Heather needed a plan.
But after a sleepless night of playing the scene with Jeremy over and over in her mind, she was no closer to figuring out how to flush the perp into the open, make an arrest and avenge Kit’s murder than she had been a week before, while lying in a hospital bed. Still, at least she was mobile now.
Her weak knee trembled and nearly gave out completely as she fell into the counter.
Well, mostly mobile.
She nursed her favorite mug filled with coffee as she settled into a chair at the table. Kit’s notes on the case were strewn across the top, and she flipped two pages over, scanning for anything that might be the clue to break the case.
Of course, it was useless.
She’d been over these notes a hundred times in her mind, and every time she ended up in the same place. Absolutely nowhere.
There was only the disappeared Mick Gordon. And the elusive Mr. F. Or maybe Mrs. F. Either way, Heather was no closer to figuring out who F might be.
Mick had had a phone number, but F didn’t. Was that because Kit knew him, and didn’t need to write down his number?
Unlikely.
Heather plunged her fingers into her freshly washed hair and rubbed her scalp, hoping to stimulate a brilliant idea. Or maybe just forget the miserable argument she’d had with Jeremy the night before.
Don’t think about him. Think about Kit.
It had become her mantra to get through the night. It wasn’t working very well, but she was trying.
“How do I draw out the person who wants me dead?” she asked the empty chair across from her. “Stand on the street corner and hope he drives by?” She heaved a loud sigh. “Nope. That’s not going to work.”
She rolled her neck several times and pulled the lapels of her fuzzy, green robe closer to her chin.
“Who might get word to him without it sounding like I’m trying to draw him out?”
Nothing. Nothing. And then suddenly the seed of an idea.
Slowly she picked up her phone and called the sheriff’s office. “May I speak with Deputy Gonzales, please?” The young deputy who’d guarded her for Jeremy was her best first step.
“One moment, please,” said the receptionist on the other end of the line.
While the line lay silent for several seconds, she tried not to wonder if Jeremy was there, sitting at his desk, maybe seeing a blinking light on his phone.
“This is Gonzales.”
“Hi.” Her throat suddenly felt full and she cleared it loudly. “This is Heather Sloan. Do you remember me?”
“Um, of course, Ms. Sloan,” said the younger man. He had a distinct way of making her feel old. “Is there something you need? Latham isn’t in this morning.”
Her hand holding the phone shook slightly, so she tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder and clasped her hands on the table. “I was calling to speak with you, actually.”
“You were?” He sounded confused, and so young.
“Yes. Do you remember the man that Jeremy—I mean, Deputy Latham—booked, named Geoff Conner?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Could you possibly tell me who his lawyer is?”
He didn’t speak for what felt like ages. “Latham said that I shouldn’t give you any information.”
That rat!
How had he known she’d go to Gonzales?
Smiling and hoping he could hear it in her voice, she said, “Please. I just wanted to check into a few things with the lawyer. You know Geoff was outside my home when he and Latham got into that fight, right? Since he’s been released, I just want to know if he’s still in the area.”
“I suppose that would be okay. Just a second.” He put the phone down and she heard papers rustling. When he picked it back up, he said, “The lawyer that came in and bailed him out was Lee Cooper.”
Tempted to ask for the lawyer’s phone number, she opened her mouth, then closed it quickly. “Thank you, Deputy Gonzales. You’ve been very helpful.”
“My pleasure, ma’am. And if you wouldn’t mind, please don’t mention to Latham that you got the name from me.”
“Of course not,” she said before hanging up.
Quickly looking up the number for the lawyer, Heather called his office.
“Cooper, Cooper and Grabalski. How may I direct your call?” said a nasal voice on the other end.
“Lee Cooper, please,” Heather said in her most authoritative tone. “This is urgent.”
“Are you a client of Mr. Cooper?”
“This is Special Agent Sloan with the FBI.”
“One moment, Ms. Sloan.”
Heather held her breath as she waited. Her plan just might work. If only Lee Cooper was connected to the person she assumed he was and would do what she expected him to.
“Special Agent Sloan.” His voice was slick and bred for the courtroom. “What can I do for you today?”
“Mr. Cooper.” Her chest rose and fell faster than she wanted to admit, and she wrapped her freshly bandaged arms around her middle. “Mr. Cooper, I’d like to set up a meeting with one of your clients.”
“Really? Which one?”
Like he didn’t know. “Geoff Conner.”
“Agent Sloan, you must know that I wouldn’t recommend my client meet with you without being present myself.” He sounded like a scolding uncle. “But if you’d like to set up something in my office, we might be able to arrange that.”
“I was actually thinking about Fernhill Park.”
“Why would my client want to meet you in the park?”
“Would you just pass this message along to Geoff? I think I can help him out with his situation with the sheriff, and I’ll be at the grove of trees near northeast Ainsworth Street this afternoon at five-thirty. He’ll be there if he wants my help.”
When she hung up, Heather thought she might be sick to her stomach. She stared at the black phone lying on the table, desperately wanting to call Jeremy but refusing to give in to the urge.
He wouldn’t want to talk with her anyway. Not after what she’d said to him.
In his shoes, she wouldn’t forgive her, either.
Right now she just needed to focus on getting through the day and getting ready to meet the person calling the shots. If she wasn’t mistaken, Geoff Conner couldn’t afford a lawyer like Lee Cooper. He was probably being paid by whoever had sent Geoff.
Whoever had made that chopper crash.
And a lawyer like Cooper passed along news of FBI agents alone in a park. Immediately.
Jeremy hit the snooze button on his alarm for what felt like the tenth time. He let his arm flop over his eyes to block out the morning light coming through the window in his bedroom.
His stomach clenched when he realized that he was indeed back in his own bed. While it was nice to stretch out on the king-size mattress, part of him longed for the couch in Heather’s living room, even if his feet did hang off the end.
At least there he’d know she was safe, instead of being relegated to worrying about it all the way across town.
Why had he walked out on her?
Sure, her words had stung, but he shouldn’t have left her unprotected. He’d acted like a fool five years before when he hadn’t spoken up, and he’d given a repeat performance last night. He’d let his emotions get in the way, instead of doing what he needed to in order to care for Heather.
His ego vied for control, reminding him of her barb.
That’s rich coming from someone who still thinks he’s responsible for his fiancée’s death. Someone who just let her die and is now only using my sister’s death to ease his own conscience.
She’d said it to hurt him. And it had hit the mark.
But wasn’t it at least mostly true?
He’d been lecturing her on trusting that God was in control, but he’d been carrying around the guilt over Reena’s death for a long time. And there was certainly part of him that hoped working to solve Kit’s death would begin to make amends for his mistakes. Yet beyond that and beyond the simple fact that he’d been assigned the case, there was something more that kept him sleeping on a couch for a week.
A spunky blonde with laser blue eyes.
His cell phone alarm beeped again and he swatted at it, thankful for the distraction that derailed his thoughts from a track he didn’t want to be on. Flipping the covers back and rolling out of bed, he eyed his swollen ankle, which he’d twisted when Heather’s car had exploded. Better to focus on the physical pain than his wayward emotions.
He glanced at the phone in his hand as he debated calling her. He didn’t need another reason to think about her, but he certainly wanted to know that she was okay—that her house hadn’t been broken into while he wasn’t there.
The phone was dialing before he even made the conscious decision to do so. After several seconds, it went directly to voice mail. “This is Heather Sloan. Sorry I missed you.” His stomach clenched just hearing her voice. Was she ignoring his call? Or had something terrible happened?
“It’s me. Listen, I’m sorry about yesterday. Will you call me? I’m worried about you. I just need to know you’re okay.”
He stared at the empty wall across the room, weighing his options for the day. He could look for Clay. More dead ends.
He could try to find Heather. She probably wasn’t at home.
If he knew her—and he really did, even if they’d only met a little over a week before—she’d be putting that pigheaded plan of hers into place. She’d have her neck out on the line, maybe by the end of the day.
And there was really only one person Heather feared enough to maybe put a stop to her plan.
He lunged across the room, favoring his right ankle as he hobbled toward the shower.
Ten minutes later, clean and ready to go, he hopped out his front door, staggering toward his car. Once behind the wheel, he didn’t hesitate until he arrived at the enormous government building that housed the Portland office of the FBI. Noise from the nearby Riverfront Park along the Willamette River drowned out the pounding of his heart as he looked up into the windows, wondering which Heather would have been sitting behind in better times.
When he reached the fourth floor, he took a deep breath, nodding at the petite receptionist who looked up to greet him.
“May I help you?”
He pulled his badge out of the pocket of his jeans. “Deputy Jeremy Latham. I’m with the sheriff’s department. I need to see Nate Andersen.”
“Do you have an appointment with him?”
“No.”
“Then I’m sorry. He only—”
“Heather Sloan’s life is on the line.”
Her face turned pale, washed out even under the heavy layer of makeup applied there. “One moment, please.” Immediately she picked up the phone, punching in an extension and whispering furiously.
He looked away for a second, and when he turned back a man with dark hair and steel-blue eyes stood in front of him.
“SAC Nate Andersen,” he said, holding out his hand. “You are?”
The other man’s grip was firm but not intentionally intimidating. “Jeremy Latham. I’ve been investigating the helicopter crash that killed Kit Sloan.”
“You have some information on Heather?”
Jeremy looked around quickly. “Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”
Nate gave him a curt nod and led him to a small conference room down a short hall. He held the glass door open for Jeremy then followed him in, closing the door behind them.
The veins in Nate’s neck looked as if they might explode, and he crossed his arms over his chest, neither taking nor offering one of the plush leather chairs. His glare remained hard, but he didn’t speak, so Jeremy took his cue.
“Heather has always spoken so highly of you.” Nate didn’t relax a muscle. “And she’ll never speak to me again when she finds out I came here and spoke to you about this, but I don’t have any choice. She’s determined to do something stupid.”
The corner of one of Nate’s eyes twitched, and Jeremy took that as a sign, continuing on, no matter how much he felt like a suitor talking to his girlfriend’s father. “We met about a week ago when I was assigned this case and went to the hospital to ask her some questions about the crash.” A muscle in Nate’s jaw jumped, but he didn’t say anything. Jeremy shoved his hands in his pockets, not knowing what else to do with them. “I thought the crash was just an accident until someone tried to kill Heather in the hospital.”
Nate’s face turned pale and he leaned onto the back of one of the chairs, seeming to need it just to stay upright. “How?”
“A lethal overdose of a new street drug injected into her IV.”
“How did I not hear about this?” Nate’s voice turned thick with emotion, and it was obvious that he cared very much for Heather. But for some reason it didn’t make Jeremy’s gut squeeze with jealousy like just the mention of Clay did. Nate seemed more like an older brother, not competition for Heather’s affections.
Jeremy shrugged. “Heather was adamant about joining in on the investigation, and—”
“What?” Nate exploded, his face going from white to purple and skipping every shade in between as he slammed one fist into an open palm. “I told her to stay out of this investigation. I told her to work on recovering and let you do your job.” By the end of his last word, his voice had tapered down to a low growl. “I should have known.”
“That’s why she wouldn’t let me come to you.”
“So the two of you have been investigating the crash together for the last week?”
“That’s right.” Jeremy met the man’s hard gaze, but felt a little sick to his stomach. There was no telling what this might do to Heather’s career.
But he didn’t have a choice about coming to Nate. Did he?
“And?”
“And we think it all centers on a drug ring.”
Nate crossed his arms again. “What makes you say that?”
“Before she died, Kit told Heather to follow the drugs, and when we went to the crash site—” Nate shook his head as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing “—we found cocaine residue on a boulder.”
“Any idea who’s behind it?”
“No. But we found some notes from Kit the night that Heather’s house was broken into.”
Nate blinked, clearly still in disbelief. “Someone broke into Heather’s house? And she didn’t tell me?”
Jeremy had the poise to grimace and apologize. “I’m sorry. She was adamant that you not find out. She’s terrified of losing her position here at the Bureau if you found out she was working on the case against your orders. And I think she’s afraid that the person responsible for Kit’s death is going to go free if she doesn’t catch him.”
“What’s she going to do?”
“She’s setting herself out as bait to catch him.”
Nate shook his head and nodded toward a chair. “You’d better sit down and tell me everything you know.”
Jeremy obliged, sliding into a leather seat across the wide table from Nate, who slumped in his chair. In his crisp black suit, he didn’t seem the type to slump, and Jeremy could almost see the weight on his shoulders forcing him into that position.
With as many details as he could, Jeremy replayed every major event of the last week. From the attempt on Heather’s life at the hospital, to the words scrawled across her front door, to Jeremy’s brawl with Geoff, to Clay’s disappearance and finally to the car bomb.
Nate scrubbed his hands over his face, his features strained and his five o’clock shadow the only color on his face. “She’s out there right now because she thinks Clay has been abducted.” He shook his head as he looked back up at Jeremy. “She thinks that he’s in danger because of her?”
“Something like that.”
“How could someone so brilliant do something so stupid?”
Jeremy nodded, understanding Nate’s point, but still needing to speak up for Heather. “She’s scared. She’s just lost her sister, a madman has been hunting her and she’s desperate to see it resolved without anyone else she loves being put in danger.” He wiped his hands on his jeans, then squeezed them into fists. “I think she thinks putting herself out there, where he can grab her, will bring a quick end to this nightmare.”
Nate eyed Jeremy out of the corner of his eye. “Well, clearly you don’t agree with her, or you wouldn’t be here.”
Jeremy shook his head. “Of course not.”
“Then why are you here?”
Jeremy didn’t blink, looking straight into the other man’s hard gaze. He longed to tell the whole truth—that he had fallen in love with Heather and that he just wanted to see her safe and protected. By someone who could do that without fail.
Instead he offered facts. “We think Kit was investigating the drug ring that’s responsible for this whole ordeal. She left Heather some notes, but they’re pretty cryptic.”
“Was she getting too close, so they took her out?”
“Most likely.”
“But then why go after Heather? Or Clay, for that matter?”
Jeremy bit his bottom lip. “My best guess? Whoever’s behind this doesn’t know how much Kit might have spilled.”
Nate rubbed his temples in slow circles. “All right. Where is Heather now?”
“I don’t know.” Jeremy cringed having to admit it. Nate didn’t say anything, just quirked one eyebrow, and Jeremy felt obliged to confess. “We had a fight last night, and she won’t pick up my calls.”
Nate immediately pulled his phone from his suit’s breast pocket, calling Heather with a single button push. He shook his head. “Straight to voice mail.” His forehead wrinkled, and Jeremy wondered if that was the extent of emotion he would reveal. “You didn’t answer my question a minute ago. Why are you here? What do you think I can do?”
“Can you help me find someone mentioned in Kit’s notes? I think he might be the key to finding out who’s responsible for all of this. We’ve tried to track him down, but he’s not in any city or state databases.” Jeremy laid his hand on his bouncing knee, trying to keep it still, but the tension in his muscles wouldn’t dissipate. “If I can find the man behind all of this mess before he finds Heather, I can protect her.”
Nate shot out of his chair, motioning for Jeremy to follow him. “Let’s go check some databases. What’s his name?”
“Mick Gordon.”
Nate stopped, his hand on the door handle, his eyebrows raised. “There’s a reason you didn’t find him in your databases. He’s an FBI informant.”