First Night Page 10

  He tapped Merri on the shoulder so she would look at him and said, “We can walk to the church from here. Then when we’re ready to go to Bethany’s house, it’s within walking distance also.”

  “They’ll be watching her house.”

  True. He wasn’t sure what the best course of action was to avoid that scenario. Maybe Merri would have some ideas. Right now he needed that coffee.

  He took a route across several back lawns, finally approaching the church from the rear. The back door was locked. Worry inched up his spine. Thankfully, the front entrance opened without hesitation. A church bulletin stuck on one door announced that Christmas mass would be from eight until eleven a.m. that day.

  Inside, he led the way through the vestibule to the main sanctuary. Dim lights highlighted the altar area where a kneeling bar waited for those who sought to bow down before the massive cross.

  Instead of going to the altar, he weaved his way around it and to the rooms in the rear.

  Merri tugged on his hand, and he turned to face her.

  “Where are we going?”

  He hitched his head toward the narrow hall beyond the door to his right. “Bathrooms and a kitchen are back this way.”

  Her expression brightened. “Great.”

  In the hall, she disappeared into the ladies’ room while he headed for the kitchen. He went through the cabinets until he found what he’d hoped for: coffee and filters. When he had a pot brewing, he made a path for the men’s room. He passed Merri en route. “The coffee’s brewing,” he said to her.

  She’d washed her face and finger-combed her hair, but she still looked rumpled and as sexy as hell. He resisted the urge to smile. Merri Walters looked damn good in the mornings. No matter under what conditions she had spent the night.

  When he’d taken care of personal business he hesitated at the sink. How could his life have gone downhill so far so quickly? He stared at his reflection and wondered how anyone could believe him to be a murderer. As angry as he often got at Kick, he would never have done anything like that. The knucklehead was like a brother to him. Otherwise, Brandon would have gotten a new roommate years ago. This was all way too insane.

  He threaded his fingers through his hair, didn’t care if it looked tousled. Brandon had never tried to be the spit-and-polish type. He couldn’t care less.

  Until now. Somehow it was important on a level he didn’t fully understand that Merri thought the best of him. That she liked him.

  “Dumb, Brandon.”

  When he joined her in the kitchen she’d located two mugs and poured warm brew into each.

  “I couldn’t find any cream.”

  He didn’t care. “Thanks.” He downed a gulp of the hot liquid. Warm, tasty. Felt good just knowing that the caffeine would soon infuse his veins. He needed a jolt this morning. Sleeping with her practically on top of him, the uncomfortable circumstances not withstanding, had been seriously difficult. His body had tightened and rushed toward arousal with no way to slow it down. She’d felt good against him. Her weight…her warmth. And, God, her shape. He’d wanted to run his hands over every part of her body, but he hadn’t dared cross that line.

  The woman was armed, after all.

  As they sipped a second cup of coffee more slowly, Merri broached the subject he had dreaded. “How old were you when your dyslexia was diagnosed?”

  Like her, he didn’t exactly go around broadcasting the fact that he was dyslexic. He’d expected her to figure it out. “Ten.”

  “Your teachers didn’t notice before then?”

  “My mother was my teacher,” he explained. “I was homeschooled.”

  Merri nodded, the expression on her face showing her disapproval.

  “Public schools can be problematic.”

  She set her cup on the counter. “Tell me about it. I taught elementary school for a couple of years. Problematic is putting it mildly.”

  He’d known it! “I thought you’d been a teacher at some point.”

  Her eyebrows formed a vee, creating the cutest image of surprise. “How did you know that? I told you I used to be a cop.”

  “The way you rephrased your questions when you quizzed me back at the apartment.” He poured himself a third cup, then realized the pot was empty. He motioned to her cup. She shook her head so he set the carafe back on the warmer and turned the machine off. “You recognized that you weren’t getting through to me so you rephrased the question until I caught on.”

  She smiled. He liked when she smiled. She looked soft and sweet…and womanly. “I saw the clues but I couldn’t be sure. Usually by the mid-twenties, it’s not an obvious problem.”

  It generally wasn’t. “I seem to fall back into my old patterns when I’m stressed.” And he’d definitely been stressed the past forty-eight hours.

  “Understandable.” She inclined her head and studied him. “That’s probably typical. I just haven’t had that much experience with the adult side of the problem. You can’t recall events in proper sequence. Things get jumbled up. There’s a delayed reaction in physical and mental responses.”

  He nodded. Like all the things he should remember that Kick had said to him, he didn’t. But the murder and everything since had churned things up. He couldn’t retrieve the information in any kind of decent order. Some things he couldn’t seem to pull from his brain at all.

  The clock on the wall indicated that it was close to seven. “Since it’s Christmas morning, Bethany’s likely up by now.” Her kids would never allow her to sleep late on this day. “We could head that way.” According to what Merri had told him last night she hadn’t learned much from Kick’s parents—except that two men pretending to represent another P.I. agency had questioned the couple. Merri had warned them to beware. Their ignorance had likely been the reason they had survived the encounter without being tortured or killed.

  “Since Kick’s parents don’t consider you a real suspect,” Merri offered, “we can assume the sister might not. That could prove to our advantage.”

  “She won’t.” Brandon knew Bethany would never believe he was a suspect.

  Merri pulled her coat closer around her and shifted the purse strap on her shoulder. “Lead the way. I’ll follow.”

  Brandon cleaned up the mess they’d made first, then led the way outside. He chose his route carefully. Through more yards. Most were decorated for Christmas with snowmen and Santas. Sleighs and reindeer. Lots of twinkling lights that had come on since they’d taken refuge in the church. Beyond some of the windows he saw families gathered around the trees opening presents. Not one suspected the trouble right outside their home.

  Life had once been like that for Brandon. Before he’d decided his mother was hampering his life. She worried so about him. She sheltered him entirely too much. He’d dated, had a few girlfriends. Even married at a really young age. But none of those women had connected with him.

  None ever understood his challenge. He couldn’t always react the way he should. And every time he screwed up, he paid the price.

  A private college had given him the skills he needed to survive in the world of architectural engineering. He’d learned that he worked better alone and on his own. Private contracting had served him well. He worked from home more often than not. By the time this was over, he would be behind, but a few all-nighters and he would be caught up.

  If this was ever over.

  He still refused to believe that the justice system would put him behind bars for a murder he hadn’t committed. To hedge his bets he’d gone to the Colby Agency. He glanced at the woman at his side. He’d made the right choice on more levels than one.

  At Bethany Stover’s kitchen door, Brandon approached with caution. The lights were on, and he could smell breakfast. Brandon’s stomach rumbled as he peered through the window of the door.

  He could imagine Bethany, her husband and two kids gathered around the Christmas tree in the family room. He and Merri might be forced to wait a while longer before interrupting th
at wondrous event but—

  Bethany, flannel gown flowing to the floor, entered the kitchen. She, at least, was up and about and not already too deeply entrenched in the Christmas tradition.

  Merri knocked on the door before Brandon had a chance to properly brace for the reunion.

  Startled, Bethany turned toward the door. Since it was dark on the stoop beyond the door, she shuffled across the room and flipped the switch. Brandon waved to her and she blinked, startled all over again.

  The hesitation lasted only a few seconds, but her reaction to seeing him was mixed. Still, she unlocked and opened the door.

  “Brandon?” She glanced at Merri. “What’re you doing here?”

  “Hey, Bethany.” Brandon didn’t move to step inside. Not until he was invited…or more certain of her feelings. “I know it’s not a good time, considering what’s happened and the fact that it’s Christmas morning, but we need to talk.”

  Another second’s hesitation and Bethany stepped back far enough to allow them in. “I guess it’s okay. The kids and Larry are still asleep.”

  As Brandon and Merri moved past her, she added, “We haven’t gotten a lot of sleep the past couple of nights.”

  She didn’t have to explain. Her brother was dead. Brandon was supposed to be his best friend. Instead he was a person of interest in his murder.

  “I’m really sorry about what happened,” Brandon said.

  “My parents told me about what you’d done. I understand you’re trying to help.” She looked to Merri. “Have you learned anything yet?”

  “Considering,” Merri said carefully, “what I’ve experienced since taking Brandon as a client, I’d have to say he’s telling the truth—if you’re asking me whether or not I believe he’s innocent.”

  Bethany gestured to the table. “Have a seat.”

  When they’d settled around the table, Kick’s sister added, “I never considered you a suspect.” This she said to Brandon. “I knew something was wrong. I just didn’t know what. I couldn’t understand why I hadn’t been able to contact you.” She studied his face. “Are you all right? The police called and told us about the apartment. It’s all just horrible and doesn’t seem to end.” Her eyes glistened with emotion.

  He still had trouble accepting that Kick was dead and that he had no home. “I’m okay. I just want to stop these guys. I want whoever’s responsible for Kick’s murder brought to justice.”

  Bethany nodded. “I’m hoping that happens, too, but I don’t want you caught up in this. Why don’t you let the police handle it? You could go into hiding if the men who hurt Kick are after you, too.” She meant what she said. Her eyes told him that they’d come from the heart.

  Merri shook her head, drawing the woman’s attention back to her. “It won’t be that easy. Whoever hired these men wants the evidence your brother had in his possession. They’re not going to stop until they find it or the man who hired them is revealed so the police can deal with him. It may get even uglier.”

  Bethany shook her head. “If you came here because you think I know something.” She gave her head another shake. “I don’t know anything. Kick talked about working on a big story the last time he was here.” Tears glimmered in her already puffy eyes. “He wouldn’t say a word. Not a word. Except that it was big and someone was going down. Someone important to the city of Chicago.”

  “You think,” Brandon suggested, “this person might have been a politician? A high-level member of law enforcement? Something like that?”

  “I wish I could help you, but I just don’t know.” She glanced longingly at the coffeemaker. “Why don’t I make us some coffee?”

  Brandon didn’t mention that they’d already had coffee. He imagined it made Bethany feel somewhat more in control to do something.

  When she’d poured the coffee, she brought a tray to the table and passed out the mugs. “Would you like pancakes? They’re hot off the griddle?”

  Merri shook her head, then offered, “There is one way you could help us.”

  Bethany settled in her chair and cradled her mug. “Name it.”

  “Kick gave Brandon some random clues to finding where he’d hidden the evidence these men are looking for. But we haven’t been able to make a lot of sense of the phrases yet.”

  Bethany stopped mid-sip of her coffee and looked at Brandon.

  “It may be nothing,” Brandon said, not wanting her to get her hopes up. “But we do believe the phrases indicate that he left something here, in his hometown. But that’s as far as we’ve gotten.”

  “The part we haven’t figured out,” Merri put in before Bethany could ask questions, “is the final clue: Invisible.”

  Bethany’s face went pale. “Invisible?”

  Merri nodded. “Does that mean something to you?”

  Brandon had considered the word a dozen ways and other than that the item was well hidden, he couldn’t fathom what Kick meant by the term.

  “Back in high school,” Bethany clarified, “Kick wasn’t the guy he is—was—more recently.” To Brandon, she said, “By the time you met him, he’d become Kick Randolph, the man with a plan to make it all the way to the top of his field.” She sighed, stared into her cup. “But back in high school he was a total introvert. No friends to speak of. He didn’t play any sports, wasn’t in the band. He was nobody. That’s what the kids who liked to make fun of him called him. It was awful for him.” A tear slid down her cheek, she swiped at it with the back of her hand. “His senior year he was given a trophy by those snotty cheerleaders he’d gone to school with for four years.”

  “A trophy?” Merri repeated.

  Bethany nodded as she swiped away more of those tears. “Mr. Invisible. That’s what they dubbed him. The guy in their graduating class most likely to spend the rest of his life being unseen.”

  Invisible. That had to be it. “That explains the term.” Brandon clenched his fists beneath the table. Now he understood why Kick would always boast about the fact that he understood how Brandon felt about his dyslexia. He’d suffered, too. Why the hell hadn’t he ever told Brandon the whole story?

  Didn’t matter now. What mattered was finding the truth. “The evidence he had hidden would be on some sort of storage device,” Brandon described. “Does the word invisible give you any idea where he might have hidden a video or some kind of electronic storage device?”

  Bethany started to shake her head no, but then she stopped. “Wait. There was a trophy.” She frowned in concentration. “At the high school.” Insight replaced some of the emotion still glistening in her eyes. “They gave him a trophy on Awards Day. The principal was so appalled at what his classmates did, he stuck it away in some storage room.” A slight smile tilted her lips. “But when Kick started making a name for himself in Chicago, the principal pulled out that old trophy and put it in the display case with all the other ones. You know, all the state championship ones. Kind of an in-your-face move since a lot of my brother’s old classmates still live around here.”

  “You believe it’s possible the trophy may provide some insight into where he hid the evidence,” Merri suggested, her face hopeful.

  Bethany nodded. “That has to be it. That’s the only thing that comes to mind. Kick was pretty proud of what the principal had done.”

  “How does a guy so invisible during school get a nickname like Kick?” Merri asked.

  Brandon could understand how she would wonder. Now that he knew the whole story, he wondered, as well.

  Bethany made another of those exasperated sounds. “He used to hate the nickname since it was about him being the guy everyone could kick around. But after he moved to Chicago and started garnering a few kudos in his career, he liked the sort of inside distinction.”

  “There’s one more thing,” Merri said, breaking the silence that had fallen over Brandon and Bethany. “The men who questioned your parents will come to you next, most likely. You cannot share any of this with them. They can’t know we’ve been here. If they pr
ess you by saying they know we were here, tell them that you kicked us out because you’re angry with Brandon.”

  “I understand.” Another frown marred Bethany’s brow. “What’re you going to do?”

  Merri got to her feet and pushed in her chair. “We’re going to find that evidence and ensure justice is done for Kick and for Brandon.”

  It took some persuading to get Bethany to go along with the idea that they had to go back out there and do this alone. But she insisted Merri and Brandon use her minivan. Brandon didn’t argue. The car they had been in was damaged and would be recognizable by the bad guys. They needed to keep as low a profile as possible.

  Equally helpful, Bethany had given them the key to the school. Her husband was a math teacher at the high school as well as a coach. If they were lucky, her husband would never know he’d facilitated an illegal entry of school property.

  Again Brandon drove, since he knew the neighborhood.

  Bethany had also insisted they wear different clothes. The fit wasn’t so great, but it would work. The ski hats and change of coats provided the best disguises.

  Now all they had to do was break into the high school without getting caught.

  On Christmas.

  Chapter Nine

  Chicago, Home of Victoria Colby-Camp, 8:30 a.m.

  Victoria Colby-Camp slipped her arms into her coat and smiled as her husband smoothed the heavy wool over her shoulders. She and Lucas were nearing their sixth anniversary, and life could not be better.

  Their granddaughter was safely at home with her parents enjoying Christmas after the harrowing scare by the thugs who would have kidnapped her this past summer had Victoria and the entire Colby agency not intervened. Jim, Victoria’s son, and his wife Tasha were happier than ever with a second child on the way. The scare of the last ill-fated pregnancy was well behind them as this pregnancy moved into the second trimester.

  Things at the Colby Agency were running more smoothly than ever.

  Life was good.