Kansas City Christmas (19 page)

But one problem left him completely stumped. He was in love with Holly Masterson.

What was he supposed to do about that?

“Son of a…”

It was only one of many curses that brought Holly running out of the shower that morning.

“What do you mean, she got cut off? How much do we know?”

Wrapped in a towel and dripping on the throw rug beside Edward’s bed, Holly watched him pace from one end of the room to the other, half-dressed and all tense. His handsome face grew more tight and more grim with each step as he dealt with whatever horrible news the caller on his cell phone had to share.

“Yes, I said that to Bill Caldwell.” He raked his hair into spiky disarray as the fury worked through him. “I was stirring the pot, trying to get him to show his hand by appealing to his conscience.”

His caller made a comment. “Yeah—it worked too well. But he said he loved Mom. I saw the guilt in his eyes, Atticus. He won’t hurt her.”

At least now she knew it was one of his brothers calling. Was there a family emergency? A break on their father’s case? She was already worried for him. Now she was just plain worried. “Edward?”

He slid his steely glance across the bed, acknowledging her. Then he pointed to her clothes from the night before that he’d folded and laid neatly on the bed. Holly nodded, understanding that she needed to get dressed. Fast. “No, I can’t guarantee that. I can’t guarantee anything these days. But I swear, he wouldn’t do anything to intentionally hurt her.”

Edward pulled a T-shirt from the second drawer of his dresser and shrugged into it. With one hand, he tucked it into his jeans. Holly picked up the brown tweed sweater he’d set out and circled around the bed to hand it to him. But he reached for something else instead.

He reached for a box on his closet shelf and pulled out his gun. Glock 9 millimeter. Police issue. He strapped it onto his belt before plucking his sweater from Holly’s startled fingers. A man with Edward’s background arming himself couldn’t be a good thing.

“What’s happened?” she mouthed, wishing they had time for morning-after conversation to discuss the closeness they’d shared last night—wishing they had time for any kind of conversation at all.

But Edward had gone into cop mode. No, something harder, more driven, more dangerous than anything she’d seen yet. Maybe she’d never get back the man who’d loved her so well last night, the man who’d opened up his heart to her. Maybe Edward Kincaid couldn’t do both anymore. He couldn’t be a cop
and
a lover or friend or something more.

Something inside her mourned for the dichotomy within him he couldn’t seem to resolve.

Something inside her still hoped.

“Is Holden’s team on this? What about Sawyer? Good. Get there. Now. I’m on my way.” He had his boots tied on and was striding out to the main room. “Move it, Stick,” he ordered, shielding the phone from his command. “I need to drive you to the lab or precinct headquarters.”

No way. Not if there was a break in the case. “Where are you going?”

But he didn’t hear or wouldn’t spare the time to answer. “And you’re sure Irina Zorinsky isn’t with them?”

Irina Zorinsky? Oh, my God. Holly pulled her jeans down over her boots, ready to get her coat. She could comb through her hair and put on some lipstick in the Jeep. She was ready to leave.

But she paused and went back for one more item she’d seen in the box Edward had pulled from the closet. She slipped the leather wallet into her purse, grabbed her coat and ran out the door after him. She was ankle-deep in snow before she got her coat on. They were speeding and skidding down the long gravel driveway before she had her seat belt on.

“Right. I’ll meet you there. We’ll get her back.” Edward closed his phone and stuffed it into his pocket, putting both hands on the wheel as he pushed on the gas.

“Get who back?”

“My mother. Bill Caldwell kidnapped her.”

“K
IDNAPPING IS SUCH A STRONG
word, Susan.” Bill Caldwell kept both hands on the steering wheel as he sped along I-435 north of Kansas City.

“What would you call it?” Her knuckles were white where she gripped the armrest of the car he’d rented for their visit to a local winery in the rolling hills northwest of Kansas City. But John Kincaid’s widow was proving as stubborn to reason with as his friend had been eight months earlier. “I ask you to turn the car around and take me home, but you won’t. I try to call my sons and tell them you’ve changed our plans, and you take my phone. Sounds to me like I’m going somewhere against my will.”

Bill reached across the seat to take her hand, but she pulled away even from the friendly touch she’d come to accept so readily these past weeks they’d been together. A little frisson of irritation crawled across his skin. True, he hadn’t had time to plan this escape the way he wanted. But he was William Caldwell, damn it. She should be grateful for the opportunitity he was giving her to escape the sorrow of these past months.

He’d discovered the remote location where he could stage their “accident.” He’d secured male and female cadavers from his research facility and packed them into the trunk. Hopefully they’d burn beyond recognition in the wreck he’d staged and be buried in their place. If not, they’d still be long gone. It was only a hop, skip and a jump to the airport. With the false passports he’d obtained, they’d be on a flight to Hong Kong before the cops even knew they were missing. They’d die, just the way Irina had. And then they’d live their new lives.

“This is a chance for us to have a new start.” He eased into the far left lane of the highway to pass a slower-moving vehicle. “We can distance ourselves from the pain of losing John and all the things around us that remind us of him.”

“New start? To what? I don’t even want to go to the wine-tasting with you anymore.”

He bit down on the sharp retort. He’d always admired Susan’s levelheadedness, her ability to meet any challenge with her chin held high and a beautifully serene smile on her face. Now that sensibility was keeping her from taking the impulsive leap he’d hoped she would. “It’s not as though you’d want for anything, Su. I have money in accounts around the world. We can live anywhere you want.”

“I want to live right here in Kansas City.” She shook her head, not comprehending the love he felt for her, nor the danger she’d be in if they turned back now. “My sons are here. I’m a grandmother again, with Sawyer’s son and a little one on the way. I don’t want to leave them.” From the corner of his eye he saw her nostrils flare as she took a deep breath. Then she reached across the seat and touched his arm. She’d defied him and lectured him. And now she thought she could sweet-talk him? “Bill. You and I have been good friends for thirty years. You and John were so close—you’ve always been family to me.”

“I don’t want to be
family,
Su. I want to marry you.” He took his eyes from the road long enough to condemn the false affection of her touch for the ploy it was. “I’m a good catch.”

Understanding his displeasure, she pulled away and fixed her eyes on the highway ahead of them. “I’m not sure I could have gotten through these months since John’s murder without you, Bill. Your support, your caring. For that, I will always be grateful. But I don’t love you. Not in that way.” She gestured out to the bare trees and snow-covered hills as they flew past them. “I understand this is a very romantic gesture on your part—to simply drop everything and run away together. Maybe when I was a young woman. But not now. It’s two days before Christmas. Our first Christmas without John. My sons and I—our family—we need to be together. Edward is finally showing signs of becoming the man he was before losing Cara and Melinda. If I leave now, he might see it as another loss. He’d blame himself again. I won’t do that to my son. Please, Bill. Turn the car around.”

“Listen, Su, I’m saving your life!” He pounded the steering wheel, watched her startle and turn pale. “There are people…things you don’t know about. But Edward…knows.”

“Oh, my God, Bill. No.” Her pretty face squinched into a frown of disbelief. And then her cheeks flushed with anger. “Tell me you had nothing to do with John’s murder.”

“Su—”

“Tell me everything my sons have been telling me about Z Group isn’t true.”

Bill stared at the gray road ahead of him.

“Tell me you had nothing to do with John’s murder!”

He thought of Irina’s gloating smile as she’d climbed into the SUV that April night at the river docks. She’d still reeked of blood and gunpowder and death when she dropped John’s Z Group ring into his hands and kissed him.
“He’s not one of us anymore. He doesn’t deserve to wear it.”

With his thumb, Bill turned the gold signet ring on his own finger. John should have listened to him when he’d told his friend to back away from his personal investigation into Z Group. The players were as dangerous today as they’d been during the Cold War.

Yes, he’d been selling technology on the black market through Z Group, as John suspected. Bill would have paid him for his silence, even offered to let him back on the team so he could make more money than any police officer’s pension could ever hope to. Bill would have done anything to keep him alive.

But John Kincaid had been an Eagle Scout from day one. How could he face his sons? he’d argued. How could he lead a police department if he took a bribe? He’d warned Bill that he had information that he’d hidden away. John had offered him some bizarre deal that would save his soul and secure their friendship but put Bill away in prison, probably for the rest of his life.

Then Irina had shown up at his office door.

She had no loyalties conflicting her thoughts. She saw everything clearly. The money. The cover-up. What needed to be done to save them all.

He hadn’t pulled the trigger that killed his friend. “I tried to save John’s life.”

Susan collapsed in the corner of the seat with an audible gasp. Now she understood what he was trying to save her from. Now she’d come with him.

And then he spotted the big, square vehicle in his rear view mirror, closing in behind them. A giant fist crushed what was left of his soul. “How in the…?”

“Turn the car around, Bill.”

He pushed harder on the accelerator.

H
OLLY TRIED TO RUB SOME
warmth back into her nearly bare fingers as she stood and faced the audience who’d been watching her every move as she and her team processed the two dead bodies in the burned-out car. Edward and his brothers stood on their side of the yellow crime scene tape, as unyielding and unsmiling as the four faces of Mt. Rushmore.

She looked from one grim expression to the next. Her heart was breaking at the fear and speculation that must be twisting them into knots inside. Better keep this clinical if she had any hope of maintaining her professional objectivity. “I can’t give you a conclusive answer until I get the vics back in my lab, but—”

“Cut to the chase, Stick.” Edward’s expression was as cold and detached as she’d ever seen him. “Is it them?”

“I don’t think so.”

Clouds of warm air masked their faces as they breathed out their relief.

Not everything she had to say was good news. She glanced over at the detective in charge of the scene for approval before she held out the plastic evidence bag she’d already labeled. “But I did find this. Your friends were here.”

Atticus reached for it first to study the gold ring inside.

With only latex to keep her fingers warm, Holly shoved her hands beneath her CSI vest and tried to warm them against her body. “I took that off the driver. It has a Cyrillic
Z
etched on the inside.”

“Looks like Dad’s fraternity ring,” Holden commented.

Atticus adjusted his glasses and looked closer. “Not a fraternity ring. It’s a service ring. In this case, I’m guessing it’s something the members of Z Group received when they were officially disbanded.”

He handed the bag to Sawyer to inspect. “Uncle Bill…” He paused as if saying the name left a bad taste in his mouth. “Bill Caldwell has one like it. I remember him wearing it at Dad’s funeral.”

Edward took the bag and handed it back to Holly. “And we’re sure there are at least two different rings? This isn’t a souvenir Bill took off Dad, is it?”

Holden shook his head. “Liza was there that night. She says it was definitely a woman who killed Dad and took the ring and chain off him.”

“Speculate all you want,” Holly interrupted. “I deal in facts.”

“I don’t like these facts.” Edward’s tone was bleak. He was probably still imagining that this was Bill Caldwell and their mother inside the charred vehicle.

“Edward.” She tried to touch his hand but he flinched away. She’d like to blame it on the winter chill on her skin, but she recognized the signs of stoic withdrawal. He didn’t want to be touched, didn’t want to feel comfort—didn’t want to feel, period. But she refused to give up on the hurting man locked inside him. “It’s not your mother. The arson investigator places the fire late morning or early afternoon. That body has been dead for days.”

“Thank God.” Holden finally offered her a grateful smile. “Since I talked with Mom just this morning, that can’t be her.”

“So who are these bodies?” Edward asked. “Where did the ring come from?”

“Offhand, I’d say it was a plant to throw us off the trail. We’ll have to check dental records, see if we can retrieve some DNA from the inner tissues, to ID them. But I’m guessing derelicts or bodies donated to science. If your friend Caldwell is involved—”

“He is.”

“—then he’d have access to research centers where he could ‘borrow’ a body. Someone tried to stage their deaths.” Holly returned both bags to her kit. “Ultimately, they’ve just given us more evidence we can evaluate and trace.”

“More pieces to fit into the puzzle.” Edward’s eyes finally focused on her. But he was looking for answers from an M.E., not comfort from a woman who cared. “So, where the hell are Mom and Bill?”

“Mount up, boys.” Kevin Grove waved the four uniformed officers on the scene toward their cars. “I think we found them. We’ve got a situation just a few miles from here at the winery.”

“Bill and Mom?”

“A man matching Caldwell’s description and two women. One could be your mom.” Grove closed his phone and clipped it onto his belt beside his gun. “The other woman is armed with a Makarov nine mil—a European spy weapon.”