared if she slipped too far, she’d be stuck in a dead-end life again. Forever this time.
“I’d gone outside to smoke a cigarette.” The nicotine helped alleviate the worry. She’d been arrested for felony shoplifting, and the idea of doing time was weighing heavy on her mind. “They used to keep a Dumpster out back behind a wooden fence. One day the Dumpster just disappeared. I guess someone stopped paying the bill. Didn’t bother us any. We set up a table and a couple of chairs in the spot. It was our unofficial breakroom.”
The air was hot and thick and smelled like putrid garbage and overflowing ashtrays. As though the stench of the missing Dumpster was permanently embedded in the asphalt. The bell over the front door rang, and she heard it open and shut. Instead of stubbing out her cigarette, she took another long drag. Let Jack handle this one. She had other things on her mind.
The public defender had called her that morning with a plea deal. Six months in lockup, one year probation. She was considering the offer. She’d done some time in juvie and knew what to expect. Copping a felony had her worried, though. When she was a kid, she couldn’t wait to be an adult. No more social workers. No more living with her mom. No more fending off her mom’s latest boyfriend. Now, barely four months past her eighteenth birthday, she’d botched it good. Every job application asked the same question: Have you ever been convicted of a felony?
She’d be permanently marked and stuck in a revolving door of dead-end jobs for the rest of her life. She couldn’t work for Jack forever. He was already talking about getting out of the business.
The sound of breaking glass startled her from the sagging bands of plastic that passed for a seat on her rusted chair. Some instinct told her to stay hidden behind the privacy fence.
Jack stumbled backward out the door, his hands raised. She followed his progress through the narrow slats of the fence. Two men stalked his escape. One of them was tall and beefy with flat, lifeless eyes. The other was stockier and short, his hair thinning. He wore khakis and a button-up shirt. He might have been a retiree in a bowling league if not for the gun in his right hand.
Her scream died in her throat and she stood frozen.
Jack stuck out his arm, his palm toward her. He was signaling to her to stay put.
Jack pleaded for his life, the words so jumbled and fast she couldn’t make them out. His fear stretched like a living thing across the distance, surrounding and suffocating her. Everything happened in an instant.
The smaller man aimed the gun at Jack’s head and pulled the trigger.
She pressed both hands against her mouth. Hard. Neither man even glanced in her direction. They must have thought there was still a Dumpster behind the rickety privacy fence.
She recited the tale to Shane without revealing her arrest or the deal she’d made with WITSEC. Chances were, she’d have to be relocated and start all over again. She wanted Shane to remember the person she was now, not the person she’d been all those years ago.
“That’s all of it,” she said, her voice flat. “Turned out, the bald guy was Nick Amato, and he was a suspect in the shooting of a cop in Miami. Only they didn’t have enough evidence to make it stick. They wanted him bad enough to make me a deal.” As part of her agreement to testify and disappear, the shoplifting charges had disappeared, as well. “I entered the program. Earlier this year, Nick had a fatal heart attack. The marshals called a couple weeks later and said the threat level was deemed practically nonexistent. Technically, I can leave the program whenever I want. I even considered doing just that. Nothing would change but the designation on my file. The records remain sealed. My current identity stays in place. Nick was the only one who ever threatened me. End of story.”
“What about the second guy?” Shane asked. “The one who was with Nick when Jack was shot.”
“Nick tried to pin everything on him. Even claimed he was the shooter. Nick planted the gun in his car to sell the story. The police had him wiretapped, though. The guy wasn’t too happy. In exchange for his testimony, the prosecutor lowered his sentence. If he wanted revenge on anyone, it would have been Nick.”
There was no change in Shane’s posture or demeanor. Instead of assuming his interrogation pose, he was relaxed back on his seat, his hands folded in his lap. A far cry from how he’d looked this morning.
That wasn’t exactly fair. He’d appeared sympathetic, almost regretful, when he heard her story. Not that his opinion of her changed anything. Walt was gone and someone who had crawled out of the wreckage of her past life was responsible.
Shane’s expression was intense, though she didn’t think his interest was aimed at her. He appeared to be lost in thought.
“I spoke with the marshal this afternoon,” he said after a lengthy pause. “Your contact in the program. He seemed confident there was no threat to you. I explained the situation and he said he’d check a few sources and get back to me. I haven’t heard back from him yet.”
She’d been transferred to Tom five years ago when her original contact retired. Nothing had altered much. Just the name and number she called when she needed to check in.
“Clearly, this changes everything.” She indicated the postcard. “Someone knows something.”
“Someone knows something. But who? That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? I’ve gone over the hotel guest list and the employee list. The ABI is going over it, as well. No one registered at or working at the resort has thrown up any red flags.”
“What if he’s not staying here?”
“There’s a finite number of places to hide. There’d have to be a source of heat. There’d have to be water and supplies. Unless...”
“Unless he’s got help.”
“That would explain why no one in the hotel has raised any alarms.” He wearily pinched the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. “I’ll have security do another search of the outbuildings. Then I’ll have the security footage reviewed once more. This place is covered with cameras. One of them must have picked up something.”
“I just realized your only help is a passel of suspects.”
“That occurred to me a while ago.” He stifled a yawn. “Everyone is a suspect which means no one can be trusted. I’ve downloaded all the original footage for ABI to search. When I need the staff involved, I have them work in teams. If someone is trying to conceal something, that should make it more difficult.”
“I see the problem.”
Shane stopped the recording and slipped the phone into his pocket. “I’ll give the marshal another call and let him know about the postcard. You’ve been in the program too long to slip up. There’s a chance the leak came from the marshal’s office. Stranger things have happened.”
If there had been a leak in the marshals’ office, did that make it better or worse? She’d been searching through the past few months of her life, trying to think of anything she might have said or done to reveal her identity. Nothing came to mind.
The only change had been Nick Amato’s death which lowered her threat level. Even when she was considered at high risk, she’d only spoken with Tom once or twice a year when she checked in with him. Walt was the only one who knew about Nick’s death besides the marshals.
A dull pain throbbed in her temples. There was no way Walt had anything to do with this. He knew the risk involved better than anyone.
Her headache grew worse. “Walt said the marshals didn’t make mistakes.”
“Everyone messes up.”
That was an understatement. She hadn’t stopped making mistakes in her life, but she’d tried to make fewer stupid mistakes. The kind of mistakes that got people arrested.
Her attention drifted to the mockingly cheerful postcard. She felt boneless and drained. She’d put on a good show, but seeing that card had bled the fight from her. First Jack and now Walt.
A nightmare thought struck her. What if something happened to Shane? At the moment he was the lone law-enforcement officer nearby.
He ran one hand along his beard and drew his fingers to a point. “Maybe Nick had a relative no one knew about. Another son or a brother.”
Her hands trembled and she curled them into fists.
“If he did,” she said. “They never called him. They never wrote him a letter. The marshals monitored everyone who made contact with Nick while he was in prison. According to them, at the time of Nick’s death, he hadn’t had a visitor in over three years.”
She massaged her temples. The questions just kept circling and circling. Walt had always been protective of her. Had the killer come for her and stumbled upon Walt instead? How much danger was Shane in?
“Well,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “We’re not going to figure it out tonight. The best thing we can both do is get some rest and tackle this in the morning with a clear head.”
“Easier said than done.”
“I know. I don’t blame you for being scared. I’m doing everything I can to monitor the situation. I’ve got security in place. I doubt this guy will make a move without an escape plan, and that’s at least another day out.”
He did look exhausted. He was trapped here without any backup and carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Everyone in the borough depended on him.
Who did Shane lean on when he needed a break?
Adding to his burden, he had the safety of the people at the resort to think about. There’d been a slim chance the murderer hadn’t taken refuge at the resort. The postcard changed everything.
Now they were faced with a resort full of suspects—any one of them could be the killer, and they were all in danger.
Shane’s words kept ringing in her ears. Is there anything you like about me?
That was the problem—she liked too much about him. If her cover was blown, she’d have to start over again. That meant a new name and a new location. That meant leaving everything behind, including Shane.
The only way she’d have a secure future was by erasing the past completely once more. This was his home and his community. She couldn’t drag him into the danger and uncertainty of her future. Their breakup was for the best and he deserved better. Except there was a heaviness in her chest that hadn’t been there before.
He’d closed his eyes and rested the back of his head on the chair. On impulse, she circled around him and placed her hands on his shoulders.
His eyes startled open.
She swept one hand gently down his face, guiding them closed once more.
The space between them dissolved. She kneaded the tense muscles of his shoulders, then pressed her thumbs against the tight cords of his neck. He whistled a soft sigh through his teeth.
She slid her fingers into the soft strands of his hair and massaged his scalp. The scent of his hair teased her senses. He smelled like the outdoors, of winter days. She thought back to all the hours she’d spent on the dog sleds at Denali. There were days when she didn’t see another person. Days when the dogs would curl up to rest and the only sound had been the wind whistling through the pine trees. Those had been good times. Peaceful times.
She slid her hands to his shoulders once more. His head was tipped back though he wasn’t as relaxed as he appeared. There were lines around the edges of his mouth marking the quiet burden of concern he carried with him constantly.
He crossed one arm over his chest and caught her fingers, stilling her hand. “It’s all right.” He carefully tugged her around to stand before him. “You don’t have to convince me of anything.”
Her face heated and she stepped back. “I know how hard you’re working. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that sooner.”
He pushed himself to sit up straight. “It’s been a long day for everyone.”
“Yes.”
Not since the trial had she told anyone about what happened to Jack that day. Even when Jack was facing death, he’d been looking out for her. He’d tried to protect her knowing he couldn’t save himself. His final gesture had been one of sacrifice.
What had Walt been thinking in his final moment?
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t hear his words. Just the echoes of his voice. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing her brain to recall something. Even a single word. Anything that might give them a sliver of a clue.
“There’s something else. I’m not sure how to explain it.”
She tried to wrap her head around what she wanted to say. She kept seeing Jack’s face but Walt’s voice. Why?
“What’s that?” Shane nudged her.
“Walt and the other man were arguing.” She closed her eyes. “It didn’t sound as though either of them had the upper hand, you know?”
His forehead creased. “I’m not sure I do.”
She opened and closed her hands, reaching for the right words. “When Nick was pointing the gun at Jack, he was confident. He was in control. Jack was scared. He was pleading.”
Her voice caught and she bit the inside of her cheek to hold back the rush of emotion.
“I think I understand what you’re saying,” Shane said. “Walt’s voice sounded angry instead of afraid.”
“Exactly! Walt was mad, sure. But he didn’t sound scared.”
Then again, Walt had worked with the marshals at one time in his life. He’d had professional training in dealing with dangerous situations. Which still didn’t explain the anger. She’d expect Walt to cajole or pacify—not escalate the situation.
“I’ll make a note of what you said. It might be important for intent.” Shane started toward the door, then stopped and pivoted. “Are you okay? You’ve been through a lot already, and that’s a lot to dig up.”
For a precious moment she allowed herself to imagine that things were different. That she was different. She allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to be loved by Shane. He embraced the town with his whole heart. What would it be like to have him love her the same way?
When she feared she was sinking too deep into the fantasy, she stepped away. “I’m tired.”
The past was never really the past. That was the one constant in her life. Whenever it looked like things were going well, disaster struck. Shane was a part of her life she’d treasured, and she wanted to keep it that way. She didn’t want to see his disappointment if he discovered the whole truth about her.
She’d already seen the doubt in his eyes when she spoke about the WITSEC program. The more they dug into her case, the more likely he was to find out about her own criminal history. She didn’t want to risk losing Shane’s trust, not when they were trapped with limited resources.
“Rest is the best medicine,” he said. “Is there anything I can get you? Anything you need?”
Though she hadn’t seen Walt killed, when she closed her eyes, she pictured the scene from all those years ago—only it was Walt’s face instead of Jack’s.
She clasped her hands before her. “Would you stay until I fall asleep?”
Asking him was one of the hardest things she’d ever done. If he refused, she’d be humiliated. She held her breath, her heart beating as hard as it had when the killer was shooting at them.
“Yes,” he replied.
Her pulse spiked. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. I’ve got about ten thousand emails to sort through on my phone. I needed a chance to catch up anyway.”
She’d gotten herself worked up for nothing. There was no great concession on his part. He’d have been doing the same thing right next door. No wonder he’d agreed. Still, she appreciated his presence.
She crossed the room to the bedroom suite, then grasped the handle to close the door behind her. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
The moment her head hit the pillow, she felt as though she was falling and falling and falling.
She’d survived a lot of things in her life, but she didn’t know if she’d survive being the cause of Walt’s death.
Shane lingered in the hallway outside Kara’s door the following morning. She’d fallen asleep the previous evening almost immediately. He wasn’t surprised. She was physically and emotionally drained. He’d arranged for security outside her door when he wasn’t available.
Now that they had proof the killer was at the resort, the safety of Kara and the other guests was paramount. Though he believed Kara was the only target in true danger, he had a responsibility for everyone’s safety. He’d spoken to his stepbrother and Graham had alerted the guests of the danger. They’d instructed the guests to use extra caution and to travel in pairs. Beyond that, there wasn’t much more he could do.
The hotel security guard had brought a folding chair and a book and stationed himself facing the door. Shane recognized him from town as Ryan Redington, though everyone called him Red. He was in his thirties with a boyish face and a wispy ginger beard that he’d been trying to grow since he was nineteen.
Red flipped the page and glanced at Shane. “Do you need something?”
What did he need? Why was he still standing here?
“No, um, you’ve got my number if there’s any trouble.”
“Yep.”
“Okay.”
He was tired of operating on the defensive. Jeff had more resources back at the station, but Shane had been doing research on the computer in the business center. He’d wanted to see what he could dig up on Nick Amato and his “associate.” See if there’d been any updates. Given his current isolation, he was operating on a trust-but-verify basis from now on.
The business center was located in a deserted wing off the first floor. In summer the cavernous room hosted retirement parties and wedding receptions. The business center was usually deserted. While guests liked to know they had a printer at their disposal, they rarely took advantage of the perk.
Shane was punching in the key code for the door when he caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye. Keeping his head bent over the keypad, he pretended he hadn’t noticed.
After counting to ten, he turned in the direction of the movement. Since he wasn’t exactly light on his feet or inconspicuous, he decided to give whoever it was a head start.
He turned the corner and followed the hallway to the exit sign. He’d explored every inch of this hotel as a kid. While the security camera footage had been updated from video cassettes to DVDs to digital files, the layout was the same. There were plush carpeted hallways for the guests and tile corridors behind the scenes to make it easy to move staff and supplies discreetly from one end of the resort to the other.
Stepping through the metal door to the staff area was like entering a different world. The air was chilly instead of a comfortable seventy-two degrees, and his boots echoed off the tile instead of sinking into soft pile carpeting.
A serviceable open staircase led to the penthouse suites on the third floor and to the service corridors in the basement, one floor down.
While much of the rest of the building was covered by security cameras, he didn’t spot any in the stairwell. There hadn’t been any growing up, either. Something he and his friends had exploited more than once to sneak out.
Acting on instinct, he took the stairs down to the service corridors. The lights were on, and a rush of nostalgia took him by surprise. The hotel had been remodeled numerous times over the years. Down here, nothing had changed. The walls were painted the same industrial beige and the air had the same loamy basement scent he recalled from his youth.
Even the echo of his boots on the tile floor was familiar.
When he reached the center of the hotel there was a ramp to his right, which he knew led to the kitchen.
He turned left and took the stairs to the lobby. This area was the same. There was a security camera aimed at the front desk. Nothing covered the lobby exit.
This had been the best way to sneak out of the hotel when he was growing up. Back then, the cameras weren’t quite as state-of-the-art as they were now, but they’d been in the same places.
Mark, the resort manager, glanced up. “May I help you, sir?” he inquired in a tone that indicated he’d like to do nothing of the sort.
“Did you see someone come through here a moment ago?”
“Yes.”
“And?” Shane prodded. “Did you recognize the person?”
“I should hope so. It was my assistant, Marie. She was delivering sundries to one of the guests.”
Sure enough, a slight woman in a maid’s uniform appeared to the right of Mark and glanced at Shane expectantly.
“Is there something wrong, sir?”
“No. Nothing.” He drummed his fingers on the counter. “Did you discover who left the envelope for Dr. Riley last evening, Mark?”
The corners of his mouth turned down. “No. There are blind spots in the hotel.”
“You seem familiar with the blind spots.”
“Most of the hotel employees grew up in town. Their parents worked here before them. I’d say almost everyone in Kodiak Springs is aware of the blind spots in this hotel.” Mark bent his head and typed something onto the screen before him. “I recall hearing stories of your own exploits, Sergeant Taylor.”
Shane bounced his fist off the counter. “The tales of my exploits are greatly exaggerated.”
A slight smile appeared on the perpetually stoic manager’s face. “I’m sure they are, sir.”
Shane pivoted toward the stairs once more. What was wrong with him? He didn’t have time to chase staff around the hotel. Dissolving into paranoia wasn’t going to help anything.
Retracing his steps, he returned to the door for the staff exit once more and paused. There was still quite a bit of activity in the lobby. People drifted from the restaurant to the ornate bar. In warmth and safety, they watched as the blizzard raged outside the window. Edison bulb lights strung around the outdoor summer patio waved wildly in the wind.
He studied the myriad of faces, wondering who in the crowd might have a vendetta to settle. No one jumped out at him. They all looked wealthy and relaxed. Exactly as you’d expect someone to look at a seventeen-hundred-dollar-a-night resort.
He went back to the business center and typed his credentials into the computer. He sent an email to Jeff asking him to look up information in the national data exchange, then settled in for the long haul.
He spent the next two hours chasing links down endless rabbit holes. He’d done plenty of searches on Nick Amato already. Now he wanted to know more about the day of the killing.
The pad to his right was soon filled with pages of notes. He found nothing about Kara beyond a vague reference to a witness. True to their word, the DA had kept Kara’s name out of the papers. The killing of a repo man in Florida fifteen years ago had barely rated a story on the third page of the Florida Times-Union.
There was, however, an interview with a woman who described herself as the deceased’s girlfriend. Shane made a note of the name. Kara had mentioned that her mom had already broken up with Jack, but some people liked the attention of the news cameras. The woman had made a plea for donations to cover the cost of funeral expenses. There were no pictures of the funeral. If there had been, would he have found Kara in the crowd? What had she looked like, all those years ago? How much had she changed?
She was still holding something back. He didn’t need his detective skills to realize Kara was ashamed of her past.
There was nothing new to discover about Nick Amato. He’d been nothing more than a low-level thug for most of his life. Several untimely deaths had moved him up the ranks until he controlled most of the sketchier neighborhoods in Jacksonville.
Nick had kept a fairly low profile until a dustup in Miami. An undercover cop had been killed in the crossfire of a turf war. Just like that, Nick had gone from lowlife to the big time. He eluded arrest for five years before his son’s car was repossessed—with a number of stolen guns in the trunk.
Shane jumped to the story of Nick’s funeral, which only “a handful of mourners attended.” He studied the scattering of faces. It appeared as though only a couple of reporters had covered it.
On a hunch, he searched for the name of the woman who’d claimed she was Jack’s girlfriend at the time of his death. The one who’d been collecting donations for the funeral. Six months after Jack’s murder, one Ms. Elena Williams pled guilty to felony theft by conversion after the money she’d collected never actually found its way to the funeral home.
He’d seen a lot of despicable people in his time as a trooper, and even he was shocked by people who stole in the name of the dead.
The woman was given two years in prison and eight months’ probation. That might explain why Kara had been willing to enter the program alone at such a young age. If Ms. Williams was her mother, she didn’t sound like much of a parent.
Shane added the information about Ms. Williams to his growing stack of notes. With a yawn, he arched his back and stretched, lifting his fisted hands above his head.
For old time’s sake, when he left the business center he took the tunnel again. Everything he’d learned over the past few days had made him melancholy. Maybe it was time to sweep some of the cobwebs out of his head. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He wasn’t powerless. Any echoes of his childhood were just that—echoes.
He’d crafted a life where he was in control at all times. He did his best at his job, and when things didn’t turn out the way he wanted, he let it go. Most things, anyway. Some calls stayed with him. Mostly the domestic disturbance calls. They always came from the same houses. He always went through the same procedures. He always said the same prayers.
At least he was there to defuse the situations. The people he worried most about were the ones who didn’t make the call.
At the bottom of the steps, he hesitated. Maybe he’d swing by the kitchen and see if he could snatch a dessert, like he’d done when he was a kid. He knew just where cake was stored.
He’d made it as far as the landing when the corridor was plunged into darkness. His senses on alert, he reached for the flashlight on his utility belt.
Footsteps pounded and he turned toward the noise. His flashlight illuminated a cone of area before him. A muzzle flash and a blast sounded the instant before the wall exploded near his head.
A sharp pain stung his cheek and he dove away. A second gunshot reverberated through the corridor. Gauging his route purely on instinct, he jogged forward, then ducked into a narrow alcove.
Feeling like a rat in a maze, he unholstered his weapon. Without a clear line of sight, he wasn’t risking a blind shot.
Footsteps sounded again and he exited the safety of the alcove. The echoes of his own boots along with his harsh breathing made it difficult to hear anything else.
The pop of a third gunshot indicated the shooter was moving away from him. Keeping low, he pressed his flashlight against the wall and used it to gauge his direction.
When he reached a second alcove, he groped along the wall until he found the switch plate. The sudden shock of light temporarily blinded him. His gun outstretched, he searched the area. He crept forward and peered up the open staircase.
A door slammed in the distance. His blood racing, he pounded his flashlight against the wall in frustration. There was no way he’d be able to catch up. Even knowing it was futile, he searched the stairway before all the thoughts fled from his head but one: Kara.