In the Shadow of Vengeance (9 page)

She returned the lid, but thankfully the stubborn men in her kitchen hadn't caught her subterfuge because they were too busy glaring at each other. It was like watching two gunslingers in the middle of a dirt street preparing to draw. Derek knew exactly who Noah was, but did Noah recognize a fellow law enforcement officer?

Elizabeth slammed a cabinet door hard, ending the staring session. “Derek, I'll think about what you said and call you in the morning.”

If Erin were standing there, she would give Elizabeth one of her rude glares. Her own mother was famous for saying, “Manners at all times.” Elizabeth had drilled that same etiquette into her own kids. For the most part, she used politeness as a shield. She could avoid questions she couldn't answer by resorting to a practiced polite lie. But at times, rudeness was the only way to get action even though it didn't come naturally to her. Right now, she needed both men gone so she could think and plan. If she had to resort to being rude to get them to leave, so be it.

“Okay, Elizabeth. I'll wait to hear from you.” At the doorway, he paused. “Call me if—”

“Of course.” She didn't need him to finish the sentence. If anything changed, he would be her first call. And as much as she wanted to leave it alone, she followed him into the foyer and reached for his elbow.

“I'm sorry.”

“It's okay.” In a rare move, he draped his arm around her shoulder. Lowering his voice to a bare whisper, he said, “Promise me you will not do anything without talking to us first. Give me a chance to figure this out.”

A sob from the well of sobs escaped into her throat. She gulped it down. Derek was her lifeline to her real life. Losing him would be devastating. She raised her head. “Fine. Nothing crazy without clearing it with you.”

A slight grin crossed his face. “We sure the hell know where Danny gets his mouth. Why can't you both be like Erin? I'm not leaving until you tell me what I need to hear.”

She took in a breath and forced out the words. “I'll stay put for now, but that is a very thin promise.”

He nodded and left. She turned around and barreled into a broad chest. Noah's arms went around her waist while she found her footing.

“Listening to a private conversation? I thought better of you, detective.”

“What was that about? What crazy thing are you planning?”

She shoved past him and headed toward the kitchen. Over her shoulder, she said, “Go on up. Danny's in his room.”

Before she got to the kitchen door, Noah gripped her elbow. “Just a second. I want an answer.”

He released her but didn't step away. The anguish in his expression softened something inside her. He was worried about her.

“Derek is my boss. I asked him for a transfer, and he's trying to talk me out of it.” She glanced at the stairs. “I would appreciate it if you would not mention it to the kids. I want them to hear it from me.”

“Where?”

“Across country, maybe Seattle. I always wanted to see the Northwest. I should have left this city three years ago, given Danny a fresh start.”

“Do you at least have any family or close friends in Seattle?”

“It's just Erin, Danny, and me. We're family.”

Noah pulled both hands through his hair then dropped them to his side. As many times he had done that around her, it was surprising he wasn't bald.

“Then damn it, stay here.”

“Stop cussing.”

He stalked so close, she had to lean her neck back to meet his gaze.

“Stop frustrating the hell out of me.”

His eyes darkened and the heat of his scent washed over her. Before she could place a little distance between them, his hands cupped her neck, his thumb massaging the tender area right behind her ear. All thoughts disappeared except for one. She wasn't going to let him kiss her again. She'd spent the last forty-eight hours raking herself over the coals for that stupid mistake. She shook his hand free and entered the kitchen.

“Elizabeth, you can't transfer to a place where you know no one. You're on edge, and I don't blame you.” He pulled out a chair. “We need to talk, and it would be better if you were sitting.”

Her stomach flipped. Noah had something on his mind, and she wasn't going to like it one bit. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin and said, “I'll stand.”

He rolled his eyes. “I called in a favor from someone who works in forensics. He found a print on the teapot.” He removed his phone from the inside of his sport coat. “Is this the guy from the subway?”

She glanced at the screen and reached for the table for support. The man who attacked her lay on what appeared to be a brick walkway, his eyes wide open and bloodshot. “Yes. Is he dead?”

“He was found on a bench in Inner Harbor two nights ago.”

“I wanted him caught, not dead. How did he die?”

“Something was injected into his jugular. There was enough sedative in his system to put a horse down.”

She blinked several times. “He was murdered?”

“Are you sure you never met this guy before he tried to steal your bag on the subway?”

“No, never.” She dropped into the chair.

“We found this guy's print on the teapot.”

“What? That's impossible.” She shot up out of the chair and began to pace.

The facts spun around in her head until she lined them up in order: attack, break-in, Danny's dream, murder. The next realization slammed into her gut, emptying her lungs of air. “God, Noah, could Danny be right and this guy targeted me?”

She couldn't keep the tremble from her voice. His troubled expression compounded the fear that sliced through her. She rushed to the kitchen door and listened for her kids.

“Erin and Danny are fine.”

“He was in this house when I was at the hospital with Danny.” Her thoughts shot to another possibility. “Did he have anything to do with those men attacking my son?”

“I don't know. We haven't been able to locate them.”

She reached for her phone in the center of the table, turned it on, and pressed the number one. Noah's hand covered hers and the phone slipped from her fingers into his. He replaced it on the table.

“What's the story behind the teapot? Why is it so special?”

There was no way she could lie to him. “It is the only thing I have of my mother's.”

He studied her for several moments. Unexplainable emotions crossed his features. “Where are your parents?”

“They're gone.” Her heart twisted with grief. The room grew quiet. The sounds from Danny's video game drifted downstairs but didn't fill the void.

“I'm sorry for your loss. How did they—”

“I can't talk about them. Please don't ask.” Her arms circled her waist.

The lies were in place, rehearsed over again. They had become as natural as her childhood prayers. But each time she said the words out loud, they sliced a new hole in her heart.

“Okay, then tell me, who else besides Danny and Erin knows how important that teapot is to you?”

Only Spencer.

That thought was what fueled her nightmares. But she didn't have an answer she was willing to share, so she shrugged.

The front door opened and shut. Before Elizabeth could stop him, Noah stormed out of the kitchen with his weapon drawn. Derek came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the living room.

“Easy, detective.” Derek held his hands out in front of him.

“Elizabeth asked you to leave. What are you doing back here?”

“I called him,” she whispered, placing her hand on Noah's arm. “No guns. Put it away.”

“I don't think so. Not until I get some answers.”

“Okay, but in the kitchen. Please. The kids …”

Her words clogged her throat. Another uncomfortable silence followed. She tugged on his arm, and he finally lowered the weapon.

“After you.”

Derek didn't argue but headed for the kitchen. Noah entered behind Elizabeth, blocking the only exit.

“I've been with you the whole time. You didn't make a call.”

Derek stared at her. He wouldn't be the one to volunteer any information.

“I speed-dialed Derek. It was something we set up after I started working for him. He didn't like that I was living in the city with babies by myself. I just turn it on,” she picked up her phone, “and push one number to send him a 911.”

Noah's eyes widened and his brows narrowed. “You're doing it again, Elizabeth. There may be some truth in what you just said, but the rest is just crap. What the hell is going on?”

“Detective McNeil, I would appreciate it if you would stop pointing that thing at me,” Derek said.

Noah placed his weapon back in the holster at his waist. Elizabeth could almost taste the disgust rolling off him. He might not like her very much, but once he knew who she was, his life would change, too. He would become part of her secrets and the trappings that came with them. There was no way she was pulling him into her nightmare.

Spencer had to be alive. There was no other explanation. Why had he waited this long to come after her?

A shiver sliced through her and she lost focus. At some point, Noah settled behind her, the heat of his body and spicy herbal scent insulating her. He gently tugged her back against his chest. The instant she leaned against him, he wrapped his arm around her, resting it at her waist.

His breathing was steady, but his heart rapidly drummed against her back. Her world was falling apart and she was losing control fast. This one time, she allowed herself the comfort of another person. She needed Noah's strength like she needed air.

Both men stared at her, waiting for some response. She swallowed the fear and asked the one question that scared her to her toes.

“Why did this guy pick the teapot, Derek? Why not my jewelry, the flat screen, or my tablet that was sitting in plain sight? I know of only one person who would have used my mom's teapot against me.”

“He's dead.”

“Is he?”

“Elizabeth, it has been more than thirteen years.”

Noah pushed away from the counter. “Who in the hell are you two talking about?”

She ignored Noah. “Earlier, you said I needed proof I wasn't overreacting. Is this enough for that transfer?”

“Yeah. A definite maybe.”

The doors clanged shut behind Spencer Pegler and the lock clicked in place. His escort moved ahead of him down the long corridor to the next set of barred doors. The guard's rubber soles squeaked on the shiny linoleum flooring; the hollow echo reverberated against the walls.

Each step the guard took grated on Spencer's nerves. What was he doing here? In his position, he didn't need this shit. Prisons gave him the creeps. The fact that he was being summoned like a fucking intern already put him in a pissed-off mood. The worst part—he had no idea who he was meeting or what the guy's medical problems were.

This job should have been passed on to one of the organization's doctors. He didn't make house calls. But according to De Rousse, when this particular inmate asked for a meeting, you took it. Disrespect was dealt with a bullet behind the head. Yet if the guy was so powerful, what the hell was he doing in this place?

Spencer tensed his muscles as the next set of doors locked behind him. The further they moved into the belly of the prison, the more horrid the placed smelled. Burnt, stale food combined with the stench of an overcrowded men's locker room permeated his nostrils. “How much further?”

“It's a big place. The infirmary is in the back left corner. We're almost there.” He grinned back at Spencer. “Relax. If you don't belong here, we let you out.”

Any other place, Spencer would have let the guard know firsthand what he thought of his sense of humor. Instead, he took a firm grip on his temper and plastered a
not a care in the world
expression onto his face.

The guard used his ID to key open the infirmary entrance, then moved to the side and motioned for Spencer to enter. As soon as he stepped over the threshold, the guard shut the door, locking him alone in the room.

The space was like any other examination room. The walls were a little beat up, the equipment a few years out of date, but the familiar setting eased the tension from his shoulders.

“Dr. Spencer Pegler?”

He sucked in a breath. He was usually more observant, but for some reason, he hadn't noticed the man leaning against the back wall.

“I'm Dr. Pegler,” he said and set his bag on the paper-covered examination table. He didn't hold out his hand. “You have me at a disadvantage.”

“That I do,” the stranger said and limped out of the dim corner.

As he moved closer, Spencer studied the man's movements but waited for him to speak. After years of controlling the De Rousse organization, he understood power. Spencer was feared by many, underestimated by only a few.

But this man oozed power from every pore. Even his clothes were different. Instead of the prison uniform worn by the inmates in the yard, he wore silk and wool. But his life here hadn't been easy. His skin was pale with a yellowish tint, cheeks shallow, and dark shadows appeared beneath his eyes.

Most doctors would start running liver function tests. Spencer saw something else: a healthy arrogance. This inmate hadn't contacted him because he was in the market for an organ transplant—not that Spencer was in that line of business anymore. Way too messy. There were much easier ways to obtain the life he had made for himself.

It didn't get past Spencer that the man didn't introduce himself. He scanned the room for any sign of a chart even though he didn't expect to find one. Men like this didn't permit information about them left around for anyone to see.

Squaring his shoulders, he asked, “So what can I do for you?”

“First we need to establish what I can do for you.” He tossed an envelope onto the examination table. “Go on, open it.”