Every Step She Takes (Who's Watching Now Book 2) (14 page)

“He’s probably even hungrier than I am.”

“I’ll bring him up a bowl of scraps as soon as I put lunch on the table. We had pot roast last night, and there’re leftovers. Sorry I don’t have any dog food.”

“He isn’t picky.”

Berta’s lips twitched as she ladled out the soup. “I don’t imagine he is.” After adding a thick slice of freshly baked bread and a nut-studded brownie to the tray, she handed it to Grace. “Enjoy.”

“I will. Thank you.”

Her legs shook as she climbed the back stairs. When she was half way down the hall, Andy exited his room and glanced her way as he turned to shut the door. She stopped, soup sloshing in the bowl. Wylie growled, and she nudged him with her knee.

“That sure smells good.”

“Berta’s serving lunch now.”

When he didn’t move, she edged past him, wondering how she was going to unlock the door with her hands full—how she was going to get away from this man who might or might not have tried to kill her last night.

“Let me get that for you.” Without waiting for a response, he took the tray.

Hesitating for only a moment, she fished the key from her jacket pocket and unlocked the door. Turning, she reclaimed her lunch. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” His gaze held hers. “You look exhausted. All that hiking wears a person out if you aren’t used to it.” Lifting one hand in a salute, he backed away, a smile lighting his eyes. “I have to go talk to a woman about cooking a fish. See you later.”

“See you.” Letting out a breath, she shut the bedroom door behind Wylie and lowered the tray onto the desk. “Either Andy’s just a man enjoying a fishing trip, or he’s one hell of an actor. I wonder which it is.”

Wylie ignored her, sniffing around the edges of the room before flopping down on the rag rug to stare at her bowl. In that moment, she didn’t care if she’d just spent the last few minutes conversing with an assassin. She would eat her soup, take a bath and then collapse onto the quilt covered bed. If someone wanted to shoot her, they could. She was too damn tired to care.

* * * *

Travis stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows of the tiny terminal in Moose Flat, which overlooked a strip of tarmac that served as a runway. Half his attention was on Sutton feeding change into a vending machine, the other half on what Fritz was saying.

He shifted the phone at his ear. “Why the hell can’t you meet me in Anchorage? Surely the FBI has a branch office there.”

“Of course they do, but there’s no point in turning Sutton over to a field office when I need him in Seattle. By the time I’m able to land in Anchorage, your plane will be gone, and I’ll have to wait hours for the next one.”

“Well, shit. You’d think the government could spring for a charter flight.”

“I’m not even in Seattle yet. I had another emergency to deal with, but I’ll be there by the time you land.”

Travis rolled his eyes. “I thought Sutton was a priority.”

“He is. Now, about your shooter—”

“Who is he, Nielsen or Smith?” He shoved a hand through his hair. “Knowing would be helpful, especially since they’ll both be on the return flights with us.”

A long pause on Fritz’s end rattled his nerves.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t have an answer yet. Archer Nielsen graduated from UCLA two years ago, and to the best of my knowledge, hasn’t held a job since. At least not one reported to the IRS. For most of that time, he’s been drifting around Europe, in and out of a dozen different countries. A background check didn’t turn up much. He was born in Denmark but has lived in the US most of his life. A California surf punk with money to burn.”

“A few contracts like the one out on Sutton would have paid his tuition and then some.”

“I’d be certain he’s our man if Andy Smith didn’t have some odd holes in his history.”

“Oh?”

“The guy lives with his wife in Salt Lake City. No children. He troubleshoots computer systems, has clients all over the country.”

“So, he spends plenty of time travelling.”

“Yeah, but a check into his schedule showed a few trips that weren’t work related.”

Travis lowered his voice as Nielsen strolled by to stand at the window a few yards away. “Smith mentioned taking occasional fishing vacations.”

“Three days were spent in Detroit and another two in Atlantic City. Not likely he was fishing either time. And that’s just in the last six months.”

“Interesting.”

“I thought so. Still, I can’t rule out the kid. Keep an eye on both of them, and an even closer one on Sutton.”

“Gee, I appreciate the advice.”

Fritz sputtered and choked. “Damn, you made me spill my coffee. What sort of excuses did they use for cutting their trips to Alaska short?”

“Nielsen is bored with the fishing camp. The kid has the hots for Grace, and since she’s leaving…” He raked a hand through his hair again. “Smith got an emergency call from his wife yesterday evening. Apparently, her mother fell and broke her hip.”

“Now there’s a fact we can substantiate. Any idea which hospital admitted her?”

“No, he just said he’d be flying straight to Miami from Seattle.”

“I’ll put someone on it.”

Travis eyed the fisherman with his nose buried in a magazine. “Maybe I should stay here another day, just to see if either of our suspects changes his plans.”

“Forget it. I want Sutton now. Anyway, I have complete faith no one will get to my witness through you. Hey, I’ve gotta go. They’re calling my flight.”

“My weapon is in a checked bag. That makes me nervous, Fritz.”

“Our shooter won’t have one on the plane, either, and you’ll handle any surprises with your usual efficiency. See you in Seattle.”

The line went dead. Travis stuffed the phone in his pocket, feeling far less confident about the situation than Fritz. He glanced over at Grace who sat beside the carrier containing an extremely unhappy dog. Whimpers echoed throughout the terminal. He smiled. The woman’s heart was softer than her smooth skin, softer than the hair she flipped over her shoulder.
Shit.
She hadn’t been avoiding him exactly, but she was definitely keeping an emotional distance.

His shoes squeaked on the damp tile floor, freshly mopped by a bored looking teen in sagging jeans. He dropped down on the plastic molded seat next to her.

“You scowled through most of that conversation. Not good news?”

He nodded toward Casey, leaning against a wall, eating chips. “Fritz won’t take him off my hands until we get to Seattle. Worse, the identity of our shooter remains a mystery. Your admirer has plenty of money, no job and has been kicking around Europe for the last couple of years. Fisherman Andy travels for business with a few unexplained trips that didn’t involve his job or baiting hooks. Basically, Fritz was no help.”

“So, you keep a vigilant eye on our hippy friend and both suspects until we reach Seattle.”

“That nicely sums up the situation.” He held his hand to the grated front of the carrier. Wylie stopped whining to lick his fingers. “I bet you’re a lot happier than he is to be leaving Alaska.”

“Let’s just say I won’t be back in the near future.”

“Come on. It wasn’t all bad. You acquired a new friend.”

She grimaced. “Most of my plants have short lifespans. I’m a little concerned about Wylie’s health under my care.”

“I’m pretty sure he’ll remind you to feed him if you forget. He’s a little more vocal than your average hanging ivy.”

She laid a hand on his thigh and squeezed for a brief moment before pulling away. “Wylie isn’t the only positive from this trip. I don’t regret meeting you. I wish—” She bit her lip and shrugged. “Hiking with you will always be a good memory. Not the getting shot at part, but the rest.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but the crackling loudspeaker announcing their flight would be boarding interrupted. Two attendants, one the kid who’d been mopping the floor, came over to haul Wylie away. His howl echoed mournfully.

“I wish they’d let him sit with me on the plane. He’s such a good boy, he wouldn’t be any trouble.”

Standing, he gave her a hand up, then reluctantly released her. “I have a feeling that dog has survived worse than a plane ride in the luggage compartment. Here comes Casey. Let’s go board.”

The short flight to Anchorage was uneventful. No turbulence, which meant no reason to hold Grace’s hand. Deciding he didn’t need a reason, he clasped her palm in his. She twined their fingers together and smiled.

“Shouldn’t Casey be sitting here instead of me?”

Sutton sat directly across the aisle a mere yard away. Eyes closed, he appeared to be taking a nap, apparently content to let Travis keep any threat at bay.

“He’s close enough.”

“So, what will you do after you hand him over to your FBI buddy?”

“Head into the office. Donna left me a message about a client I need to see ASAP.”

She tugged on her hand, but he held tight.

“Who’s Donna?”

“My personal assistant. She’s the one who keeps the business running smoothly.”

“Let me guess—thirty and blond with a…smile that makes your male clients forget they have a problem.”

“More like sixty, though I’d never dare ask, with an iron-gray bob and a killer stare. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Donna smile. Certainly, no one enters my inner sanctum without her approval.”

“Hmm, maybe you should have sent her to retrieve Casey.”

He grinned. “Too bad she doesn’t hike. The kid and Smith would both have been too intimidated to shoot at her.”

Her voice lowered. “Which one do you think he is?”

“My money’s on Nielsen.”

She laughed softly. “You’re prejudiced against him because he has a crush on me.”

“I heard him ask you if you’d ever been to Paris.”

“He told me he had a few days to spare if I was interested.”

“Rich punk.”

“I think it’s Andy. Wylie doesn’t like him much.”

“Wylie doesn’t like Nielsen either, and I don’t think the mutt is too crazy about me.”

“He adores Berta, but that could be because she fed him pot roast.”

He glanced out the tiny window near her shoulder when the plane began to descend through a thick layer of clouds. Drizzle streaked the glass pane, matching his mood.

“We’ll land in a few minutes. It sucks I couldn’t get three seats together on the flight to Seattle.”

“You have to stay with Casey.” She lifted one shoulder. “We met on this flight. I suppose it’s fitting we’ll part after it.”

Lifting their clasped hands, he pressed hers to his lips. “Not for long. I may not be able to offer you a trip to Paris, but I’ll let you give me a tour of Fisherman’s Wharf.”

“Anytime.”

“It’s a date.”

Stuck near the back of the plane and therefore one of the last to get off, Grace hurried down the concourse to make her connecting flight to San Francisco. Weaving between an elderly man in a wheelchair and a mother dragging two toddlers, she paused when Travis’s broad back appeared in the crowd ahead. He turned, caught her gaze then headed toward her, one hand firmly holding Casey’s arm.

Stopping only inches away, his gaze caressed her face, blue eyes bright with emotions that filled her with confusion. Regret with a hint of longing and desire overlaid by something deeper, something that set her insides quivering. Taking her chin in his hand, he bent and kissed her. Then kept kissing her. When he finally let her go, the air left her lungs on a sigh.

“See you, Grace.”

She could only nod. Pulse racing, she stepped back then forced her feet to move. It wouldn’t do to miss her flight—no matter how much she wanted to stay in Seattle. She’d talked to her editor while they were waiting for their connection in Anchorage. He’d reserved front page coverage for her headline with the story to follow on page three.
The front-freaking-page!
If
she could get her copy delivered to press on time. Which meant not missing her connection.

Three men wearing suits and grim expressions brushed past her, and Grace wondered if one of them was the illusive Fritz. Behind her, a cry echoed followed by a thud. A woman screamed. People stampeded, and Grace was carried away by the flow of panicked humanity.

Clutching her purse with both hands, she pushed through the crowd and pressed against a wall. Security guards rushed past. Straining to see, she stepped up onto a chair. Something—someone—was down on the ground, surrounded by the men in the suits.
Travis!
Where was Travis? Fear ripped into her, shredding her nerves and her composure. A whimper slipped through her lips. When a big man in a plaid sports jacket moved aside, she caught a glimpse of Travis talking and gesturing with one of the men who had passed her. Relief weakened her knees. Grabbing the back of the chair, she stepped down then stilled.

Archer Nielsen’s cool gaze met hers. Gray eyes glittered with purpose as he raised one finger and pointed. His lips formed a single word—
pow
—before he hurried away. Blending with the crowd, he disappeared from sight.

Had that been blood staining the cuff of his shirt? Heart racing, she pressed her hand to her chest. Should she go back to tell Travis? Indecision weighed on her. Surely he’d seen the man who, who… She pressed her hands to her face. Casey Sutton was more than a little annoying at times, but she certainly didn’t wish him ill. Was he dead or only wounded? Casey must have been the person down on the floor.

She dragged in a breath, torn by the need to return for more information, knowing if she did she’d miss her flight and lose her front page spot. The FBI would handle the situation, at least she assumed the men with Travis were government agents, and Archer was long gone. She was one hundred percent positive no one would let her anywhere near Casey at the moment. She’d board her flight—if she hadn’t already missed it—then call Travis to let him know what she’d seen and find out what had happened to Casey. The conclusion to her story. She could only pray it would have a happy ending.

* * * *

“Sutton pulled through surgery.”

Phone to his ear, Travis leaned back in his desk chair and closed his eyes. “Thank God.”

“The shiv tore up his spleen and nicked a kidney, but the surgeon was able to repair it.” Fritz swore. “He’ll be in the hospital under heavy guard for some time. I’m praying he’ll have recovered enough to testify against Estrada in two weeks. Otherwise, we’ll have to request an extension.”