Chapter 23
Jane and Ray arrived in separate cars at the Harte home at nine in the morning.
Like their fellow Collective families, the Hartes lived a more than comfortable life in a swanky area in Seattle. The four-car garage and palatial estate in Capitol Hill took up five full blocks.
A beautiful young woman dressed in khaki shorts, a floral tank, and sandals let them in and directed them past a tiled entryway, in the middle of which sat a summer floral bouquet that looked as if it belonged in some upscale hotel.
Jane followed her into a comfortable, elegant living area, complete with a roaring fire. Two sets of French doors remained open, leading to a gorgeous inground pool and patio.
A tall, fit man with medium-brown skin, a short, shadow fade haircut, and neatly trimmed goatee and mustache greeted them. Appearing a few years older than Jane, wearing pressed trousers and a light green, collared polo, he stood with a glass in hand.
Jane could all but see the nerves quaking inside him. This would be an interesting meeting.
“Not too early for a drink?” Detective Ryan asked with a smile.
“Not when it’s my wife’s peach iced tea.” Stephen Harte smiled back. “Can I get you some?”
“Please,” Ray said, turned to Jane, and confessed, “I never turn down tea. It’s my one great weakness.”
She was pleased to see Ray’s humor put Stephen Harte at ease.
The woman who’d greeted them at the door brought in a tray with a pitcher and several glasses. “Mrs. Harte is upstairs with the boys. Should she come down?”
Stephen shook his head. “Not at all, Sabrina. I’m sure I can handle whatever the police and FBI have to say.”
Jane studied him. Yep. Something was definitely off.
Harte’s smile looked a little too wide, too welcoming. She wondered if Ray sensed it.
Ray took charge of the conversation. “Thank you for seeing us, Mr. Harte.”
They’d agreed beforehand that Ray would be the interrogator.
Stephen Harte had a soft spot for cops, his father having retired as one.
He also remained a loud voice for progressive change and encouraged men and women of color to step up their involvement in society, in particular in law enforcement and medical careers.
She glanced outside while Ray chatted him up and noticed wet footprints leading from the outside across the wooden floor.
A glance at Harte showed him watching her with a frown while trying to act as if engaged with Ray. When he saw her watching, he blanked his expression.
She pretended to ignore the water and moved to study the pool, where children’s toys and a pool noodle floated. A surreptitious glance at Harte showed him ignoring her, sweat dripping down his temple, despite the cool air blowing from the air vent.
He smiled and laughed at something Ray said.
Jane heard a low thump from upstairs.
“Oh, don’t mind my kids,” Stephen said to Jane. “My wife has a tough time wrangling them.”
Jane nodded, saw his relief, and said to Ray, “I left my notebook in the car. Would you mind if I went out to grab it?”
“Nah, go ahead.” He gave her a look. What’s up?
She gave him one back with a subtle nod at Stephen. Keep him busy.
Ray turned back to their suspect. “Mr. Harte, while Agent Cannon goes to grab her notebook, maybe you can tell me how you know the Duvalls, Coatneys, and Strands.”
Jane left them and found the young woman waiting for her in the grand foyer. The woman hustled her to the door, but not before she gave a subtle look with her eyes at the staircase, her smile strained.
“Just knock when you want to come back in, Agent Cannon. I’ll be here.”
“I will. Thanks.” Now feeling the sense that someone upstairs didn’t belong, Jane moved to the car and chanced a glance behind her at the second level of the house. She couldn’t see anyone behind the windows, the reflection from the sun making them impossible to penetrate.
Jane pretended to grab something from the front seat of the car while texting Ray. Upstairs trouble. Keep him busy.
She knocked again at the front door, waiting.
Sabrina opened the door, and Jane shoved her outside before pushing past her and shutting the door behind herself.
“Sabrina? Where did you go?” Jane called out, hurrying up the stairs while taking care to remain as silent as possible.
She felt more than heard movement at the top, some sense alerting her to an enemy nearby.
Prepared for trouble when she reached the top, she blocked the arm aimed at her throat, which would have knocked her back down the stairs. She shifted to level ground to counter the threat.
Cataloguing her enemy’s details in the blink of an eye, she fought back, conscious of her attacker’s greater height and lean strength. He had reach, but she had skill.
They’d see who came out on top.
Focused on what she could see of him, which admittedly wasn’t much thanks to his long-sleeved shirt and pants, dark boots, ball cap, and balaclava, she left herself open and took the hit to the shoulder, leaning into him.
At the same time, she ripped his mask down.
Jane got a good look at his face, noting the scar by his mouth and unusual light gray eyes, before he withdrew a knife and aimed for her stomach.
“Sloppy but fast,” the man said in a deep, accented voice. Not Russian. Slavic? Polish, maybe?
“And you’re not too smart, are you? I’m FBI, buddy. Stop now or you’re under arrest for assault.” She pointed to the badge on her belt.
The man laughed, doing the impossible.
He managed to creep her out.
Distracted, she almost missed his lunge with the knife.
Jane dodged it and disarmed him by smacking his elbow and wrist simultaneously, popping the weapon free.
He swore.
She swore back and angled with her back to the stairway.
When he moved to slug her in the gut, she ducked and moved into him. Jane threw him backward, over her shoulder, down the stairs.
He tumbled, smacking into the wall as he went.
Breathing hard, she wanted to go after him, but a shriek from small children down the hall grabbed her attention. “Ray, intruder down,” she yelled and hurried to the sound of crying.
She rushed to a door and unlocked the hasp on the outside frame, prepared to fight a new threat.
Instead, she found a slight woman her age cowering in the corner with two sobbing boys. The beautiful woman looked haunted, her arms slight, her mien fierce as she protected her children.
“FBI. Anyone else here?” Jane flashed the woman her badge, and the woman sagged and fell onto her butt, clutching her boys.
“N-no. Just the big guy in black.”
Ray soon joined them, his gun held at his side as he took in the scene. “House is clear. Everyone okay?” He looked Jane over.
She’d taken a blow to the shoulder, which hurt, but nothing else. “I’m good. Mrs. Harte?”
The woman nodded.
“I’m Agent Jane Cannon. This is Detective Ryan. Could you please come downstairs with us? All of you?”
“Perp got away,” Ray murmured before moving closer to the children. “It’s safe now. I promise.”
One of the little boys looked up at Ray in awe.
Jane smiled. “I know. He’s a giant, but he’s a good giant. A real policeman.”
“Really?” the boy asked. His brother joined him, and they each took one of Ray’s hands as he walked them down the stairs.
Mrs. Harte followed Jane, not speaking while she wiped her eyes, crying harder once she reached her husband, who stood in the living area like a statue. Right where Ray had left him.
Ray, she noted, had taken the children elsewhere. She heard his voice and Sabrina’s coming from farther down the hall.
Mrs. Harte walked to her husband and let him hug her while she sobbed his name. Then she pulled back and slapped him across the face.
“You fix this, Stephen. Right now. Or we’re done.” She turned on her heel and breezed by Jane without another word.
Jane waited.
Ray rejoined them without the kids. “What did I miss?” In a lower voice, he said to her, “Mrs. Harte looked pissed. Oh, backup’s on the way.”
Jane nodded, still silent.
She and Ray watched Stephen Harte’s internal battle.
Then the man sighed and wiped a tired hand over his face. “What do you want to know?”