Sunset Point: A Shelter Bay Novel (16 page)

“Better older than the alternative,” Tess said.

“Ain’t that the truth,” he agreed. “I’ve got a question about the calls. How come, if they’re tracing the calls, he’s still out there?”

“Because, as I’ve learned, cell phone tracing doesn’t work like in the movies or on TV. Or even in courtrooms, where it’s often treated like DNA evidence.”

“Yeah. If it pings off a tower, you know where a phone is.”

“In a perfect world. But in reality, the technique is imprecise since the switching tower decides which of half a dozen towers in your area you connect with. Say everyone at a Trailblazers game decides to pull out their cell phone and make a call at the same time for some reason. It’s likely that the closest tower would be overloaded, so calls would be sent to other ones farther away.

“If your phone’s signal is picked up by a tower ten miles away, you’re looking at a circle with a radius of ten miles. Which has an area of three hundred and fourteen square miles. Most towers have three directional antennae, each which covers one third of the circle. If you include that factor, you’re working with an area of one hundred point sixty-seven square miles.”

“That’s a big area,” Nate said. “And how the hell can you do that math in your head that fast?”

“I can’t. I lost a case early in my career to a defense attorney who did the math, which has stuck in my head ever since, because it made it impossible to prove, without a doubt, that the guy I knew was guilty was anywhere near the scene of the crime.”

“You’ve just taken a lot of the fun out of watching crime dramas,” he said as he turned onto the street leading to the hospital, following the signs through the maze of buildings.

“A lot of smart phones have GPS on them, which can pinpoint where you are. But, needless to say, my caller isn’t using one of those.”

When he pulled up in front of the ER, to save time, rather than park in the garage, Nate opted for valet parking. Not wanting to waste time herself, Tess jumped out of the car before he could come around and open the door.

The kid parking cars did an actual double take when Nate gave him the key to the Mustang GT muscle car. “Wow. This is some dope ride.”

“It is, indeed. And you’ll take good care of it, right?” Nate held out a bill.

“I’ll treat it like my own,” the valet promised as he pocketed the twenty.

They’d just reached the automatic doors when the car roared away at what sounded like full throttle, the menacing engine growl escalating into a lion-like roar. When the rear wheels fishtailed on the wet pavement, Nate visibly flinched. But he didn’t complain as they stopped at the desk, where they were directed to where Jake was waiting.

He wasn’t hard to find, surrounded by uniform cops, suit-clad detectives, and grungy, obviously undercover officers Donovan had probably worked with during his vice days. Most were holding cups of coffee; others were gathered together, holding hands, obviously forming a prayer group. It hadn’t taken long for the clan to gather.

Although it wasn’t that unusual for police to show up to support one of their own, in this case, Tess knew that the support from his fellow law enforcement men and women wasn’t just because they shared a badge but because Donovan was one of the good guys. The kind of cop who’d always have your back, while doing his best, during his patrol days to keep the streets safe. As a detective, he was more dogged than anyone at PPB when it came to pursuing justice for those who couldn’t win it for themselves.

She’d often thought their shared workaholic tendencies were one reason why they hadn’t worked out as a couple. Also, pillow talk about murder, rapes, child abuse, and domestic violence, was undoubtedly not conducive to romance, part of the reason they’d never gotten to the sex part of their relationship. Which, she’d always figured, made working together a whole lot easier.

“He had X-rays, an MRI, and CT scans,” Jake reported. “He’s got some injuries, which will heal, and they’re keeping him at least overnight, just for precaution, because he has a concussion, but it doesn’t sound as bad as it could have been.”

“Thank God.”

“Roger that. I finally got hold of Mike.”

“Great. Did Dad say why he didn’t answer the phone?”

“He had it turned off.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t ask. And he didn’t tell. But he’s on his way here. I told him you were okay.” He turned toward Nate. “You’re the Marine.”

“I am.”

“Yeah. It shows. Thanks for taking care of my girl.”

Tess rolled her eyes, knowing it would only get worse when her father arrived.

“I was just the chauffeur,” Nate said.

“The nurse said to give them a while to settle in, then we could visit. But not all together. Meanwhile, the department sent a uniformed guard for his door.”

“A guard? Are you saying his being hit wasn’t an accident?”

“According to witnesses, a black SUV with dark windows came down the street and swerved to hit him. He flew up on the hood before bouncing off. Fortunately, it didn’t run over him.”

“You didn’t tell me it was that bad!” Tess felt Nate’s hand beneath her elbow, supporting her as she swayed.

“Sorry.” He raked a hand over his hair. “As an investigator, I should be better at reporting an incident, but this one’s especially rough because it’s personal. It could end up being a drunk driver. But no one wants to take any chances. Especially with you involved.”

“You can’t believe…”

Her voice trailed off. The phone calls had made her uneasy, granted. But she’d always thought of monitoring them as a way to catch the caller. Even after the bomb squad experience, she hadn’t considered herself in danger. Because, she realized now, allowing herself to even think of herself as a potential victim took her to a dark place she’d locked away in her mind.

“That the driver was some hit guy from the Russian?” Jake filled in for her. “I think that’s a very good possibility. Your snitch said Vasilyev’s still running the organization and talking about a hit. Which is why the cops were able to get your phone tap warrant.”

“But why Donovan?”

He shrugged. “He could’ve been sending you a message. Or getting him off the case. Quinn’s as dogged as your old man was when he was on the force. He wasn’t going to stop until he got the caller, or anyone else who could allow Vasilyev from to get out.”

“He’s not going to get out,” Tess insisted. Of that she was very, very sure. She’d seen to that.

“You know that. And I know that. Unless he escapes, which isn’t likely. But that doesn’t mean he knows it. These new Russians aren’t like the old mob guys. They’re less subtle. Kinda like their president. And they’re definitely not lacking in the ego department.”

Tess was processing all that when she saw her father headed toward them. He was wearing the suit he used to wear to court, and he wasn’t alone. He was with a woman. An attractive, age-appropriate redhead. Could he possibly be dating? After all these years?

“Jake filled me in,” he said as he wrapped his arms around Tess. “Hell of a thing. But Quinn’s tough.”

“He is that,” Tess agreed. She turned to the woman. “Hi.”

“Hello.” Her voice was warm but rough. Like Lauren Bacall’s. It was also, she suspected her father had already noticed, sexy. “You must be Mike’s daughter, Tess. I recognize you from your news interviews. I’m Eleanor Flynn. I’m a volunteer at the library. I’m sorry we have to be meeting under such circumstances.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Tess said, not certain which of them she was trying to convince more. “Some of my favorite memories are of story time at the library.”

“So your dad told me.”

“Eleanor and I met today,” Mike revealed. “When I went there for some research books. I spent dinner trying to talk her into coming to work for Jake and me.”

“You and Jake?” Feeling more and more like Alice having fallen down the rabbit hole, she turned back toward the man in question. “You already have a job. With the D.A.’s office.”

“I like the work,” he said, looking more than a little guilty for having kept the information from her. “But there are a lot of levels of bureaucracy to jump through. When your dad came up with the idea of opening our own shop—”

“Your own shop?” Her head spun back to her father. “As in private investigations? You guys are going to be like Magnum P.I.?”

“Well, yeah. Sort of.” Seeming a bit embarrassed—maybe because he hadn’t told her?—he came close to scuffing the toe of his polished-to-a-glass-sheen shoe on the waiting room floor. Once a Marine, always a Marine, she remembered both he and Nate saying.

“But without the cool Ferrari, aloha shirts, and short shorts,” he continued. “I was waiting until it was official to tell you.” No longer embarrassed, his broad chest practically puffed up with pride, and his shoulders squared, once again reminding her of what he must have looked like as a Marine. “I filed the papers today. Before going to the library.”

“Wow. Well…”

“Nate Breslin,” Nate rescued her by introducing himself as her mind went totally blank while she struggled to process this news. Nate held out a hand. “Like I told Jake, I happened to be at Tess’s when the call came in about Quinn, so I drove her over.”

As much as she appreciated Nate’s assistance, she waited to hear her father ask why he’d been at her house. Or why she hadn’t been capable of driving herself. But instead, her father zeroed in on an entirely different subject.

“Breslin… You’re the writer.”

“Guilty.”

“
The Haunting of Hannah McBride
is one of my favorites.”

“Thanks. I researched that on a PPB ride-along with Donovan.”

“So he’s said. And it shows that you knew your stuff because you got the cop stuff right. I also liked
Dragons’ Lair
.”

“You’ve read it?” Tess found her voice. Wasn’t that a surprise? She’d thought her father thrived on a diet of Ed McBain and Elmore Leonard.

“Couple of times.” Mike nodded.

“I didn’t know you read horror novels.”

“Your friend here is a crackerjack storyteller.” He turned back to Nate. “Come to think of it, don’t you live somewhere on the coast?”

“In Shelter Bay,” Nate confirmed. “And I’m glad to hear you liked my stories.”

“A bunch,” Mike said. “Though my new favorite is probably
Graveyard of the Abyss
. The one about some alleged Bermuda Triangle area off the coast.”

Tess held her breath, hoping that Nate wouldn’t bring up the damn captain. “My house overlooks that beached wreckage,” he said easily. “It just seemed to be calling out for a story. And Oregon’s coast has certainly claimed its share of ships.”

“It sure as hell has.” Mike’s eyes met Tess’s and she knew they were both thinking of the captain and Isabella.

Proving that she was as perceptive as she was friendly, Eleanor broke into the silence that was suddenly yawning as deep as that aforementioned abyss.

“Since it’s going to be a while before you can see Detective Quinn, why don’t you and Tess go catch up over coffee upstairs in the cafe in the main part of the hospital?” she suggested. It did not escape Tess’s notice that the way she’d placed her hand on the sleeve of his suit seemed awfully intimate for two people who’d supposedly been having a business dinner. “Jake or I’ll come get you if he’s allowed visitors before you’re back.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Mike said. Looking extremely grateful as he leaped onto the suggestion like a drowning man grasping a life preserver, he patted her hand in a gesture that definitely didn’t look the least bit businesslike.

“I’ll wait here with Jake and Eleanor,” Nate said.

“We’ll be back in a bit.” Tess knew she was going to have to answer some hard questions. Which was fine with her, because she had more than a few of her own.

Neither spoke as they made their way to the elevator and up to the cafe. Once they were settled at a table with coffee and a piece of cheesecake so expensive Tess figured it was the hospital’s idea of an unhealthy food tax, Mike had regained his composure and got down to brass tacks.

“So,” he said. “When were you going to tell me you were being threatened?” As his bright blue gaze locked on to hers, Tess suddenly felt as if she were under the lens of a strong microscope.

“I don’t know.” She admittedly hadn’t thought that part through. But she should have. Because, as she knew too well and had been proven once again tonight, all police departments leaked like a sieve. “I guess maybe once Donovan and the team caught the guy. And since you already know, you probably also realize the caller’s mechanically altering his voice. But believe me, we’ve got everything under control. Donovan has my phone tapped, and the bomb squad came out to defuse my bobblehead.”

“The bomb squad? And what bobblehead?” Mike repeated, obviously confused.

“I had a package delivered tonight, and I guess I was feeling edgy, because I called Donovan, who called out the bomb squad. But it was only a gift. So, obviously I overreacted.”

For a moment, Mike the father was replaced by Michael Brown the cop. “Not at all. You were smart not to take any foolish chances. What I don’t get is why you didn’t see fit to tell your own father. What, didn’t you think I’d care?”

“Of course I thought you’d care,” she said. “That’s just the problem. I was afraid you’d go off half-cocked, act like a cop, and get yourself killed.”

“Being a cop is all I know how to do, sweetheart. Other than be your dad, and now that you’re grown up, you’re proving a lot less willing to let me take care of you.”

She eyed him over the rim of her coffee cup. It was his turn to be interrogated. “Talking about being a cop, is that why you came up with the idea to open your own detective agency?”

“Hey, you don’t have to sound as if it’s so crazy,” he said. “This is Detective Sergeant Michael Xavier Brown you’re talking to.”

“Retired,” she pointed out.

“After spending thirty-one years on the force without so much as a scratch.”

She reached across the table and traced a thin white line at his temple. “And what’s this?”

“A nick.”

“And the scars on your chest?”