Searching for Secrets (10 page)

Sandra said she had dealt with calls all morning. Parents were concerned. "I don't know if I'm reassuring them or not," Sandra said as she pulled into the school parking lot. "I told them someone broke into the school through the hallway window. I didn't want them thinking people could just waltz in through the front door on the weekend. Now, some of them want to organize a weekend patrol to check the doors and windows."

"Could be worse," Christa said. "At least they aren't asking you to resign because the school isn't safe."

Sandra gave her a devilish grin. "I'd like to see them try," she said.

CHRISTA LEANED HER HEAD against the wall in Sandra's outer office. Even a few short hours at the school had worn her out. But, she decided, not as much as the ride home from the hospital had tired her yesterday. Each day would be better.

"Sleeping on the job?" a man's voice asked.

Christa looked again into Kirk Reynolds' deep brown eyes. While he didn't look as friendly as he had just after they had recovered Amy, he didn't look as if he wished he had left her in the old farmhouse cellar, either.

"Hiding from the kids who want to sign my cast," she said. He had on a dark green sweater, but not even its thick cable knit could make her forget she'd been in his arms only two nights ago. She flushed at the thought. "What brings you here?"

"I'm picking up Amy. Took some time off to be with her."

"That's great. You know where to go?"

"I remember where I found you lying on the floor, if that's what you mean," he said. "But I wasn't sure if I was supposed to tromp around there yet."

"Christa," Sandra turned to her. "Do you mind if we leave at 3:15? I need to return a couple more of these "worried parent" calls."

Before Christa could nod, Kirk broke in. "Why don't you ride with Amy and me? We're going to the same place."

She wanted to talk to Kirk, but the last thing she wanted was to have to spend a lot of time with him. Better not to be too exposed to those brown eyes and broad shoulders. "I don't want to be trouble..." she began.

"Trouble is your middle name. But you're still welcome to a ride. Amy would love it."

The bell announced the end of the school day, and Christa nodded assent. Of course, he would do anything for his niece.

Amy had enjoyed her first day of kindergarten at her new school. She chattered about the huge pumpkin her teacher's father had provided and the many suggestions she and her new friends had for carving its features. Christa was glad not to be part of the conversation. Her arm throbbed from having been up so long, and she needed a nap. Soon, she promised herself.

They had almost reached Mahaska Springs and she still hadn't decided how to approach Kirk about the list of still-meaningless numbers and letters she'd printed from the thieves' computer. She had to do it. They pulled in front of the apartment, and Christa was pleased to see the auto club had delivered her car to its usual parking space. Getting into Kirk's truck had been no easy feat, with only one arm to hoist herself onto the high seat. Climbing down would be a greater challenge. If only she could figure out a way not to have to stand on her left leg. The bruise on her left hip reminded her of its presence with every step she took, but especially when she had to momentarily put all her weight on that leg.

In just a few long strides he stood on her side of the truck and opened the door. "How can I help you get down?" he asked.

"I can do it myself," she replied, wishing she could think of how. She looked down at the running board and decided that she could safely put her left foot on that and leave it there while she lowered her right foot to the ground.

Kirk held the door. Christa wished he would at least try to hide the smirk on his face. Gingerly she stepped on the running board. Not so bad. But as she stood on that foot and brought her right one down to that level, she felt herself wobble and start to pitch forward. Deftly Kirk stepped up. He lifted her under the arms and lowered her to the pavement.

"Aren't you glad," he said as he led her to the small strip of grass, "that I didn't take you at your word?"

Christa adjusted the purse that had slipped off her shoulder. Why was she so breathless, when he had done all the work? "I'm sure it will be easier getting in and out of my car."

His gaze hardened. "A simple thank you would be appropriate."

Christa flushed. "Of course. Thanks for the lift, in both senses of the word."

His jaw line relaxed. "You're welcome." He stepped back to the truck, locked it, and closed the door. "You'll be okay for the rest of the evening?"

"I'm going to rest for a little while. And then," she hesitated. No time would be a good one to tell him about the sheet of gibberish. "Could you come over for a few minutes later? I need to show you something." She expected him to tell her he would be busy all night.

"Decided you like my company?" he asked. Christa thought he enjoyed seeing her flush. When she didn't say anything he added, "Amy and I are picking Frances up from work at 4:30 and then grabbing a pizza. How about after that?"

Christa agreed. As she poured Brandy's dry food into her bowl, Christa decided she felt so good because she would soon show someone else the thus-far secret page. That was the only possible explanation for the almost giddy sensation. That and the pain medicine, of course.

THE ALARM BUZZED on the table beside her bed, and Christa automatically reached with her left hand to shut it off. "Ow!" Gingerly she pulled the arm back. "What a way to wake up," she grumbled as she moved the cast back to its usual resting place on her stomach. She used her right hand to silence the annoying buzz.

Six p.m., she noted as she stretched. Kirk would probably be here soon. She needed to be fully alert as she told him about the mystery words and numbers. The better to fend off Kirk Reynolds' certain anger.

Christa eased herself out of bed and padded to the kitchen. The short nap made her feel almost human and her arm no longer throbbed. She poured herself some cold orange juice, savoring the tangy flavor and enjoying the boost it gave her. The knock on the door startled her and she dropped the empty glass, which shattered on the floor. "Just a minute," she called as she surveyed the mess. She might be able to sweep it into a pile, but using a dust pan would be a two-hand job. "Nuts."

As she opened the door, Christa remembered she hadn't even combed her hair. "Come on in," she said, suddenly self-conscious.

"Did I hear glass breaking?" Kirk asked as she looked around the living room.

"In the kitchen," Christa said, exasperation creeping into her voice. She despised not being able to do things for herself. "Could you do me a favor and sweep it up?"

"Sure. Just point me toward the broom." She did, and excused herself for a moment. In the bathroom, Christa looked at her disheveled hair and pale face. Oh well, Kirk Reynolds was the last person she would try to impress. Hair combed and lipstick on, she did feel better.

Kirk stood in the living room surveying her book shelves. He turned as she entered. "I think I got all the pieces. Better make sure you wear shoes in the kitchen for awhile. Unless," he grinned, "you want another trip to the emergency room."

"No thanks," Christa said, with exaggerated politeness. She picked up the page from the table by the couch. "You might want to sit down while you look at this," she said, extending it to him.

Kirk regarded the letters and numbers for a moment and looked at her again. "Did you write this in some kind of delirium?"

"No." Christa sat near him on the sofa. "I printed it from the kidnapper's computer."

Kirk's said up straight, fury flooding his features. "You copied...Do they know you have this?"

"I don't see how. The file was protected in some way so I couldn't transfer it to a CD or flash drive." She spoke quickly, trying to reassure herself. "They would have no way to tell that I figured out a way to print it."

His features relaxed slightly, but the anger was still evident. "Christa, you have got to leave the police investigation to me. Look what happens," he gestured to her arm, "when you get yourself involved."

"And what if I had stayed 'uninvolved,' as you put it? We wouldn't have any leads except checking every store in town where they sell ski masks. Don't you want to catch these men?"

"You know full well I do." He stood and strode to the opposite end of the room and looked out the small dining room window.

Christa watched his brow grow more furrowed. He seemed to have taken his thoughts to another place altogether. What could worry him so? Amy was safe and the thieves, whoever they were and whatever they were interested in, didn't know Christa knew what was in the special file.

He turned back to her. "These are not amateurs we're dealing with. I compared the ballistics tests on the bullets someone shot at you Saturday night with those that killed Chas Johnson, the guy whose fingerprints were inside the case of one of the computers." He paused.

"What are you trying to tell me?" she asked.

"I'm 99 percent sure the same gun fired those bullets. The people who wanted your classroom computers are murderers."

Christa leaned back against the sofa and closed her eyes. Why was it that every time she got a little scared or worried she felt so much blood rush to her head? Usually it was just embarrassing; but since she had hit her head falling into the cellar, her head throbbed every time she flushed. She felt Kirk sit beside her and grab her wrist. At his touch she grew warmer still.

"What's wrong with you? Your pulse is racing."

She opened her eyes. "I'm fine. Just the aftermath of that slight concussion." She pulled her arm away. Much as she had to admit she enjoyed feeling him near to her, Christa didn't want Kirk realizing his effect on her. She tried to make her voice sound firmer than she felt. "All the more reason I should learn more. Don't you see..?"

"What I see is that if you ask questions of the wrong people they may decide to rid you of your curiosity permanently." The veins at his temples looked as if they would pop through the skin, and he paced the room as he spoke. "And while they're killing you, they might decide to just walk across the hall and do away with the only person who spent any real time with them."

Though she could understand his fear, Christa was still furious. "So why don't you do something besides, besides...picking your niece up from school?"

"You think I'm sitting around on my tailbone? Who do you think had the idea to compare those ballistics reports?" He stood only inches from her and raised the paper to her eye level. "I don't care how smart you think you are or whether you uncover the clue that solves these crimes. You do anything that brings these murderers close to my family and I'll be sorely tempted to break your other arm."

Still holding the paper he turned abruptly and stormed out of the apartment.

KIRK STARED AT THE PAGE OF NUMBERS AND LETTERS. He had met with no success when he tried to read the letters from right to left to see if they spelled anything that way. There was no pattern to the numbers, either. He had almost decided the file must be nonsense, perhaps just one of the many instructions the computer stored for itself. The phone rang and he pushed aside the remains of his breakfast as he answered.

Mark Hadley's news was part helpful, part frustrating. No, there was nothing in Chas Johnson's pockets except a billfold with no money and his keys. Feeling guilty about deceiving a friend, Kirk told him he simply wanted to be sure they weren't overlooking anything.

"And listen, buddy," Hadley continued. "The captain was serious about you taking a few days off. Why don't you try to forget about all this, spend some more time with Frances and Amy?"

"Amy's in school," Kirk said, more abruptly than he had intended. "I can't just sit here waiting to see if someone will waltz back into her life and whisk her away."

"I understand where you're coming from," Hadley said. "But, you're too close to it all. If you are the one to solve whatever this is, the accused's lawyers could say you were too eager to arrest someone, maybe planted evidence. That's the last thing you'd want."

Kirk knew Hadley was right. He could not let it go, but he couldn't keep putting Hadley in the middle. Kirk was willing to risk a reprimand, maybe even dismissal, to put Amy's kidnappers behind bars, but it wasn't fair to ask Hadley to risk the same. "Just one more thing."

"Reynolds..." Hadley began.

"Where'd the mayor get those computers?"

Kirk could sense Hadley's hesitation. "If I tell you, will you be convinced that I'm committed to this as much as you are?"

"Damn!" Kirk stood up and nearly threw the phone across his small dining room table. "I should have guessed they came from seized property." He was seething. What could the mayor have been thinking?

"Supposedly," Hadley continued, "everything on them was taken off. There shouldn't have been any data that would encourage the former owners to come looking for them."

"Look." Kirk stopped. If he told Hadley about the strange list of letters and numbers there would be no doubt that Kirk was working on the case despite the captain's direct orders not to do so. Hadley might feel obligated to let the captain know. Instead, Kirk asked, "What bust was it?"