she was infatuated, caught up in his role as her protector. Last night
could be explained away by alcohol, the intoxication of the danger
swirling around them or perhaps just simple lust. And he wasn’t going
to ask her how she felt. She had enough going on.
He focused on the immediate future. Was traveling cross-country on the
Honda to San Diego the best plan? Mexico and then South America? He
felt a pang of guilt when he thought of the family he would be leaving
behind. Then he thought about something else: his reputation, what his
family would think. If he ran, he would be admitting guilt of sorts.
And if they did get caught while running, who would believe them?
He slumped back in his chair and suddenly pondered a very different
strategy. A few minutes before, flight seemed the wisest choice.
Faith, understandably, didn’t want to go back and help send Buchanan to
prison. Lee really didn’t have much interest in doing that either, not
after hearing why the man had been bribing the politicians. In truth,
Danny Buchanan probably should be sainted instead. That’s when an idea
started to form in his head.
Lee went back inside and picked up his cell phone from the coffee
table. He had one of those mega-minute deals with no long distance or
roaming charges, so that he rarely even used his hard-line phone
anymore. It had voice mail, text mail, caller ID. It even had a news
banner where you could check Out late-breaking stories, or how your
stocks were doing, not that he had any.
When he had first started out as a private investigator, Lee had used
an IBM typewriter; touch-tone phones were cutting edge; and fax
machines spit out curly thermal paper and were the domain of only the
largest companies. That was less than fifteen years ago. Now he was
holding a global communications command center in the palm of his hand.
Change that fast just couldn’t be healthy. But still, who could live
without these damn things now?
He plopped down on the couch and stared at the slowly revolving ceiling
fan’s rattan blades, contemplating the pros and cons of what he was
thinking about doing. Then he made up his mind, and slipped his wallet
out of his back pocket. The piece of paper was in there with the
number his client, who he knew now was Danny Buchanan, had originally
given him. The one he had been unable to trace. Then doubt seized
him. What if he was wrong about Buchanan’s not being involved in the
attempt on Faith’s life? He stood and paced. When he looked out the
window at the blue sky, he saw only possible disaster looming in the
approaching storm clouds. Still, Buchanan had hired him. He was
technically working for the man. Maybe it was time to report in. He
said a silent prayer, picked up his cell phone and punched in the
numbers from the piece of paper.
CHAPTER 38
CONNIE DID NOT LOOK HAPPY as Paul Fisher leaned Howard and addressed
him in a conspiratorial tone.
“We have every reason to believe that she’s in on it, Connie. Despite
what you’ve told us.”
Connie glared at the man. He hated everything about Fisher, from his
perfect hair and rocky-ledge chin down to his ramrod-straight posture
and wrinkle-free shirts. He had been sitting in here for half an hour.
He had told Fisher and Massey his side of the story, and they had told
him theirs. They were not going to find any middle ground.
“That’s bullshit with a capital B, Paul.”
Fisher sat back and looked at Massey. “You heard the facts. How can
you sit there and defend her?”
“Because I know she’s innocent, how about that?”
“Do you have any facts to back that up, Connie?” Massey wanted to
know.
“I’ve been sitting here telling you the facts, Fred. We had a hot lead
at Agriculture on another case. Brooke didn’t even want Ken to go with
Lockhart that night. She wanted to go.”
“Or so she told you,” Massey replied.
“Look, I’ve got twenty-five years’ worth of experience that says Brooke
Reynolds is as clean as they come.”