Behind the Lies (A Montgomery Justice Novel) (27 page)

Brad Walters shrank into the shadows, his body disappearing from view. The last of the Montgomery family members had left the hospital. Finally.

The reporter and the sniper. An odd combination to be holding hands. He’d considered taking them out, just to prove a point, but he was too smart for that. Besides, there was no money in the deaths of Luke and Jazz Montgomery.

Brad glanced at his watch. Visiting hours had ended an hour ago. The glowing numbers moved too slowly. But he had learned to be patient.

The graveyard shift change would be his prime opportunity to complete the job. Part of him wanted to let the SWAT captain live mainly to annoy his most demanding client, but Brad’s father’s words rang through his mind.

Unfinished is failure.

Imperfect is failure.

To fail is to be powerless.

Nothing in his life resembled perfect these days. Brad’s search for safety deposit boxes, mailboxes, lockers. Nothing had turned up in Jenna’s name.

He had to find that evidence.

The phone in his pocket vibrated. He cursed at the number but didn’t avoid it.

“Walters.”

“Garrison isn’t dead yet. You failed.”

The staccato words tapped his mind like a perpetually leaky faucet. “He will be.”

“Your performance is not up to par, Mr. Walters. I am not pleased.”

A slight shiver scurried up Brad’s spine. The words were businesslike, pleasant—and deadly.

“The job had a small hitch. Have I ever let you down?”

“Not yet. Which is why, instead of calling in other resources who are less, shall we say, fastidious, I am offering you an opportunity.”

Brad didn’t speak. He didn’t want another job. He had to find Jenna and her evidence.

“By your silence, I assume you accept the assignment,” the cold voice said.

“Of course.”

“I’m glad you understand that you have no choice in the matter.” Drumming sounded through the phone, the cadence scraping Brad’s nerves. He fisted his hand, wanting nothing more than to slice off the fingers irritating him. “Kill Garrison, then stand by. Do not leave the Denver area. You will hear from me when you’re needed.”

The phone clicked.

Brad swallowed deeply. He didn’t like being on the end of the puppet master’s string. He gripped the phone. He hated not making his own choices.

Failure. Failure. Failure.

Brad stuffed his phone into his pocket and entered the hospital. He’d find a way to extricate himself from his client’s hold. He just had to think and plan.

He excelled at planning. Despite what his father believed.

For now, he had a job to finish.

E
RIE SHADOWS FILTERED
across the deserted parking lot. Jenna stared at the door Zach had disappeared into. Separated for the first time in days, she missed his presence. Not a good sign. The side door of the hospital swung open, the jamb framing a large male figure. Jenna’s heart skipped a beat in recognition. Zach.

He shoved a hand into his jeans and his shoulders hunched. His boots scuffed the asphalt in the parking lot. She slid closer to the window and placed her hand on the glass. He wasn’t being careful enough.

When he strode under the parking light, she winced. The tension and worry painting his face hadn’t eased with seeing his mother. The fingers of her left hand dug into her jeans.

Had his mother taken a bad turn?
Oh God. What if Brad had destroyed Zach’s family?

Her breath caught; she bit down on her lip hard.

“You care about him.” Gabe’s whispered voice echoed in the vehicle.

Jenna’s focus stayed pinned to Zach, soaking in his suffering figure. “He’s a good man.”

“He doesn’t take anything too seriously.” Gabe let out a slow stream of air. “You seem like a nice woman, Jenna. Be careful.”

She twisted in her seat and shook her head at the brother with whom Zach had traded barbs since their arrival in Denver. “I thought maybe this thing,” she waved her hand in the air, “between you two was a brother deal, but you
really
don’t know him at all, do you? How can you not recognize how much he feels?”

The car door opened and Zach slid in the front seat. He cleared the emotion from his throat. “Let’s go.”

“How’s Mom?” Gabe asked, setting the SUV into motion. He maneuvered out of the parking lot and started down the road, but not without glancing at his brother time and time again as if he’d never seen Zach before.

Clearly, Gabe hadn’t. Maybe none of Zach’s brothers had.

“Bruised and battered.” Zach bit through the words, his tone laced with a gruffness Jenna had never heard, a near break in his voice. Jenna leaned forward and rested her hand on his arm. He stiffened beneath her touch, and with a subtle movement avoided the contact.

Uncertain whether Zach had directed the rebuff at her or didn’t want to make himself vulnerable in front of his brother, Jenna sank back into the supple seats. Her chest ached with disappointment. Either way, why would he need her—the woman who had brought a man like Brad down on his family.

“The cops are all over Mom’s investigation—” Gabe began.

“They won’t find anything,” Zach said, staring into the clear night sky.

“It could have been an accident.”

“Someone blew up my cabin this morning, Gabe. It wasn’t an accident.”

The SUV swerved. Jenna gripped the seat.

“What the hell—?”

“Seth really didn’t tell you anything, did he?” Zach leaned his head back. “You’re right, we have a lot to talk about.”

“I’m hungry,” Sam piped up, bouncing in his seat, oblivious or ignoring the strain pulsing between the brothers. “Can we have a snack before bed?”

Zach flexed his right shoulder and neck before turning to Sam with an indulgent smile. “You like hot dogs?” Zach asked. He glanced at his brother. “I’m assuming your favorite food group is still the only thing in your refrigerator?”

Gabe flushed. “Well, yeah. It’s quick and easy. And the cook at the bar’s restaurant…let’s just say I could use a replacement.”

Jenna studied Zach’s smile. He could flip his emotions as quickly as the toss of a coin. If she hadn’t been with him almost 24/7 for the last several days, she wouldn’t have recognized the real pain flashing behind the blue depths of his eyes. She recognized the hurt hidden behind the glint of humor he shared with Sam. Jenna squeezed his right arm. His muscle stiffened under her touch, and she knew. His entire body had drawn tight as a stretched rubber band. But how much pressure would it take to break?

“Mommy is a really good cook,” Sam said. “She makes yummy
sketti
and these really neat potato things with bacon and cheese.” He smacked his lips.

“Potato skins,” she offered.

“Really?” Gabe gave Jenna a speculative glance. “I don’t suppose you’re looking for a job?”

“As a matter of fact—”

“Not in Denver,” Zach said firmly.

Gabe looked between the two them.

The small flicker of hope at the offer quickly died. Jenna sighed. “Not in Denver.”

“Why is that?”

She leaned forward between the brothers and lowered her voice. “Because my husband wants me dead.”

The hospital had gone strangely devoid of human sounds, similar to the mountains when a cougar stalked its prey. Anna Montgomery didn’t know what had awakened her. Just a vague feeling. Only the odd collection of subtle noises filtered into range. Her eyelids cracked open. The morphine had knocked her out. She lay there, breathing, listening to her own slow inhales and exhales, then the soft whir of the IV machine. A variety of beeps echoed from down the hallway.

She clutched at the thin blanket covering her. Zach had come home. Over the last five years, she’d seen him transform from a shell of a man into a driven warrior—so much like her beloved Patrick. However, this evening, she’d seen someone nearly as vulnerable as he’d been the night her husband had died.

Unlike that horrific night, now she had hope.

Anna didn’t know who had reignited the flicker within his soul. She hoped the woman’s hands were strong and sure and worthy of her third-oldest. He deserved greater care and more love than he realized. Zach, more than her other sons, felt deeply. The gift—or the curse—made him a surprisingly good actor, but it brought him hurt that he didn’t recognize, that most didn’t understand.

When would her strong and brave sons understand that they needed even stronger women standing by their sides?

Luke had barely figured it out soon enough to win Jasmine’s heart. Clearly his brothers hadn’t learned from Luke’s near fall.

Anna shifted in the bed. Her side no longer ached with every movement. The cuts and bruises were healing. She’d survived. John had saved her.

John. She was so tired of the avoiding glances and meaningless words. No one wanted to tell her the truth.

Well, she refused to wait any longer. She
had
to see John. For more than concern. A slow panic tightened her midsection. That feeling was back—the feeling from the night Patrick had died, the feeling from the day Gabe had nearly been killed.

Her body tender, Anna rolled to her back and sat up. An IV pump mounted on a wheeled stand stood next to her from her last trip down the hall.

John wasn’t far away. She had to see him.
Now.

She heaved her legs to the side of the bed waiting for the blood to flow into them. Her feet rested on the floor for several moments, then she slipped them into house shoes and stood. Donning the lilac robe Jasmine had brought her to conceal the hideous hospital gown, she fought for her bearings. It took a few moments to steady herself, but soon enough, she’d taken a few steps. Her head stopped spinning.

A plant in a glass vase rested on the window ledge holding her favorite—sunflowers. She needed to take them. She didn’t know why, but she had to. They’d brighten any room. The rosemary sprigs had been Jasmine’s touch once again. They had a nice scent. Even if John couldn’t open his eyes, he’d know they were there.

She grabbed the glass vase—heavier than she’d realized—and started out the door. With care and quiet, she peered into
the hallway. The sheriff’s deputy who had been posted on her last foray around the floor had vanished.

Odd.
At one point during her drug-induced haze she remembered her boys saying something about him staying indefinitely. Perhaps they’d changed their minds. Or the sheriff’s office had.

Unease snaked around her heart, but Anna refused to give in to the caution. Unlike the night of Patrick’s death, she would act on the wariness prickling in her mind. She sneaked out into the linoleum hall. The floor was strangely deserted. She’d never seen the place so quiet and glanced at the clock. Eleven. Shift change. That explained it.

She didn’t attempt to walk past the nurse’s station. Someone would be manning the location. Avoiding the center area, she crossed down the hall and detoured toward the room Jasmine had pointed out on their last excursion. Her daughter-in-law’s sharp eyes had seen what all her boys but Zach hadn’t. That John Garrison meant more than Anna had ever admitted. Even to herself.

Her arm quivered holding the weighty vase. She sped up her pace as much as she could. When she finally reached John’s door, she pressed to open it.

Something got in the way.

Leaning against the swinging door, she pushed harder, shoving aside a heavy object.

She stared down. A man’s shiny shoe attached to a uniform. The deputy. On the floor. Unconscious.

Her heart stuttered. She quickly looked up.

A man bent over John’s bed. He wore a white coat, but he ignored the man on the floor.

She stilled. This was so wrong.

What to do?

She ripped the IV from her hand, clutched the vase, and tiptoed into the room.

“You won’t be so hard to kill this time, Captain,” the man said. He shoved a syringe into the clear plastic tubing.

Anna didn’t think. She raced at the man and slammed the vase on his head. A loud curse erupted. He grabbed his bloody head and whirled around.

An ordinary man. A surprised man. An angry man.

He threw her to the floor and escaped from the room. Her head slammed against the metal bed. Mind whirling, Anna grasped John’s IV and yanked it from his arm. Spots spun in front of her gaze. She couldn’t see. She reached for the nurse’s button and pressed.

Gray closed in on her. John’s heart monitor sped up.

A shout echoed from the hall. Someone turned her over.

“Get security here, now!”

A man bent over her.

“John. Syringe. Murder,” she whispered.

“Check the IV,” the doctor shouted. “Anna. Can you hear me? Who did this?”

“Doctor.” She lifted her eyelids. The doctor’s concerned expression grew fuzzy. “Find my sons.”