Blind Spot

  “So Franco believed it had nothing to do with counterintelligence or counterterrorism.”

  “That’s right, and it wasn’t tied directly to any of their cases.”

  “So you believe him?”

  “I think so.”

  “Did you tell him you’re hoping to send Parker to run Burke’s place?”

  “No. Burke’s folks agreed to allow Parker to process his apartment, so we’re looking at it as an unofficial family request. If he finds anything of note, maybe I’ll share it with Franco.”

  “Speaking of sharing. . . .” She intertwined her fingers with his as his right hand rested on the console between them. “Are you thinking of telling Kate about Luke?”

  “I don’t know how I can’t, but Luke said it would put her in more danger, and I don’t want any of us in more danger.”

  “Let’s pray for guidance and see what God says,” Tanner suggested as they pulled into CCI’s lot and parked.

  Declan appreciated the suggestion. He desperately needed the Lord’s leading.

  He poured out his heart, asking God for direction, and after Tanner prayed, he felt confident Luke was telling the truth. Anyone who learned of his presence was at risk in a war that was further reaching and far deeper than Declan ever imagined.

  But how on earth was he going to look Kate in the eye and not tell her that he’d seen Luke? Talked to him? How Luke had taken out a hit man sent to kill them?

  “You okay?” Tanner asked, clasping his hand.

  He nodded. “I just pray I’m doing the right thing by not telling Kate.”

  “That’s your call. I trust your decision.”

  “Thanks.” He squeezed her hand before climbing out of the car and moving around to open her door. She stepped out, and the confidence shining in her eyes as she looked up at him, grounded him.

  Taking a steadying breath, he held the glass door to CCI open and she stepped inside. He followed quickly behind and heard a round of greetings, but none more exuberant than Kate’s as she held Luke’s facial recognition picture out to him. It was Luke. Kate had found him. The image didn’t exactly match the man who had been in their hotel room last night—in the photograph he had black hair, but in Declan and Tanner’s room Luke’s hair had been brown.

  Declan squinted. And were those colored contacts? Luke’s eyes had been blue, but in the photograph they looked green.

  “Can you believe it?” Kate said.

  He swallowed, praying again for guidance, and once again feeling the need to protect Kate and everyone else present, at least until he understood the full magnitude of what they were dealing with. “It’s crazy,” he said.

  “Now I just have to find where he went from North Dakota,” Kate said.

  “North Dakota?” He frowned.

  “Yeah. I ran with UMD athletes’ names from our time there as possible aliases and got a hit. Luke crossed from Canada into the U.S. at North Dakota’s border as Devin Clarke. Now I just have to figure out where he went from there.”

  “I have no doubt you will.” When Kate set her mind to something . . . which meant sooner or later she’d realize they’d both been in Houston. Luke should have known better than to return to the States if he didn’t want to be found by Kate. She was too good.

  “Thanks.” She smiled, and he felt even more like a heel for not telling her about Luke.

  Griffin eyed him curiously.

  Great. The best “reader” in the room knew he was purposely omitting information.

  “So, Park,” Declan said, shifting, or at least hoping to shift, the attention, “how would you feel about a trip to Houston?”

  Parker arched a brow.

  Declan went on to explain everything they’d learned about Burke and how he really would love for Parker and Avery to run Burke’s apartment.

  “Of course,” Parker and Avery said nearly in unison. “We need to finish helping Griffin rerun the crime scenes tomorrow, but we can head out Tuesday morning.”

  “Awesome. Thanks.”

  “Food’s here,” Kate said, grabbing the bags from the delivery man with Tanner’s help.

  Parker squinted. “Those don’t look like pizza boxes.”

  Avery winked, moving to help in the kitchen. “Great observation.”

  “Chipotle?” Griffin said. “Whose call was that?”

  “You like Mexican,” Finley said. “You were all talking, so we made the call.”

  Griffin lifted his chin. “Who’s we?”

  “Us,” Kate said, indicating her and Avery.

  Griffin laughed. “I told you they’re going to gang up on us every chance they get.”

  They all grabbed plates of tacos and burritos, and settled on the U-shaped sectional and surrounding chairs—except Parker, who took his food to the lab to continue his work. Once he started on something, it was nearly impossible to get him to stop.

  “What’s the latest with Coach’s case?” Declan asked.

  “We’re having to reexamine the evidence in a whole new light,” Griffin said.

  “Why? What’s up?”

  Griffin explained everything through his interview with Samuel Arlow.

  Declan sat back. “That’s crazy.”

  “Yeah.” Griffin sighed. “But my gut says it’s the right direction.”

  “Speaking of directions,” Parker said, stepping out from his lab with the bug Declan had brought back from Steven Burke’s apartment in his hand.

  Declan straightened. “Yes?”

  “It’s a match for the bug removed from Mira’s apartment.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning both Russian, the same design, make, and model.”

  So Houston and Baltimore were almost certainly connected, and Declan bet Ebeid controlled both.

  Still in shock from the conversation at CCI, Declan settled on the floor of his living room, his back to his couch as he replayed all the threads of the case through his mind, trying not to let Coach’s case seep through. Of course he cared, but he needed all his energy focused on the case at hand. The last two days had been exhausting. He was tired to his bones.

  Gaining a glimpse into Steven Burke’s personal life, seeing Luke, learning that Houston and Baltimore were tied together—both most likely under Ebeid’s control . . .

  It made him wonder exactly how vast and far-reaching Ebeid’s network was.

  Kate finally reached the point of exhaustion and headed home. The guys would kill her for not calling Declan or Parker, who both lived close by, to walk her home. There were threats all around them, and she needed to be careful, but she was never one to bend to intimidation.

  And she craved the solitude, the still of the night, the sound of the water lapping against the ships’ hulls. She waved to the patrolman Declan had stationed in the main lot and headed down the metal grate path to the third row, noting the light outage three rows over. She’d have to let Caleb, the maintenance manager, know. The wind shifted slightly, and a scent caught her attention. Aftershave, perhaps?

  She squinted in the darkness. Is someone there?

  “Hello?” she called, slipping the hair from her eyes. She pulled it back into a quick bun, but the wind kept whipping strands across her face.

  No answer.

  Maybe whoever it was had already gone inside or had their portholes open, sending the woodsy, citrusy aftershave on the salty breeze.

  She waited a moment longer, saw no movement, heard no sound, so she turned down her row and climbed on the Barefoot.

  Stepping inside, she glanced at Tanner’s dark room. Tanner was bunking in Declan’s guest room until the case was over. She smiled, loving how protective he was of her. She’d just pray Declan stayed out of his own way. He tended to overanalyze, to try to bring logic to something that was beyond logic. Love was the most powerful emotion in heaven and on earth. God sent His own Son to die for humanity out of His great love. Jesus willingly went to the cross out of love. Love defied logic, defied hatred, defied division. S
he’d seen it over and over again. Her love for Luke defied all logic. He’d been gone more than seven years now, and she still loved him as strongly as she had the day he left. What a fool she was.

  She grabbed a Snapple tea from the fridge, closed the door, and leaned against it. She gazed out the window and thought she saw the slightest movement. Probably just a flag moving in the wind.

  She set her Snapple down and pulled the curtains.

  Go to bed, Kate.

  Luke had promised himself he wouldn’t do it—he wouldn’t go see her—but he couldn’t help himself. Declan’s comment had given him an ounce of hope that she might still hold feelings for him, but she didn’t know the monster he’d become, what he’d been ordered to do time and again.

  He turned away, his back to the wind. He was being ridiculous and endangering Kate at the same time. He’d lectured Declan about bringing Kate into his sphere, but here he was, practically at her front door. If he truly still loved her, which he believed with all his might he did, the best thing he could do was walk away.

  29

  On Monday morning, Declan approached Professor Malcolm Warner’s office on the campus of his alma mater—the University of Maryland, College Park. Tanner had kindly offered to stay at the Bureau office, wade through their paperwork, and update their boss about their time in Houston, along with their case progress. They needed Alan to approve their moving forward with the investigation, and she had a natural way with people that made her more than capable of that task. He greatly missed her at his side, though, and now wondered what it would feel like once Lexi returned and he and Tanner were no longer partners.

  His chest constricted. He loathed the thought of Tanner not being at his side.

  She’d become an integral part of his life. While he might not be able to continue working with her as his partner, he could pursue a relationship with her, and the conscious decision to take that next, concrete step forward with her filled him with joy. He wouldn’t just express his feelings and hope for the best—he’d ask her to stay by his side from now on. Because the fact was he couldn’t imagine life without her anymore.

  Reaching Malcolm’s office, he knocked on the closed door, hoping the professor was in. He should have called ahead.

  “Declan,” Malcolm said, opening the door a moment later. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”

  “Sorry for the intrusion.”

  “Nonsense. Come in. You know you are always welcome. How are the rest of the guys?”

  “Doing well. Busy with a case.”

  “Ah, so you’ve come to talk through a case?”

  “Cases, actually.”

  “Well then, good thing I don’t have a meeting until after lunch. Please,” he said, gesturing to the sofa, “sit down.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Cup of coffee? I’ve got this new K-something machine.”

  “Sure. That’d be great.”

  The room was a typical college professor’s domain. Oak cabinets, shelves brimming with textbooks and reading material, a cluttered desk, a couch, and two chairs. Apparently, becoming head of the department had its perks—a larger office for one. Professor Warner had been a mentor to Declan—to all the guys—during their years at UMD. Declan had always loved dissecting cases with him.

  Malcolm made them both a cup of coffee, handed Declan his, and took a seat in one of the chairs opposite him. “So tell me about these cases.”

  “Before I get to that, I should tell you . . .” He still couldn’t believe it. “Kate found Luke.”

  Malcolm choked on his coffee, spilling it on his arm.

  Declan grabbed a napkin from the desk and handed it to Malcolm. “Sorry, I should have waited until you’d finished your sip before I dropped that bomb.”

  Malcolm’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean Kate found Luke?”

  “She hired a contact overseas and got proof of life from him a little less than two months back.” Had it really been that long since he’d last visited Malcolm?

  “Luke’s alive?” Color flushed Malcolm’s cheeks.

  “I know.” Declan raked a hand through his hair. “I can hardly believe it.” He so wanted to tell Malcolm everything, but Luke had asked him not to tell anyone, so instead he stuck to sharing only what Kate had learned.

  “Where is he?” Malcolm asked, dabbing the coffee from his sleeve.

  “He was in Malaysia, then Toronto, now in the States.”

  Malcolm’s eyes widened. “He’s here?”

  “I don’t know if he’s actually here in Baltimore.” Though he had a strong suspicion it might have been his next stop after Houston.

  Malcolm set his cup down and leaned forward. “You seem upset.”

  Declan swallowed. “Just wondering why he’s been gone all these years . . . and why he’s back now.” It’s the question that had plagued him ever since he looked into Luke’s eyes in Houston.

  “Of course. How could we not wonder? But let’s move on to your cases. Tell me about them,” Malcolm said, shifting topics rather abruptly. Especially considering who they were discussing, but he supposed they did have two cases to discuss, and Malcolm did have a meeting after lunch, which meant limited time.

  An hour later, the office door closed and the one Luke was behind opened. “You let her find you?” Malcolm seethed.

  Luke stepped out into the office, thankful Declan hadn’t said anything about Houston. Malcolm would have killed him. Quite literally. If only Declan and the gang knew the truth about Malcolm . . . “I can’t help it if Katie’s persistent.”

  “You are too good to let some bloodhound she sent locate you.” His eyes narrowed. “Did you want to be found?”

  “Of course not. It was a heated time. I had greater concerns.”

  “Than them knowing you’re alive?”

  “Is that such a bad thing?” He was tired of the silence, of the lies, of not living a real life.

  “Oh, please don’t tell me you’ve gone soft after all these years.”

  “I’m here to do my job.” What happened afterward was up for debate.

  “Then do your job and let this nonsense about your friends die. Just as your friendships have.”

  Luke prayed that wasn’t the case, but how could they not have after what he’d done to them?

  “Let’s run the scenario as if the Markums did as Samuel Arlow suggested,” Griffin said as he, Jason, Parker, and Avery stood in the Markums’ guest room at the Gilmore Inn on Monday morning. The rooms had been cordoned off as crime scenes until the evidence had finished being processed.

  Until Griffin had learned what Elizabeth Markum did for a living and the type of clientele she represented—particularly the one she’d let down—he never would have anticipated the Markums being the murderers rather than the victims. However, taking all the factors into play, frighteningly enough, it was a viable option. And at the moment, it was their best one. He just prayed the rest of the team didn’t think he was crazy.

  “Okay, so what are we looking for?” Parker asked.

  “Hear me out on this. Elizabeth Markum failed to get a major gang leader acquitted. He’s been threatening to kill her if she didn’t get him off at appeal. Maybe she feared she wouldn’t be able to do it. Soon after, she and her husband discover they are being robbed by their accounting firm. They believe Haywood is the one responsible. They confront him. He purports innocence, but they assume he’s lying and so they set plans in motion. . . .”

  “To stage their own deaths and frame Haywood,” Parker said, thankfully following his logic.

  “But they couldn’t leave Haywood alive, because he’d claim he was innocent of their murders, and there was the chance the truth could come out,” Avery continued.

  “So they killed Haywood and staged their own murders,” Jason concluded. He paused. “That’s cold.”

  “If that’s the case, then why the finger at Loch Raven?” Avery asked.

  “Finding that actually makes more sense in light
of this scenario. Think about it. If you wanted to prove you were dead, that your body had been disposed of even if it was never found . . .”

  “Ewww. He cut off his own finger?” Avery’s face scrunched.

  “Or his wife did it,” Griffin said, not putting a thing past her at this point.

  “So where are they?” Avery asked.

  “That’s what we have to figure out,” Griffin said. “Let’s rework the room with this scenario in mind.”

  “All right. . . .” Parker rubbed his hands together. “So the Markums go to Haywood’s room after everyone is asleep, probably pretending they want to work things out. But as soon as Haywood lets them in, they hold him at gunpoint”—Parker exhaled—“having fired the gun earlier in the evening so as to make it look as if it had been used to kill them when we ran the gunpowder residue test. They couldn’t risk firing it in Haywood’s room, or anywhere else in the hotel, because it could leave conflicting evidence behind.”

  “Right,” Jason said. “So they hold Haywood at gunpoint, force him to write the suicide note admitting to murdering them, put him in the tub, and cut him to make it look like a suicide—but they didn’t consider that they needed to slice in the correct direction and angle.”

  “Or the amount of pressure,” Parker added.

  “Then . . . they stash the gun in his room and return to theirs, staging it to appear as if Haywood killed them before disposing of their bodies and committing suicide.”

  “I imagine they drove Haywood’s car to the hiking lot with John riding in the trunk, at some point having cut off his finger—hence the blood and trace evidence we discovered,” Parker said. “They placed the finger where it would suggest they’d been dumped over the falls and drove Haywood’s car and one they must have stashed at the trailhead back to the resort, leaving Haywood’s, and taking off in the stashed car.”

  “Both cars registered to the Markums are accounted for,” Jason said, scrolling through his case notes on his iPhone.

  “I’d bet they bought a getaway car for cash somewhere,” Griffin said.

  “Okay,” Parker said. “Now the big questions is . . . where’d they drive it to?”