Trust No One

  Home. Where had that thought come from? He wasn’t calling home, he was calling Grace. But somehow it was all one and the same.

  She answered on the first ring.

  “How did the meeting go?” she asked.

  “The meeting went fine,” Julius said. “The deal will net a sizable chunk of change within five years. My staff is celebrating at the closest bar.”

  “But you’re bored.”

  “It was a very dull meeting. I’m on my way back to Cloud Lake now. Should be there in a little over an hour, depending on traffic. I’ll stop by my place and change clothes. Then I’ll walk to your house. You’re still with Irene?”

  “Yes, indeed, as promised. We’re at her shop. Devlin is going to join us as soon as he leaves his office. We’ll pick up some takeout and then go to my place.”

  “Sounds like a plan. See you soon.”

  “Drive safe,” Grace said. There was a slight catch in her voice, as if she had been about to say something else but she stopped herself. “Good-bye.”

  “See you soon.”

  He ended the connection and paused for a moment, wondering what it was that Grace had almost said. I miss you, perhaps. Or, maybe, I’m looking forward to seeing you again. That was probably it. The chances that she had been about to say I love you were slim to none. It was way too soon. And Grace’s track record indicated that she was very cautious when it came to relationships. Still, a man could dream.

  He hadn’t been doing much in the way of dreaming until Grace arrived on the scene. Grace changed everything.

  He fired up the SUV and reversed out of the parking space. He was in a strange mood, one he could not quite define. Whatever it was, it was not connected to closing the Banner deal. The only thing involved there had been money.

  By the time he drove out of the garage and into the river of downtown traffic he was pretty sure that the little rush of energy he felt was anticipation. Soon he would be back in Cloud Lake, where Grace was waiting. For now she was safe with friends.

  It was full-dark by the time the exit sign for Cloud Lake came up in the headlights. Another little rush hit him when he pulled off the freeway. Not much longer.

  Coming home.

  Fifteen minutes later he cruised slowly through the neat little town and turned off onto Lake Circle Road. He checked the Elland house when he drove past and was satisfied when he caught a glimpse of the windows glowing warmly through the trees. Dev’s police vehicle was parked in the drive. Grace was where she was supposed to be. She was safe.

  With any luck Devlin would come through with a solid connection between the crimes and Burke Marrick. There had to be one. No con artist was perfect. Theoretically, now that Marrick had the money in sight again he would stop trying to murder people who stood in his way. Theoretically.

  Julius turned into his own driveway, parked and got out. He grabbed his laptop and started toward the front steps.

  The door of the neighboring house banged open. Harley appeared. The porch light shone on his bald head.

  “Thought I heard you,” Harley called a little too loudly. “How’d the Banner deal go?”

  “It went the way deals always go. Banner is happy. My investors are happy. My staff is happy.”

  Harley snorted. “So why aren’t you happy?”

  “I’m thrilled, can’t you tell?”

  “You know what your problem is?”

  “Grace tells me I’m bored. What’s your opinion?”

  “You’re not building anything. You’re just making money. After a while, that’s not enough. When I was in business, we built things all over the whole damn world, remember? Water treatment plants. Hospitals. Hotels. Apartments. And it’s all still standing. People got clean water and jobs and places to live because we put in the infrastructure you need for those things to happen.”

  “I’m in a bit of a hurry here, Harley. Your point?”

  “I’m thinking maybe Grace is right. All you do these days is make money for yourself and your investors. You’re bored.”

  Julius went up the steps and unlocked his front door. “Now, see, there’s where you’re wrong. I’m not bored, not any longer.”

  Harley laughed. “That’s because you’re heading out to spend the night with Grace.”

  “I don’t want her to be alone until the cops pick up the psycho who’s been stalking her.”

  “Right. You’re just a regular Boy Scout doing a good deed.” Harley chuckled. “Face it, you’re in deep there. The scary part is that she understands you better than you do yourself. That kind of woman can be dangerous.”

  Julius paused in the doorway and looked at Harley. “Got any advice?”

  “Sure. Same advice I always gave you when I sent you out to salvage a job that was in trouble. Don’t screw up.”

  Harley went back inside his house. His front door slammed shut.

  Julius went through his own door and switched on some lights. He stood quietly for a moment, listening to the silence. The place felt empty, just like his condo in the city. But that no longer mattered. He would be with Grace soon.

  Nevertheless, the yawning emptiness seemed almost eerie this evening. He walked across the front room, his footfalls echoing on the wooden floor.

  There had to be a connection to Burke Marrick. What the hell was taking the Seattle police so long to find it?

  His imagination was spinning into overdrive. He needed to change clothes and go find Grace and his friends.

  He hauled the duffel bag into the bedroom and dropped it on the bed. He was in the process of unzipping it when he heard the faint, muffled whoosh of an explosion.

  Instinct and old habits took over. Without thinking, he flattened himself against the nearest wall, automatically seeking cover. He crouched and pulled the pistol out of the ankle holster before he even had a chance to consider the possibilities. His pulse kicked up and the battlefield focus infused his senses.

  You’re probably overreacting. Just someone fooling around with fireworks out on the lake. You’re not going to be any good to Grace if you don’t stay in control.

  Outside the window the night was suddenly lit up with flames. He eased the curtain aside and saw that Harley’s boathouse was on fire.

  Harley burst out of his kitchen door and charged across the porch. He grabbed the garden hose and dragged it toward the dock.

  “Arkwright, get out here and give me a hand. We got a fire.”

  Julius thought about the fuel, the flares and all the other combustible items that were stored in the boathouse and on board the cruiser.

  He shoved the pistol back into the holster and headed for the kitchen door. When he was outside on the back porch he took out his phone to call 911.

  “Harley, get away from that damn boathouse,” he shouted. “The whole thing could explode at any minute.”

  Harley continued to haul the hose toward the dock. “It’s my boat inside that boathouse, damn it.”

  “You’ve got insurance. Besides, we both know you can afford to buy two or three more.”

  Julius punched in the emergency number.

  “Nine-one-one. What is the nature of your emergency?”

  “Fire,” Julius said. “Twenty-eleven Lake Circle Road. Harley Montoya’s place. The boathouse.”

  “I’ve got vehicles on the way.”

  Julius ended the call and started down the steps. “Forget it, Harley. There’s nothing you can do. Stay clear. Fire department’s on the way.”

  “You gonna give me a hand or just stand there and tell me the fire department’s coming?” Harley shouted.

  “Stay away from the boathouse, you stubborn—”

  Julius caught the flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye just as he reached the bottom step. A neighbor coming to help, he thought. But the nearest house was some distanc
e away. No one could have run that fast.

  The porch light glinted darkly on a metal object in the newcomer’s hand.

  . . . And Julius was thrown back into a war zone.

  He dropped to the ground just as the gun roared. He felt cold talons slash open his right side. The pain, he knew, would come later. At that moment he was riding a wave of adrenaline.

  Another shot slammed into the porch boards just above his head. He was flat on his belly on the far side of the steps. It occurred to him that he had made a fine target standing there in the light while he called 911. Idiot.

  He pulled the gun back out of his ankle holster and watched the dark figure advance cautiously across the yard. When the gunman reached the edge of the porch light he paused, searching for his target in the shadows.

  “What the hell are you doing, Julius?” Harley shouted. He started across the gravel lane that separated the two houses. “Are you shooting a damn gun? I’ve got a problem over here, in case you didn’t notice . . . Shit.”

  “Harley,” Julius shouted. “Get down.”

  Harley finally saw the gunman.

  “Son of a bitch,” he bellowed. “You set that fire, didn’t you?”

  The shooter was already swinging around toward Harley, who was clearly silhouetted against the flames.

  Julius took a breath, let it out partway and squeezed the trigger.

  The force of the shot took the gunman down. He collapsed into the ring of porch light.

  Julius got to his knees, his weapon in one hand. He clamped his other hand against his side.

  “The gun,” he said.

  “I’ve got it.” Harley scooped up the weapon the gunman had dropped and hurried toward Julius. “Shit, son, where’d that SOB hit you?”

  Julius considered the question closely. It was getting hard to focus, but there was warm liquid spilling over his hand now, he was pretty sure of that.

  “Right side. I think. Kind of damp there.”

  Sirens wailed in the distance.

  “Damn, you’re bleedin’, all right.” Harley ripped off his flannel shirt and bunched it into a tight bandage. He pressed it firmly against Julius’s side. “The fire trucks will be here in a minute. They’ll have some medical supplies.”

  “Okay.” Julius did not take his eyes off the fallen man. “Keep an eye on that bastard.”

  “Don’t worry, I will. You know him? He’s not from around here, that’s for sure.”

  “Burke Marrick,” Julius said. “Grace . . . Tell her . . .”

  “Shut up and concentrate on stayin’ right here with me. You can tell Grace whatever it is you want to tell her, yourself. Got a hunch she’ll be along right quick.”

  Forty-Three

  He drifted in and out of a medication haze, vaguely aware that Grace was somewhere nearby. He tried to focus because he had things to say to her but he kept slipping back into a murky dream world. Machines hummed and beeped endlessly in the shadows. Figures appeared and disappeared, startling him because they moved so quietly. He finally realized what was happening and glared at the nurse who was getting ready to inject another dose of the drug into the IV line.

  “No more,” he ordered. The words were thick and ragged.

  The nurse, a tall, heavyset man with red hair, studied him closely. “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Grace materialized at the side of the bed. “Don’t be an idiot, Julius. Take the pain meds.”

  “No more,” Julius said. “Not now. Need to think.”

  “Your call,” the nurse said. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

  He left the room. Grace leaned over the railing and touched Julius’s hand very gingerly, as if she was afraid he might break. He gripped her fingers and held on tight.

  “Marrick?” he croaked.

  “He survived but last time I checked he wasn’t awake. Devlin has an officer stationed outside his door. His surgery was a lot more extensive than yours. The doctor said that in your case no vital organs were hit. They just had to stitch you up.”

  “Feels like they did it with red-hot needles.”

  “You heard the nurse,” Grace said. “You can have more pain medication if you want it.”

  “No, thanks. The meds don’t make the pain go away, they just take you to a different place. But everyone around you thinks you’re no longer in pain so they feel better.”

  She smiled. “That’s very philosophical.”

  He pushed himself up against the pillows and groaned when the pain punished him.

  “Julius?” Grace looked worried.

  He took a cautious breath. “I’m okay.”

  He surveyed the room and saw a large leather chair. There was a hospital blanket draped over the back. The window glowed with watery morning light.

  “Hell, it’s tomorrow, isn’t it?” he said.

  Grace smiled. “It’s today. You were shot last night.”

  “You spent the night here?”

  “Of course I did. You scared the daylights out of me. When Devlin got that call saying that two males had been shot at the scene of a fire at Harley’s house and that you were one of them—” She broke off and took a breath. “Yes, indeed, I spent the night.”

  “You didn’t have to do that,” he said, but he knew it sounded weak. He was thrilled that she had stayed with him. “But thanks.”

  “You told me you don’t like guns,” she said.

  “I don’t. Never said I didn’t own one. Used to carry it when I worked for Harley. Dug it out after we got mugged in the garage.”

  “That turned out to be very farsighted of you.” She gave him a misty smile. “How are you feeling?”

  “Best not to ask. Does Devlin have any more information?”

  “Yes. He’ll fill you in on the details but I can give you the short version. Devlin ran Burke’s prints and got a hit. They belong to a man named Randal Trager.”

  “Trager’s son by his first wife.”

  “Right. Randal’s prints were in the system because he did time several years ago, remember? I pulled up the details when we researched Trager’s family.”

  “I remember. That fits.”

  “It gets better. The Seattle police searched Millicent’s apartment and found Burke’s prints in Millicent’s bedroom. He must have been the man she took home that night. Randal, or Burke or whatever his name is, was nailed for his crimes only once long ago but the cops think that he’s probably been a successful, mid-level con artist all of his life. Nyla Witherspoon’s inheritance would have been a big score for him.”

  “But only if she got her hands on her money.”

  “Devlin has been in contact with the Seattle police. It won’t be long before Nyla discovers that Mr. Perfect is a scam artist.” Grace shook her head. “It’s just so sad.”

  “Now you’re feeling sorry for Nyla Witherspoon? Hell, woman. That’s right up there with feeling sorry for that dead rat that was in your refrigerator.” Julius stopped. “Which reminds me—”

  “The mugging, yes, I know. Devlin says the Seattle police picked up the other man who attacked us. Evidently they are violent career criminals with the usual rap sheet. Their main business is drugs but they are available for hire as enforcers. They told the cops that a man paid them to quote, send you a message, unquote.”

  Julius mulled that over. “Did they run the prints on the vodka bottle we saw in Millicent’s apartment?”

  “Yes. No prints on the bottle but, as I told you, they did find Burke’s prints in her bedroom.”

  “He wiped the bottle clean of his own prints but forgot about the prints in the bedroom?”

  “That’s how it looks,” Grace said. “The cops think Marrick was very sure that everyone would attribute Millicent’s death to an accidental overdose.”

  “But
if they did consider the possibility of murder, the vodka bottle would point toward you,” Julius said.

  “That’s the theory. Millicent is awake, by the way, but she’s still disoriented. She told the police that she doesn’t remember anything about what happened the night she supposedly took an overdose. Everyone tells me that is not unusual in such situations. But she swears that she never tried to kill herself and that she doesn’t do heavy drugs. Beyond that, she’s not talking.”

  “Smart woman. She doesn’t want to incriminate herself.”

  “The cops traced the email about eating chocolate and the online order for the candy delivery. As you guessed, Millicent had scheduled both to go out if, and only if, she did not personally cancel the arrangements every morning before eight o’clock.”

  “The email and the candy order went out right on time the day we found her in a drug coma.”

  “Yes,” Grace said.

  For some reason the thought amused him. “Wonder if she remembers that she sent that email and those chocolates to you and that by now you have the number of that offshore account.”

  “I don’t know. According to Devlin, she’s got partial amnesia.”

  “Or doing a very good job of acting the role of a patient who has lost her memory.”

  Grace winced. “Just goes to show, you never really know someone. I liked Millicent.”

  “Don’t feel bad. In her own way, she must have liked you, too. That’s why she left all the money to you.”

  “Well, there is that, I suppose,” Grace said. She seemed to brighten a little at the thought. “But I wonder why Millicent got involved with Burke. I always had the impression that she was sure he was a con man.”

  “That’s probably exactly why she did get involved with him,” Julius said. He tried to connect dots through the remaining drug fog. “She knew who and what she was dealing with—or thought she did. Looks like they were partners in the scam. They murdered Witherspoon and tried to make you look guilty.”

  “The vodka bottle at the scene?”

  “They knew the cops would be looking for someone close to Witherspoon. If their own alibis didn’t hold up they wanted to point the finger at you. Burke Marrick knew the brand of vodka that was in the basement that day because he researched his father’s death.”