Too Sexy for his Stetson (25 page)

“Lieutenant Beringer?” He extended his hand. “Benjamin Thigpen, Department of Homeland Security. I’m here to coordinate the federal government’s plan for beefing up security at the Shoshone Dam.”

“Nice to have you aboard, Thigpen.” He returned the firm grip with a solid handshake. It had been less than twenty–four hours since he’d contacted HS and the Joint Terrorism Task Force to confirm the presence of the white supremacist encampment.

“A cell of Neo Nazis this close to Fort Shoshone Dam makes the guys I answer to nervous. I’d like to get right down to business and take a ride out to the dam with you,” Thigpen said.

Blade checked his watch. “You got it, but I have to make a stop first.”

“No problem.”

While Blade replaced the envelope, Thigpen said, “You’ll have to face me when you talk. I read lips.”

Blade nodded, wondering how the guy functioned in this business without the ability to hear. He had the feeling he got along just fine.

Seconds later they exited, Thigpen hard on his heels.

On the way to Brady’s apartment, Thigpen said, “According to the Anti–Defamation League, the Little Chute Neo Nazi group is supported financially by Hammerfest, a heavy metal white power music festival held several times a year in California. And the entire Coeur d’Alene operation is fronted by the Church of God’s Chosen People right here in Little Chute.”

“Not a big surprise.”

“Reverend Abraham McKee has been under the scrutiny of the ADL and the Southern Poverty Law Center for the past ten years.”

“He’s been at the top of the watch list around here as well.” Minutes later, Blade tooled the Jeep into the parking lot behind Tour d’Alene. No sign of Brandy’s truck.

He faced Thigpen. “McKee’s preaching anything but brotherly love. He’s got the white supremacists’ logo, you know, the crossed hammer symbols, and their motto—the fourteen words—posted all over his so–called house of worship.”
We must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children.

Blade hopped out. “Hold on a second.”

He raced up the stairs and pounded on Brandy’s door, and when she didn’t answer, he kicked it in. She wasn’t there. Her
truck is gone, idiot.
Now he had to call in and get someone over here to fix the door. He turned and exploded down the wooden treads.

Thigpen stood at the bottom of the stairs with his pistol drawn. “What was that all about?”

“Sorry, one of my deputies is late for work, and I don’t have a twenty on her location. Give me a minute to check with her landlady.”

“Late for work. So you break down her door?”

“She’s been threatened. By our friends, the NNFF.”

Blade entered Tour d’Alene with Thigpen shadowing him. A striking, young, dark–haired woman greeted them, Brandy’s friend Tonya. Blade couldn’t miss the rise in pheromones as Thigpen and the proprietor checked each other out.
God, I’m turning into Christiansen.

When the woman got around to gracing Blade with her attention, he addressed her. “Tonya Crawford?”

“Yeah. Lieutenant Beringer, I presume.” She gave him a knowing smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Lieutenant.”

A disquieting fact.

She focused on Thigpen. “And you, sir, are…?”

“Benjamin Thigpen, Department of Homeland Security.” His expression took on a boyish glow that seemed at odds with the steely, no–nonsense, hulk of a man. Ex–military, special forces. Blade would bet on it.

“Have you seen Brandy this morning?”

“No, not this morning.”

“You didn’t notice her leave sometime during the last thirty–five to forty minutes?”

“No.” Her smile faltered. “Is there a problem?”

“Ah… probably not, but—”

“Probably?” The quirk of her dark eyebrow said it all.

“She hasn’t shown up for work. She’s never late.”

Crawford’s breath hitched. “What about Morrisey?”

“We haven’t picked him up yet.”

“I don’t like this.”

“You’re not the only one. Not with that bastard on the loose.” Blade filled Thigpen in on Morrisey, his probable Neo Nazi ties, his attack on Brandy, and Crawford’s intervention.

Thigpen nodded. “Good work. Sounds like you missed your calling, Ms. Crawford. Ever think of going into law enforcement?”

“Actually, yeah, after I met Brandy.” She smiled, exposing straight white teeth like Thigpen’s. “But right now I’m having too much fun being my own boss.”

Obvious mutual attraction. Blade could sense the estrogen–testosterone flow in the air. Or was he hyper–sensitive because of been–there–done–that?

“Give me a call, would you, if you hear from her?” Blade handed over his business card and swiveled toward the door while Thigpen lingered.

“You coming, Thigpen?” He made sure the guy could read his lips.

Halfway outside, Blade glanced over his shoulder and glimpsed Crawford’s quartz brown eyes and Thigpen’s dark gaze still locked together. Blade’s thoughts segued to a pair of violet eyes that had magnetized him from the first moment he’d seen them. Where the hell was Brandy?

In the car, he grabbed the radio and barked into it, “I need to track the GPS on Brandy’s cell phone. Deputy Wilcox is still UTL.” Unable To Locate.
Jesus.
The thought of the acronym connected to Brandy was his worst nightmare.

CHAPTER TWENTY–TWO

O
ff to the west, storm clouds threatened.

Brandy squared her shoulders as she approached the Fort Shoshone Police Department, wondering if Coogan had, indeed, called her office and cleared her delay like he’d said. She wasn’t officially scheduled for a shift yet today, but she’d told Blade she’d be there. She would check in with him as soon she finished getting the scoop from Coogan.

By the time she cleared the receptionist and entered Skip Coogan’s office, her stomach was quivering with anxiety.

“Brianna…” He rose to greet her. At the age of fifty, Skip was fit, lean, and sported just enough gray in his hair to appear distinguished. But when he looked at her and smiled, that old clichéabout sincerity not reaching the eyes sent shivers down her back. She rationalized the apprehension away. Old prejudices die hard, and she had mistrusted him and his smile for as long as she could remember. She reminded herself she intended to make an apology.

She thought back to the time when her mother and Skip had first married. They’d been happy. She’d been happy and excited over acquiring a father. But her expectations had soon dwindled when the busy cop proved to have little spare time and not much inclination to play daddy to a nine–year–old girl.

Had that been Skip’s greatest sin? Had his lack of attention caused her to dislike him enough to fabricate a case against him? At eleven, when her world exploded with her mother’s arrest, had her ability to evaluate fairly been warped by those unfulfilled dreams?

“I’m glad you came.” He offered his hand.

As hard as she tried, she couldn’t bring herself to reach out to him. Not yet. She glanced around the office at pictures lining the wall, photos of his dad and grandfather in uniform. He’d come from a long line of law enforcement officials.

His proffered hand turned into a gesture emphasizing the pictures. “My dad was a hero. Shot in the line of duty a week before he was about to retire.”

“I remember you talking about him.”

When she forced herself to meet his gaze, the gaze of a man she’d most likely misjudged, her heart softened. She tried to see him through Blade’s eyes—a compassionate cop who’d given a teenage boy a break, the man who held Blade’s undying devotion because he’d replaced the father he’d never had.

If her mom and Skip had stayed together, and none of the rest had happened, could she, too, have found what she’d been looking for in Skip—a father figure?

Guilt and regret swamped her.

“Wish I could change the past, Brandy. I never wanted things to turn out the way they did.”

His eyes reflected something so close to sincerity it caused her heart to twist. Maybe it wasn’t too late… Still, words of contrition stuck in her throat as he moved next to her and lightly placed his arm around her shoulder.

“I was young and naïve.” Her attempt at an apology faltered as she skirted around the crow she had intended to eat.

“And I was so busy with my job when your mom and I first married. Guess all I thought about was making her happy. Seems there wasn’t enough time to give you what you needed.”

An aching sensation pressed in her chest. For a moment.

But then… he’d found time for Marilyn Abbott.

When things had crumbled between Skip and her mom, Brandy had agonized, fearing she’d been excess baggage and had caused Skip’s roving ways. Her mother had assured her the problem had nothing to do with her. Eventually, Brandy got the picture. Then the nightmare began. The murder charge. Her mother’s arraignment. Skip turned cold and vindictive, and he testified against his wife.

Brandy’s heart twisted at the thought of her part in her mother’s conviction. Unintentionally, she had hindered her mother’s plea of innocence in a way that had probably affected the outcome just as adversely. Maybe she needed to forgive herself before she could totally forgive Skip.

“Brandy, this new evidence sheds a different light on the Abbott case.” He sighed and rubbed his temple. “I guess when the state built its case, I went a little crazy. And then my gun disappeared. As it turns out… my God, Brandy, I’m so sorry. The prosecutor somehow twisted things around so everything pointed to Amanda.”

The torment written on his face prompted her to say, “Prosecutors are good at manipulating people.”

He nodded and glanced at the clock as he stood. “Come on. I may be able to clear your mom’s name, and then maybe… maybe we can salvage our family ties.” His lips curved.

The same old trademark smile?

Maybe it wasn’t plastic. Brandy detected a measure of sadness bleeding through.

Yet, Skip’s testimony burned in her memory like a cancerous mass that never went away:
Amanda had access to my pistol… I have to believe she killed Marilyn Abbott in a jealous rage.

“I’m sorry, Brianna, that I didn’t believe in her.”

Brandy had always believed in her mother. But Skip’s anguish stirred guilt in her soul, guilt that had sat in her stomach like a rusty axe for years. Ironically, if Coogan was right about this new evidence, he’d be the one to prove her mother’s innocence. Maybe forgiving him would help ease her conscience.

“So what is this new evidence?

“Someone tampered with the evidence during your mother’s trial.”

No kidding.
“Do you know who that was?”

“Yes, and even better, I’ve got the murder weapon that went missing ten years ago and the lab reports that will clear your mother.”

“You have? How? When?” Oh God, the room started to close in. Had she focused the entire past ten years on trying to pin Skip with a crime he hadn’t committed? She struggled to catch her breath as her life turned upside down. Or maybe, finally, it was turning right side up.

She had to give Coogan a chance, especially when he was admitting he’d misjudged her mother. “I’m sorry, Coogan—”

But wait a minute. What about the mangled Colt .45 she and Blade found? How did that fit into the picture? “I… don’t know what to say…” Ten–year–old facts tumbled in her mind. The bullet that had killed Abbott was believed to have come from Skip’s gun, which had disappeared before reaching the forensics lab.

“I understand why you held a grudge against me. It must have been traumatic—having your mother taken from you and sent to prison.”

“May I see the gun?”

He gestured toward the door. “The Fort Shoshone PD knows how to protect evidence. I assure you, no one’s going to tamper with anything this time. It’s completely secure.”

She followed him out of his office and down the hallway. “You don’t mind if I check in with my office?” She smiled and pulled out her phone.

Once she connected with the sheriff’s department, she watched Coogan’s expression when she replied to the receptionist.

“You’re kidding. Blade listed me as UTL?” He’d gone ballistic because she hadn’t shown up at work. “Listen, I’m fine. I’m at the Fort Shosone PD, and I should be back in Little Chute within the hour.”

Even as Coogan gave her a reassuring smile, her stomach felt like it had a crimp in it. The crimp tightened as she stuffed her phone into her pocket and Coogan headed toward the exit.

“Where are we going?”

“Not far. Fort Shoshone’s got state–of–the art storage facilities.”

Off premises? Her senses went on alert.

Was Coogan her salvation? Or was she too–stupid–to–live, following a Pied Piper promising to sell her the Shoshone Dam?

One way or another, it was time she found out the truth. In plain view of a half dozen Fort Shoshone public employees, under a sky rolling with black clouds, she walked out of FSPD with the head honcho. She was armed, her Glock stacked and racked, so to speak, and she’d reported her location to dispatch at LCCSD. Even so, when she got into Coogan’s official cruiser, a dull sense of misgiving thrummed through her. Old habits…

“Where are we going?”

When Skip turned his head to back out of the parking space, she worked her cell phone out of her pocket and stuck it in the top of her sock.

“The evidence storage building is on the other side of the lake We didn’t have room to add on here, so it was built as a separate facility.”

A flicker of apprehension lodged in her gut. But, of course, she was overreacting. “If we’re going in that direction, I should have driven my truck. I could take the county highway back to Little Chute.”

“It’s no problem. I need to come back here anyway.”

When the automatic locks engaged, her mind started playing with her. The hard set of Coogan’s jaw brought back memories. Her heartbeat ratcheted up, and she feathered her hand over the butt of her pistol.

It’s just nerves.
She couldn’t let them get the best of her. Hopefully, Coogan was on her side now, and together they could clear Amanda Wilcox’s name. That was worth a carload of nervousness and a boatload of risk.