Chasing Secrets Page 11

  Was that why she’d awakened? Because of the pain in the dreams or the pain from her wound? Probably both. Before she’d fallen asleep, she’d texted Zeke and told him to be at the center at 4:00, even though she was unable to make it. Michelle had promised to put him to work coaching some of the younger kids in basketball.

  She glanced at the clock. 9:07. Morning or night? The darkness outside her window said night. Which meant she’d dozed most of the day away. The nightmares lingered. She tried to blink the images away and forced her thoughts to happier things. Like the fact that she had amazing friends and coworkers.

  Katie and Maddy had come by around five with food. She’d eaten, then plopped herself back into the recliner two hours later, full and sleepy once more. They’d left with promises to check on her again later and she’d drifted back into a healing sleep. At least until the latest nightmare had awakened her.

  Haley glanced at her cell phone. Three missed calls and four texts. One from Michelle.

  Michelle

  Zeke did an amazing job with the boys. Where did you find him?

  Then another text thirty minutes after that, also from Michelle.

  We’re ready for this competition. We’ve got the bus lined up and our entry paid for. The kids are so excited.

  She shot back an answer.

  Sorry. Fell asleep. Found him in a dark alley. I’ll explain when I see you. Glad to hear he did well. Looking forward to cheering the kids on in the audition.

  A restlessness stirred inside her and she pressed a hand to the wound as she stood. Ibuprofen would be a good thing. Or she could take one of the Toradol pills the doctor had sent home with her. She slid her phone back into its clip and moved gently, trying to remember where she’d tossed her purse. The kitchen counter? On the way to retrieve it, she stopped to look out the front window. A police cruiser still sat there and she could see the shadow of the officer’s outline, thanks to the partial moon.

  A low creak from overhead made her pause. When the sound came again, her heart picked up speed. She lived in an older farmhouse in the Blythewood area just outside Columbia. She’d fallen in love with the place the moment she’d seen it, and the fact that it was a short sale hadn’t fazed her. After eight long months of patience, she’d finally signed the papers and now it was hers. Well, hers and the bank’s.

  And now her upstairs floors were creaking.

  But that was impossible, because the only thing that would make them creak would be someone walking on them.

  And no one was up there. Right?

  Being shot at twice in the last twelve hours had made her a tad antsy. She had her phone still in the clip on her belt and she palmed it. She shot a quick group text to Quinn, Steven, and the girls.

  Think someone is in my house. Maybe. Could simply be paranoia. Stand by for confirmation. Might need backup. Don’t answer this text.

  She silenced her ringer. No sense in having the phone give her away. She moved to the counter and snagged her weapon, the pain in her side suddenly rating low on her priority list. Gun in her right hand, phone in her left, Haley made her way to the stairs.

  How would someone get in? And why? Could it be Richie—or one of his minions—had tracked her down?

  She stepped lightly, moving up, effectively trapped between the wall and the banister. She paused. Maybe she should just wait downstairs and let him come to her. If there was a him.

  Had she locked the door from the balcony to her bedroom? She couldn’t remember. She had an alarm system and used it most of the time, but knew they weren’t infallible. Even a high-grade, expensive one like hers.

  Haley made her way to the top of the stairs. Her bedroom was to the left and part of the reason she’d chosen the house. She could sit out on the deck overlooking the pasture, where she kept three horses. But the deck had stairs. Someone could have come up the back way. But probably not. She was being paranoid, right? And who could blame her? The sound was . . . what?

  She couldn’t come up with what it could be. Other than a person who shouldn’t be there.

  Her heart pounded in time with the pain in her side. She moved on silent feet to the entrance of her bedroom. The door stood open and she easily spotted the figure beside her bed, thanks to the sliver of moonlight filtering through her blinds.

  Haley sucked in a silent breath.

  He raised a hand, pointed his weapon, complete with suppressor, and fired three quick shots into the lump that could have passed for her lying in the middle of the bed. She debated the wisdom of taking the guy down by herself. Physically, there was no way she could overpower him. She could simply shoot him. He’d just sent three bullets into her bedding, thinking it was her. She’d be completely justified in putting three in him from where she stood.

  But she didn’t want him dead. Shoot to wound? Not in her condition. If she didn’t put him down, he could come after her and finish the job. She’d be better off staying out of sight and calling for backup. Only if she used her phone, the light might draw his attention. Then again, she’d sent the text. She had a feeling no one was going to wait for her to confirm she needed backup. Her friends were on the way. The thoughts flipped through her in a matter of seconds.

  She finally settled on waiting to see what he’d do next.

  Would he realize she wasn’t in the bed? That her blood wasn’t soaking through the sheets and heavy comforter?

  Why was he just standing there?

  Finally he moved.

  He reached for that comforter and her heart stilled even as she lifted the weapon to shoot him when he’d realize she wasn’t there. If he came her way, he was dead.

  Her front doorbell rang. Haley jerked and sucked in a quiet breath while she held her gun steady.

  Her would-be killer spun on his heel and slipped out of her room as quietly as he’d entered.

  [12]

  Steven had waved to the officer watching the house and approached the front door. He lifted a finger to punch the bell again when the door opened, revealing Haley’s tight face and flashing green eyes.

  He snapped to attention. “What is it?”

  “Go around back,” Haley said. “Someone just killed my bed and ran down the steps.”

  Steven pulled his weapon, hollered to the other officer, and took off around the side of her house. The fence to the pasture slowed him a bit, but he caught a glimpse of the dark-clad figure. “Police! Stop!”

  The person ignored him and, instead, grabbed ahold of the mane of the nearest horse and vaulted onto his back. Steven raised his gun, but he couldn’t shoot a fleeing suspect in the back, and he hadn’t seen a weapon, even though Haley had indicated he had one. Steven ran after him, even thought about mimicking the guy’s movements and hauling himself onto the horse not three feet away.

  But he didn’t ride. He pulled to a stop and watched as the figure got farther and farther away. Frustration nipped at him.

  “Did you see him?” Haley’s breathless question spun him around. She stood slightly bent at the waist, her hand pressed against her wounded side.

  “I saw him. Where will he jump off?”

  “Probably the road. The fence ends about four feet from the two-lane road straight ahead. He can jump the fence and be gone in under a minute.”

  Too fast for him to run to the car and drive around there. Steven pulled his phone and punched in his direct access to dispatch. When the woman answered, he gave her his location. “Got a possible suspect on horseback headed to Conrad Hills Road. He’s probably got a vehicle waiting and he’s armed and dangerous.”

  He hung up after hearing her assurances that she had units on the way. When he looked back at Haley, her pale, tense features stood out in the darkness. Her home was located far enough way from the road that no streetlights touched the area.

  The officer who’d been watching the house approached. “I didn’t see him. I’m sorry.”

  Haley shook her head, her hand still pressed to her side. “He came in on foot through
the pasture. Some periodic perimeter checks would have been appropriate, but he would have been watching for you and would have timed his attack accordingly. Or just killed you if you got in the way. Don’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault.”

  “Feels like it.” He turned and trudged back the way he came.

  Haley placed her fingers in her mouth and let out an ear-piercing whistle. The horse that had carried the intruder to the road came back through the trees at a gallop. The other two trotted over and nudged her. She looked at Steven. “I usually have treats when I whistle.” She patted their necks, then turned to look up in the direction of her bedroom. “Should we take a look?”

  “Ready when you are.”

  “Is she dead?”

  The hired assassin shifted the phone to his other ear and watched the police cruisers pull into her driveway. “Yes. I put three bullets into her while she slept.” At least he thought he had. He hadn’t had time to check before the doorbell rang. “Someone came to the door and I had to run, but the target has been terminated.” He felt a vague dissatisfaction with himself that he hadn’t pulled the blankets back before running. But he’d watched her enter the house—

  And now she was walking toward the cops who’d arrived. He swore and knew he had to get going. They were already starting to canvass the neighborhood and would be questioning any potential witnesses.

  “What is it?”

  He’d never had this much trouble taking out a target. “She’s not dead.” How was it possible?

  “Thought you said you put three bullets in her.” His employer’s frustration came through the line.

  He wanted to hit something. “I thought I did. Obviously not.”

  “Then make sure. No one crosses me. Take care of her once and for all.”

  “You hired me to do a job. I’m doing it.”

  “Well, no, actually you’re not. She’s still alive.”

  The assassin drew in a deep breath and knew who his next target might just be. The idiot he was on the phone with had been a huge headache to work for and he was just about done with the whole assignment. “She won’t be alive for long. Be prepared to transfer the rest of the money.”

  10:00 PM

  After sending the text to Quinn and the others letting them know she was all right and they didn’t need to rush to her aid, Haley studied her bed. The three bullets had ruined her covers, sheets, favorite pillow, and mattress. She crossed her arms and frowned at the feelings roiling inside her. She didn’t like it when her emotions wanted to take over. She’d worked hard at remaining aloof in times of high stress, especially when she had clients who depended on her to keep a cool head.

  But this . . .

  Quinn, who’d ignored the second text and had bolted to her home as soon as he’d gotten the first, walked into the room, took one look, and shook his head. “Wow. You’re batting a thousand in the enemy department, aren’t you?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Maddy, Katie, and Olivia were heading this way as well. I managed to convince them that I had you covered and would keep them updated.”

  “Thanks.” She ran a hand through her hair. “So it wasn’t Richie?”

  “Nope. I had my eyes on him when the call came in on this.”

  “One of his goons?”

  “That’s what I’m thinking. I mean, he has to know we’re watching him. He probably just put the word out and told someone to get it done.”

  Haley nodded even as she frowned. “I don’t know.”

  “What don’t you know?”

  “The guy in my bedroom was so . . . professional. He didn’t come across to me as a simple gang member. Not that gang members can’t be professional . . .” She paused. She wasn’t making any sense. “This guy . . .” She shook her head. “This feels different. Like he’s done this before many times.”

  “Like an assassin?” Steven asked.

  She flashed again to the moment she’d watched him pull the trigger, heard the slap of the bullets hitting her bed. “Yes. Exactly like that.”

  “It’s possible. Richie definitely has the resources to hire an assassin that fast,” Quinn said.

  Haley pursed her lips. “Can you get a look at his financials? See if any money has left his accounts in the last few hours?”

  Quinn nodded. “Let me check with someone in gangs. I’ll see what I can do.”

  She turned toward Steven. “How’s Duncan? Have you gotten an update on him?”

  “The docs seem to think he’s going to pull through. He’s not conscious yet, though.”

  “I want to talk to him when he wakes up.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if it’s not Richie trying to kill me, then I’m willing to concede that you could have a valid point. The attempts could be related to Duncan and my newly discovered family, and I want to know if there’s more to the story.”

  The crime scene unit moved in sync around her bedroom. Her French doors boasted print powder, as did her bedside table, even though she didn’t think he’d touched it. She flashed back to the moment he’d fired and, in her mind’s eye, saw the black gloves on his hands. There wouldn’t be any prints.

  “How’d your intruder bypass your alarm system?” Steven asked.

  She blew out a breath. “I don’t think I armed it when I got home, but he probably jammed it the same way that guy did Maddy’s.” At his quizzical expression, she waved a hand. “Quinn’s wife, Maddy, was attacked and kidnapped from her home a little over a year ago. From what we could tell, the kidnapper had disabled the alarm by jamming the radio frequency. It’s so easy it’s scary, as long as one has the right equipment and the know-how. Which this guy did.” She nodded toward the French door. “My guy probably did the same thing, then simply cut a hole in the glass, flipped the lock off, and let himself right in.” She shivered. She hadn’t heard a thing. She’d never felt vulnerable in her house before. Sure, she knew it wasn’t impenetrable, but it had always been her safe haven, her escape from life and the real world.

  This guy had ruined that for her. Anger licked at her in a sudden surge, hot and fiery, and she knew if she could get her hands on him right now, she’d probably do something she’d regret later.

  Or not.

  She’d have to get rid of the French doors and put a—

  No. She wouldn’t. She liked her French doors and she was keeping them—after the crime scene officers removed the pane that had been cut. They’d check for tool marks . . .

  She drew in a deep breath. Tonight was not the night for decision making.

  “Is there someone who can come stay with you for the rest of the night?” Steven asked.

  She shook her head. “I’m not going to be sleeping anyway.”

  “You need to.”

  “I just woke up. Besides, I slept all day. I’m good for a while.” Especially with the rush of adrenaline still pumping through her veins.

  “How’s the wound?”

  “Painful. But not unbearable.” So Richie had an alibi. That didn’t mean anything. He could have sent someone to kill her. And yet . . . someone had blown up the bus she was supposed to be on twenty-five years ago and now someone had tried to kill her again. Because Duncan had found her and it was discovered that she was alive? She still thought that was a bit of a stretch. But she wouldn’t discount it. “I’m guessing this was all Richie’s doing and nothing more.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  Before he could say anything else, an officer popped his head in the door. “Haley Callaghan?”

  She looked at him. “I’m Haley.”

  “There’s a man here who says he’s your grandfather and he needs to talk to you.”

  She blinked. “I don’t have a grandfather.” At least not one in the United States.

  “He says he just landed a couple of hours ago. He came from Ireland? And he’s driving a sweet Rolls Royce. Well, he and another guy who looks to be almost as old as he is. The ot
her guy was driving.”

  “Oh.” Okay then. She ran a hand over her hair and fought to process this new development. “All right. Tell him to wait in the den. I’ll be there shortly.”

  “We checked him out. He’s clean.”

  “Good,” Haley said even as she tried to push the shock away. “Good. Thank you.”

  A hand fell on her shoulder and she turned to see Steven looking at her with concern. “Are you okay?”

  “I really have no idea.”

  [13]

  Steven wondered what it would take to make her snap. He had a feeling he might not be far from finding out. The shoulder under his palm was certainly tense enough. Although he had to admit, all he had to go on was that feeling. So far all he’d seen was a backbone made out of steel. From what little he’d learned of her past and the way she grew up, her desire to keep Zeke and his family safe was more than just duty, it was personal. And now she had to deal with all of the emotions rolling around inside of her due to Duncan’s soul-rocking news—and the arrival of a grandfather she’d known nothing about just a few hours earlier.

  But he knew what it was like for work to become personal. He was well acquainted with that roller-coaster ride. “Where will you stay tonight?”

  She shrugged and he dropped his hand. “I’ll figure that out later,” she said. “Right now, I’m going to meet my . . . uh . . . grandfather.”

  “All right. I’ll just stay here and—”

  “No,” she said, a slight note of panic in her voice. She grabbed his hand. “Come with me.”

  He paused. “Are you sure?”

  She let out a short breathy laugh. “It’s silly, isn’t it? He’s just a man and I’m nervous.” She let go of his hand and ran her palms down her jeans. “And I’m clinging to a stranger. I obviously need therapy.”

  He blinked. She’d take down a potential mugger and stand up to a thug gang member who was twice her size, spend the night outside a kid’s house with a bullet wound in her side, but was anxious about facing a ninety-year-old man by herself. “It’s not silly and I’m not a total stranger.” He affected a wounded look and she gave him a smile. At least he thought it was supposed to be one. It looked more like a grimace. Her nervousness was actually kind of endearing. And she’d reached out to him, stranger that he was. But he didn’t want to be a stranger. “Come on. You can do this.”