Chapter 19

Thirty minutes later, Langston turned into a new development that included single-family homes and town houses. Mixed feelings gripped Connie. She had just gone house hunting with her sister recently; who’d have thought she’d soon need to do the same for herself? Riding through the neighborhood also made her think about Richard. All of this craziness in her life started at the bank and with him, her loan officer.

Don’t think. Just try to relax, Connie told herself. She’d drive herself nuts if she kept replaying everything in her mind.

After a few more turns through the neighborhood, Langston pulled into the driveway of a home a little bigger than hers. The overhead door of the two-car attached garage lifted, and he drove in and parked. It had been a quiet ride to his place, and even now, no one spoke. Connie was thankful for that. After leaving her home, she wasn’t really in the mood to talk, though she would have to at some point.

Once the overhead door went back down, Langston left them in the SUV and went into the house.

Trace didn’t move. His head was back against the seat, and he stared straight ahead. If he was like her, he was probably emotionally and mentally exhausted. But what if something else was wrong?

“Trace,” she said, concern bubbling inside her. He didn’t respond, but he’d heard her. He rubbed his hand up and down her arm slowly, seeming to be in no hurry to move.

Connie released a long, exhausted breath and laid her head back on his chest. The steady beat of his heart was almost soothing, or at least it would be if she could stop thinking. If she could stop thinking about how afraid she’d been when she dropped out of the bedroom window, maybe she could relax.

Despite the warm temperature in the car, a cold chill scurried down her spine. Memories of waking up to a burning house formed in her mind. No one should be awakened from a deep sleep like that, disoriented and scared.

Then there was Trace. Connie hadn’t missed the worry in his eyes right before he went out the window. Had he honestly thought she wouldn’t follow him? Little did he know, she would follow him to the moon if necessary.

She trusted him.

Trusted him more than she had ever trusted another man.

“Thank you for saving my life tonight,” she said in the quietness of the SUV.

He placed a kiss on top of her head. “There’s nothing in the world I wouldn’t do for you.”

“What made you decide to leave the house once we were outside? Why didn’t we wait for the fire department?”

“When I’m on protection duty, I try to think of worst-case scenarios and plan from there. Not that I had planned for what we just went through.” He shook his head. “That—that caught me totally off guard. On some of our assignments, especially the ones involving abusive spouses or stalkers, I try to think like the would-be attacker.”

“I don’t understand.”

Connie admired all of their security specialists, and she was sure she didn’t know half the craziness they had to deal with on assignments. Sure, there were debriefings, especially after certain assignments. Yet she wouldn’t be surprised to learn that their team probably kept some things to themselves.

“For instance, the fire tonight was started by somebody. If I set a house on fire intentionally, I’d want to see if the people got out. I’d want to know if the coroners had to be called in.

“So with those thoughts, I formed a plan. I didn’t see anyone in the backyard. So, at least for a little while, whoever set the fire will think that you’re still in there. Or that we’re still in there.”

“Dear God. How do people live with themselves when they do stuff like that? I just...I just can’t wrap my brain around that. Now there’s a chance that my neighbors will think I’m dead. That I burned up in the fire.”

“Maybe. Or they’ll think you weren’t home, especially if they don’t know your car is in the garage. We’re going to need to contact the Feds on the bank-robbery case, or I’ll get Langston to do it. Either way, they need to know what’s going on, since I’m ninety-nine percent sure that fire is connected to the robbers. But there’s also a chance that it could be connected to the gray-eyed dude. I was hoping to hear from Indie by now.”

“Trace, it hasn’t been that long since you texted her, and it’s also early in the morning.”

“I know.” He shrugged. “Hopefully, she knows that guy’s name and can give me some information on him. I don’t want her involved in this mess. So if I can get that information without having the Feds contact her, it’ll be better.”

“Okay.” Connie yawned noisily before she could cover it up. “Sorry.”

“No need to be sorry. Let’s get you inside.”

“Trace, if it was the bank robbers who set the fire, that means they know who I am.”

He released a long sigh and brushed some of her hair away from her face. “Yeah, I know.”

“How is that possible? I just don’t understand any of this. Why me? Why come after me? Do they know that I can partially ID one of them?”

She rattled off one question after another, getting angrier by the minute. Why was any of this happening to her, and when would it be over?

Trace told her about the call he’d gotten from Langston right before the fire. Neither of them knew enough to make any assumptions, but Trace promised to get answers.

Connie rubbed her temples, feeling overwhelmed with what little they did know. “Assuming that this fire is attached to the robbers or the guy at the fashion show, I want to know how they got my information.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m planning to find out.”

After getting Connie settled into his brother’s guest room, Trace headed downstairs to the main level. When he strolled into the kitchen, Langston was sitting on one of the bar stools, typing on his laptop.

“Do you have anything stronger than beer in this place?” Trace asked as he perused the inside of the refrigerator.

“There’s rum in the cabinet over the coffee maker.”

Trace found the half-empty bottle and grabbed a glass. Instead of pouring two fingers’ worth, he doubled the amount.

“Rough night, huh?” Langston said without looking up from his computer screen.

Trace gulped half the glass of liquor, slammed his eyes shut and winced at the burn going down his throat. “You could say that,” he croaked. “Damn, this stuff is strong.”

“That’s the good stuff. Better to sip it than to slam it back.”

“Now you tell me.”

Trace dropped into one of the chairs at the small glass table and held his head. He was dog-tired, but he needed answers before he could get any sleep.

“I thought you said you were going to ride the bachelor train until the rails wear out.”

Trace glanced at his brother. Yeah, he remembered that conversation a few years ago when Langston was having woman problems. They had both agreed that the single life was the best life.

“What makes you think that’s not still the case?” Trace asked and took another sip of the dark liquor. It burned like hell going down his throat.

“Any blind person could see that you’re in love with Connie. I’ve never seen you look all googly-eyed at anyone. At least not the way you were doing earlier.”

Trace chuckled. “Googly-eyed. Seriously?”

When he and Connie had entered the house, Trace formally introduced her to Langston, even though they’d met briefly a few months ago at the office.

“I don’t do googly eyes,” Trace responded weakly. He was crazy about Connie, but was surprised his brother could tell just from the brief interaction. “Besides, she just went through a traumatic experience. I’m worried about her and want to make sure she’s all right.”

Langston shook his head. “Nah, bro. Tell it to someone who doesn’t know you. You’re in love with that woman.” He lifted his hand when Trace started to speak. “Save it. You don’t have to defend or deny it. I was just making an observation. Nothing you can say will make me think otherwise. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with you being in love. I like her.”

“You don’t even know her.”

His brother’s opinion of Connie meant a lot, he admitted to himself, and Trace looked forward to introducing her to the rest of the family. When he did, it would be the first—and only, if he had his way—time that he would introduce them to a woman he was serious about.

“I might not know her well, but I saw how she handled herself tonight. She’s a tough woman. I also noticed the same sickening you’re-my-everything expression in her eyes when she looked at you.” He shivered dramatically and made an expression of mock disgust. “I’m not sure what she sees in you, but she gawked at you like you hung the moon or something.”

A slow grin spread across Trace’s mouth. “Don’t hate, man. It ain’t a good look on you.”

Langston laughed and grabbed the bottle of rum. He poured two fingers’ worth and sat in the chair across from Trace.

“Tell me about her,” he said, shocking the heck out of Trace. “I know she’s the VP of Operations at LEPA, but what else do you know about her?”

Out of all his siblings, he and Langston were the closest. Not just because they were less than two years apart, but because they used to do everything together. But Trace could count on one hand how many times they’d discussed women they were interested in.

“She’s...amazing. Tough, yet gentle. Hardworking. But knows how to have fun. Sweet. But don’t take crap from nobody. Independent...well, she’s independent and stubborn as hell.”

They both laughed.

For the next few minutes, Trace told him about his and Connie’s relationship without sharing too much. The more Trace talked about her, the more he felt his heart swell with love. He wasn’t sure exactly when his feelings for her had grown more intense, but he couldn’t imagine not having her in his life now.

“I don’t know, man.” Trace took a sip of his drink, struggling to explain how this pint-size woman had snagged his heart. “I just... I like the way she makes me feel. Like I’m invincible, powerful, and like she needs me even though she’s self-sufficient. She also listens, even if I’m not really saying anything. If that makes any sense.”

Langston nodded as if he knew exactly what Trace was talking about. His brother had only been in one serious relationship that Trace could remember. When it ended, Langston had changed, gotten harder and more guarded. He dated on occasion, but never anything serious.

“I’m also comfortable with her. It’s like we’ve known each other forever. Like she’s always been a part of me.” Trace shrugged, unable to explain it any better than that.

“I get it.” Langston took another sip of his drink. “I’m heading to bed soon. Oh, and I forgot to tell you that I shot Max a quick text while we were outside of Connie’s house.”

“He knows about the fire?”

Langston nodded. “I told him that you think it’s arson and might be connected to the bank robbers. Like you, he thinks it’s a good idea for Connie to lie low.”

“Once we figure out who the man is, Connie can give the info to the Feds who are overseeing the bank-robbery case. Actually, you can relay the info,” Trace said.

“Nah, let Connie or Max do it.”

“Why can’t you contact them? I assume they’re working out of the same office as you.”

Langston didn’t say anything for a few seconds as he slowly slid his finger down the side of his glass. “Agents don’t like when other agents get involved in their cases. Since I know Connie, they might see it as me trying to take over.”

“That’s crazy. You guys are a team.” Trace thought about those he’d served with while in the navy. He had no doubt if he needed any of them, for anything, all it would take was a phone call. They all understood the importance of being there for each other.

“Some Federal agents see each other as team members. Others? Not so much. Their main goal is getting to the top by any means. They aren’t trying to be friends. Nor do they want to take the chance that another agent will make them look bad. Those individuals see other agents as competition.”

Trace had a feeling there was a story there, but knew his brother probably wouldn’t share it.

“Is that why you’ve been thinking more about us moving the timeline up on starting our private investigation business?”

He and Langston had been discussing going into business together for years. Since they were problem solvers by nature and enjoyed helping people, PI work would be a natural fit.

“Yeah, partly. Mainly, I’m ready for a career change, and I’m looking forward to us building something of our own. I was thinking that we should talk to Trinity. There might be a way for us to do some type of partnership, since both businesses would complement the other.”

“I think that’s a great idea. Knowing her, she’d be all for some type of collaboration.”

Langston slammed back the rest of his drink. “It’s four thirty in the morning. I need to get some sleep, but what’s next as it relates to Connie and the fire? You sounded positive that the model had something to do with it.”

“I don’t know for sure. It’s just a gut feeling. That reminds me.” Trace dug into the front pocket of his tuxedo pants and pulled out his cell phone. “Can I use the computer in your office? I want to watch the restaurant video again. I’ll be able to see it better on a bigger device.”

“Go ahead.”

They headed down the hall to Langston’s home office that played double duty as an art studio. Growing up, he could always be found sketching or doing paintings. Now he was as good as a professional artist. Trace didn’t know why his brother didn’t want to sell any of his work.

After Langston logged in to the computer, he moved and let Trace sit at the desk. Minutes later, Trace had pulled up the copy of the video that Nancy had given him.

“What are we looking for?” Langston asked as he watched the video from over Trace’s shoulder.

“I’m not sure yet, but days after we were at the restaurant, Connie realized her wallet was missing. I have a hunch.”

They watched the video footage, and the second time through it, Trace stopped it midway.

“Did you see that?” he asked his brother and pointed at the gray-eyed man. “Her purse strap is sliding down her shoulder and the bag itself is kind of sitting on the floor next to her.”

“Looks like dude actually bumped into her. He’s close enough to reach inside her bag.” Langston tapped Trace’s shoulder. “Move and let me try something.”

Trace switched places with him and watched as his brother opened another program on the computer.

“I might be able to reduce the video speed.” Langston typed in a couple of commands. Within minutes, they were watching the footage in slow motion.

A few minutes in, Trace had his answer. “Son of... I guess we know what happened to her wallet.” The guy was smooth in slipping his hand in and out of her purse. If Langston hadn’t slowed down the video, they would’ve missed it again. “That means he could’ve easily gotten her address from her driver’s license.”

Langston nodded. “Now all you need is his name.”

“Yeah, that’s where Indie comes in at. I texted her, but haven’t heard back yet. If I don’t hear from her soon, then I’ll contact the fashion-show organizers to see what they know about our mystery man. Once I have his name, then I’ll forward it to Maxwell. Not sure if he can do much, but the cops can take him in for questioning regarding the fire, if nothing else.”

“True, and be sure to send the info to the agents on the robbery case,” Langston added.

“I will.”

Langston stretched his arms out and yawned. “All right, man. If there’s nothing else, I’m calling it a—”

“Wait. Before you shut your computer down, do you have access to a database that contains pictures of prison and gang tattoos? Max gave me a copy of the sketch that Connie helped with.” Trace dug the piece of paper out of his wallet.

“You don’t think the agents on the case already looked through the catalog for a match?” Langston asked as he opened the software.

“I don’t know, but I’d feel better if I went through it myself. Actually, I’m thinking maybe you and I both should look through it. This’ll be good practice for when we start our PI business.”

“I guess, but I’m going to need coffee. Lots of coffee. Want some?”

“Sure.”

Two hours later, the sun was peeking through the blinds, signaling that it was officially morning. They were still camped out in the office, and Trace was glad they’d finally made progress.

“It’s safe to say it’s a gang tattoo.”

Trace was impressed that Connie had been able to give enough details to the sketch artist. The partial drawing wasn’t exact, but the little they had was close enough for them to tell that it could be a match.

“More specifically, it’s the One-Seven Crew tattoo. They’re one of the most dangerous gangs on the West Coast. They mostly reside in Los Angeles, and as far as I know, there’s been no activity here in town.”

“Maybe they’re moving into Vegas territory,” Trace reasoned.

“Maybe, and the sketch of the tat is slightly different than this one.” Langston pointed at the colorful photo of the tattoo on the computer screen. “See this part of the tattoo, where the capital N is dangling from the right side of the triangle?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it’s the symbol for a neophyte, a gang member still needing to prove himself. The string of bank robberies might be part of the initiation process. The guy’s tat is probably not even completed yet.”

Trace shook his head. “You trying to tell me that this crew would let him get a tattoo before he’s even all the way in?”

Langston shrugged and sat back in his seat. “Crazier things than that happen in gangs, man.”

It felt like Trace’s head was going to explode. Partly because he was exhausted. The other reason was because he feared Connie was now on a gang member’s radar.

“You know, I’m thinking...” Langston said as he swiveled back and forth in his desk chair. “If the bank robberies are a part of some initiation, the One-Seven Crew aren’t going to want any trouble. If one of these neophytes gets caught in the process, the gang bosses might claim no affiliation.”

“Yeah, and...?” Trace wasn’t sure where Langston was going with his thought process.

“And that might be why the bank teller was killed. Those who robbed the bank are probably lying low since authorities know the teller helped them. Now that she’s dead, that’s one loose string tied up.”

A sense of foreboding lodged inside Trace’s chest. “You’re saying that Connie might be a loose end?”

“Maybe, but I’d bet my paycheck that no one in the One-Seven knows Connie exists, except the guy she made eye contact with. This man is probably taking heat for getting the bank teller involved in the first place, which was why he had to off her.

“He’s not going to want his crew to know that some other woman at the bank might’ve saw his tat. Because if his crew found out, they’d kill his ass before authorities could get a hold of him.”

“So for this neophyte, Connie is a loose end,” Trace said again, more to himself than to his brother. “Even if he doesn’t know whether or not she can ID him. He can’t take that risk.”

Langston was tapping his fingers on the desktop. “True, but why was he modeling? Assuming it’s the same guy.”

Trace’s head was spinning. He didn’t know enough about gangs, organized crime or any of that. All he knew was that his woman was in danger.

“Damn, this is messed up,” he said and started pacing the floor in front of the desk, trying to process all that he had learned so far.

Langston brought up a good point, though. If the guy thought Connie or anyone might’ve seen his tat or could identify him in any way, why was he modeling? Nothing was making sense.

Unless the bank robbery has nothing to do with the gray-eyed model.

There were plenty of gray-eyed people in the world. Granted, that guy’s were the most unusual shade of gray that Trace had ever seen. Still...

“Something that still has me stumped is that the model didn’t have a tattoo,” Trace said. “I’m thinking he might just be some chump who had seen Connie at the restaurant before and wanted to get close to her. He didn’t have a tat, so—”

“You might not have seen the tat. That doesn’t mean he didn’t have one,” Langston countered. “There’s all types of makeup or other methods that models and actors use to change their appearance. Hell, for all we know, the gray eyes could be contacts.”

“Aw, hell.” Trace gripped his head and growled as frustration charged through his body. That was not what he wanted to hear. If this guy set Connie’s house on fire and went around camouflaging his looks, they were screwed.

Trace’s cell phone vibrated on the desk, and he reached over and grabbed it. Glancing at the screen, he saw that it was a text from Indie.

His name is Daniel Atkinson.