Killer Headline (7 page)

He followed her into the living room. “Of course not.”

His reply sounded anything but truthful. Clay was skewing her usually low opinion of law enforcement. The guy wouldn’t let up where her safety was concerned. Not that she was complaining. In fact, Violet was starting to enjoy having him around.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” she asked.

“No, thanks.” He glanced at her laptop. “I know you’ve got work to do. I’ll just stretch out on the couch.”

Violet grabbed a blanket, sheets, pillow and pillowcase from the laundry room and returned to find him staring at the photo of Jen Davis and the note with her name scribbled under Ruby Maxwell and Carlie Donald.

“Your informant contacted you again?” he asked.

No reason to keep the information from him. Violet shared what Gwyn had told her. “The mob thinks Jen’s in Billings. I’m flying there tomorrow.”

His eyes widened. “You’re what?”

She held up her hands. “Just for the day. I want to go to Mama’s Diner and see if anyone recognizes her from the photo. Jen needs to know she’s in danger.”

“Which you are, as well, Violet.”

“You can’t talk me out of going, Clay.”

“Then I’ll get a ticket and fly there with you.”

A warmth spread over her. “You’d do that for me?”

“It’s my job to keep you safe.”

Job? Was that why he’d been so attentive?

Violet pulled the flash drive from the USB port but left her computer running. “You can use my laptop to make your flight reservation. Help yourself to anything that’s in the fridge.”

Clay’s brow furrowed. “Did I say something wrong?”

She shook her head. “No, of course not, but it’s been a long day, and I’m tired. Check the doors before you go to sleep, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

She hurried back to her bedroom and closed the door behind her, relieved to have some privacy. Clay filled her living room with too much of a male presence.

Silly of her to think his concern for her went beyond his duty. Cops were trained to defend and protect. That’s what Clay was doing. No more. No less.

Violet tried to sleep, but she kept thinking about who was stretched out on her living-room couch.

The light from the hallway shone under the door. Evidently, she hadn’t turned it off. No doubt, it would bother Clay’s sleep, as well.

Throwing on her robe, Violet tiptoed into the hallway and glanced into the living room. Clay was sound asleep. The top of the blanket had fallen to the floor. Violet stepped closer and placed it over his shoulders.

Glancing at her desk, she spied his electronic airline ticket next to her own. The screen saver flickered across the screen. Might as well turn everything off.

She tapped a key and the home page for the Billings newspaper returned to the screen. Had Clay uncovered more information on Jen Davis?

Violet hit the BACK icon and watched as a photograph and story unfolded. She scanned the text.

Violet enlarged the photo. Mr. and Mrs. Barton stood next to their daughter.

Kristin? The same name Eloise had given her baby girl who had been adopted years ago. Violet did the math. Kristin would have been college age by now.

Violet leaned closer to the monitor and compared the young woman’s likeness to the news photos of Eloise she’d uncovered in the
Chicago Gazette
archives. The resemblance was striking.

She glanced at Clay, sleeping peacefully. Had he been interested in the photo and article because of his old friend from Southside Foster? The mob wanted to find Eloise. Hopefully, they wouldn’t try to find her daughter, as well.

Violet closed out of the newspaper’s site then turned off the computer and retraced her steps back to her bedroom, switching the hall light off as she went.

She’d let Clay keep his secret about Kristin. The less anyone knew about the young woman the better.

Keep her safe, Lord. Keep all the women safe.

A
s the sun rose on the horizon, Clay left Bernice and Violet sleeping while he walked across the street to Bernice’s house. He showered, changed into a starched shirt and khakis and fixed a pot of coffee. Strong and black.

Glancing into the living room, his eyes rested on the couch where Violet had sat last night.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her sparkling eyes and inviting smile and the way her hair had felt like silk against his arm. The desire to draw her into his embrace had stayed with him through the night.

The house was chilly. Knowing Bernice would return home soon, Clay arranged crumpled newspaper around a bundle of kindling in the fireplace. Striking a match, he held it to the wood.

The flame spread as fast as corruption did in Chicago. Clay shook his head, thinking back to what had happened. He had worked so hard trying to learn the name of the person who ran the prostitution racket for the mob. One name. That’s what he’d been after for too long.

The way the mob exploited women sickened him, and going undercover meant mingling with men who cared nothing about the people they hurt.

The smell of burning wood swirled around him, warming the room, but his thoughts turned to the cold night when all his hard work and the efforts of the law-enforcement team that had set up the sting should have paid off.

Everything went wrong when Cameron Trimble stepped on to the scene. He had recognized Clay. Working undercover was dangerous. Being exposed could cost a man his life.

Using the end iron, Clay adjusted the logs. The fire sputtered and crackled. A log shifted, sending sparks into the air.

Clay had fought for his life that night. Luckily, backup had arrived in time.

Flames licked at the logs. Clay stared into the fire. The Bible said Christ was the light of the world. He remembered that much from what Eloise had told him. She said God could transform evil and allow good to come from the bad.

Could something good come from his run-in with Cameron Trimble? If Clay hadn’t been on probation, he wouldn’t have been free to help Jackson. Since Clay had come to Montana, he’d felt an inner sense of completeness as if part of him that had been unraveled was starting to knit together. For the first time in a long while, he had hope that the future could be filled with something good.

Was Violet the reason?

Or was he fooling himself?

“Morning, Clay.” Bernice let herself in and headed for the kitchen. He retraced his steps and found her pouring a cup of coffee, her flannel bathrobe wrapped around her waist. “Sure is nice to have the coffee ready. Thanks.”

She smiled at him, like the grandmother he’d never known. “You’re worried about Violet, aren’t you?”

“She’s too independent for her own good.”

Bernice nodded. “You’re right. I’ve been praying someone special would come into her life.”

Warmth spread over Clay that had nothing to do with the crackling fire or the hot coffee.

“I told God she needed a good man.” Bernice’s eyes crinkled. “Looks like the Lord sent you.”

Clay didn’t know if that was a compliment or a challenge. No matter how assured he tried to be on the outside, inside he knew the truth. He didn’t deserve Violet. After everything that had happened in his life, he didn’t deserve anyone.

As Bernice prepared her breakfast, Clay grabbed his jacket from the closet and, after saying goodbye, headed for his car. Violet ran out from her house when he pulled to the curb.

“Did you lock your doors?” he asked as she slipped into the passenger seat.

“Of course. Plus, I rechecked the windows and left the drapes drawn.”

Maybe Violet had finally realized she needed to be careful.

But what about him? He needed to be careful, as well. He stole a glance at her. She seemed oblivious to his perusal. The winter sun bathed her in light that made her eyes sparkle and her lips shine.

Keeping Violet safe from the mob was his number-one problem. His growing attraction for her was a close second.

Violet and Clay grabbed coffee and bagels at an airport kiosk, and ate breakfast before boarding.

Mechanical problems delayed takeoff, and once airborne, the flight was bumpy due to turbulence. Luckily, the landing was smooth and, after disembarking, they followed the signs to car rental and were soon heading to Mama’s Diner.

Road construction slowed their progress, but they eventually found a parking spot in front of the diner and hurried inside. The early lunch crowd was already filling the small establishment.

Violet stood next to Clay as they waited for a table and scanned the folks already seated.

“Do you see anyone resembling the woman in the photo?”

“No, but I don’t like the clientele,” he said.

She followed his gaze to a guy sitting in the corner, wearing a hooded sweatshirt. Violet hadn’t noticed him earlier.

“Check out the last booth on the right,” Clay said under his breath.

She turned ever so slightly. Another man. This one wore a couple-days growth of beard and a black beanie pulled low over his forehead.

Standing close to Clay, she had no sense of fear, yet she was beginning to understand how a cop’s mind worked. Clay was always looking for trouble, second-guessing who might be involved with the mob. Maybe
she needed to readjust her attitude and be a bit more cautious, although with Clay to protect her, she hardly needed to worry.

A friendly waitress showed them to a booth by the window. “The lunch special’s meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Green beans or corn on the side.”

Violet opted for a house salad and a cup of vegetable soup. Clay ordered a burger and fries. A layer of clouds hung low over the city. A storm was forecast to roll into Missoula in the next couple of days. All signs pointed to Billings being hit sooner.

When the waitress left to get coffee for both of them, Violet leaned toward Clay. “How do you want to handle this? Good cop, bad cop?”

He smiled. “How ’bout, good cop and reporter? Remember, we’re a team.”

“Got it.”

The waitress quickly returned with two mugs of steaming coffee.

“We’re looking for a woman who may work around here.” Violet held up the photo she’d printed off her computer.

“Her name’s Jen Davis. Do you know her or recognize her picture?”

“No, but I’ll ask the other gals. Maybe one of them can help you.” She took the photo and showed it to the other waitresses working the floor.

A short time later, she returned to the table with their lunch order and the photo. “No one knows your friend. From the white uniform she’s wearing, I take it she’s a nurse. There’s a hospital close by. Have you thought about stopping there?”
“That’s where we plan to go next,” Violet said.

“We change shifts at two. You might want to come back and talk to the waitresses on duty then.”

As much as she wanted to find Jen Davis, Violet was starting to realize the trip to Billings might not prove successful after all, and that worried her.

Clay remained in cop mode, flicking his gaze from the man in the hoodie to the guy wearing the beanie. Once both men had finished eating, paid their checks and left the diner, Clay relaxed.

The cop took his job seriously and Violet appreciated his support. Working as a team wasn’t so bad after all. Then she thought of the story she needed to publish that would expose the mob’s move into Montana.

Ruby Maxwell, Carlie Donald and now Jen Davis.

No matter what Clay said, women in Witness Protection needed to be warned.

When the waitress brought the check, Violet excused herself to use the ladies’ room. On the way back to the table, she stopped to study a bulletin board decorated with photos taken inside the diner. Many of the waitresses working today were featured in the collage.

One woman’s profile caught Violet’s eye. She leaned closer to examine the picture.

Violet had kept in touch with a few reporters on the
Chicago Gazette.
One of them had sent her a photograph of Olivia Jensen, the woman who had witnessed Vincent Martino kill a man in cold blood. Olivia was being held in protective custody until the trial this spring.

Last night, Violet had mentally compared the photo of Kristin Perry with Clay’s friend, Eloise. The two
women had a similar appearance as if related, but the woman in the bulletin-board photo today looked identical to the photo of Olivia.

Violet called over one of the waitresses she’d talked to earlier. “Do you know how I could get in touch with the woman in this photo?”

“Olivia Jarrod?” The waitress shook her head. “I heard she left town. The manager tried to find her, but couldn’t.”

Olivia Jarrod had to be Olivia Jensen, the woman whose testimony could send Vincent Martino to jail. No wonder the mob was interested in the diner. Maybe the trip hadn’t been a waste of time after all.

Violet headed back to Clay. He stood as she neared the table. Better to keep the information about Olivia to herself. As much as she liked Clay, he was law enforcement.

Bottom line, she didn’t trust cops.

Clay took Violet’s hand as they left the diner and headed for the rental car. They spent the next few hours checking the hospital, nursing homes and doctors’ offices in the area. No one named Jen Davis or who looked like her picture was employed at any of the health-care facilities.

Tired and frustrated, they returned to the diner shortly after two. The crowd had dwindled, and only a handful of customers sat at tables. They ordered coffee to go and asked the same questions they had earlier with the same results.

This time when they left the diner, Violet was visibly discouraged. As Clay opened the passenger door for
her, he caught sight of a man standing across the street, wearing a dark sweatshirt with the hood pulled up. Was he the same guy they’d seen eating earlier?

“Sir?” Someone called. He turned. One of the waitresses hurried toward them.

“I’ve been thinking about that picture you showed me,” she said, nearing the car. “There’s a woman who stops in for lunch occasionally. Her hairstyle’s different, but she could be the gal you need to find. She was friends with one of the waitresses, only she hasn’t been at work for a few days. Someone said they think Olivia left town.”

Clay pursed his lips. “Olivia?” Not the most common of names.

“Yeah, Olivia Jarrod. But she’s moved on. A couple weeks ago, I saw the woman you’re looking for walking along the main road and offered her a lift.”

“Do you remember where you dropped her?” Violet asked.

“An apartment not far from here.” The waitress provided the address. Clay thanked her. When he looked back across the street, the man in the hooded sweatshirt had disappeared. Clay pulled in a deep breath. Could the guy who broke into Violet’s home have followed them to Billings? Or was Clay becoming too paranoid?

He needed to follow his gut, which was telling him to be on guard. The mob didn’t play by any rules. They’d kill an innocent woman without blinking an eye.

He slipped behind the wheel and drove to the address the waitress had provided.

“I hope she’s here,” Violet said as they walked into the building and knocked on a door marked Manager.

An older woman, gray hair in a bun, stuck her head out. “You looking for a furnished place to rent?”

“No, ma’am.” Violet held out Jen’s photo. “We’re looking for this woman. Someone told us she lived here.”

“That’s right.” The manager nodded. “Hannah Williams lived here, but she moved out a few days ago. She paid her rent with cash and didn’t leave a forwarding address.”

“Did Hannah have any friends or other neighbors who might know how to find her?” Clay asked.

“She stayed to herself. I never saw anyone visit.”

Clay shared Violet’s frustration as they climbed back into the car.

His neck tingled. He glanced in the rearview mirror. Nothing.

Turning, he studied the apartments across the street. A man peered at them from around the far corner of the building.

He wore a dark sweatshirt and a beanie.

“Stay here, Violet. Lock the doors.”

Clay raced across the street in pursuit of the guy who took off running.

Rounding the rear of the building, Clay stopped short. He’d lost the guy again.

Letting out a frustrated groan, Clay backtracked. As he approached the car, his gut tightened.

Violet’s hand clutched her neck, her eyes wide, face blanched.

“What happened?” he demanded as he opened the door.

She stumbled into his arms. “A…a car rounded the corner and headed right for me. I—” She tried to catch her breath. “I thought he was going to hit your car. He swerved in the nick of time.”

“Did you see the driver?”

She shook her head. “It happened too fast.”

Clay wrapped Violet in his arms feeling her heart pound in her chest. He glanced at the apartments on both sides of the road. The curtains were drawn. No one appeared to have seen the incident.

“Come on, honey, we’re going to the Marshals office. We’ll talk to Micah McGraw. He needs to know what happened.”

She shook her head, gathering control. “Probably just some kids driving too fast.”

Clay held the door as she climbed into the passenger seat. One thing bothered him about Violet. She had closed her mind to the real danger that surrounded her. Clay hadn’t been imagining the men in the restaurant or on the street. Violet’s informant knew about Mama’s Diner, and she got her information from the mob. Their men were lying in wait for Jen Davis. Now they knew the inquisitive reporter from Missoula was interested in her whereabouts, as well. As worried as he’d been in Missoula, Clay was even more worried about Violet’s safety in Billings.

When they arrived at the Marshals headquarters, they learned Micah was out of town on business. Mac Sellers, an older guy who walked with a limp, assured Clay he’d be happy to pass on any information they had to Micah.

“That won’t be necessary,” Violet said to Sellers as
she nudged Clay toward the door. “We’ll contact Agent McGraw later in the week. Thanks for your help.”

Once outside, Clay turned to her. “Why didn’t you want to talk to the agent on duty?”