Chapter Two
It felt strange being back in Shiloh Springs, even though he’d been here just six weeks previous. So many things happened the last time he showed up. Things he couldn’t stop. Things he regretted. He grimaced at the memory of a ringing gunshot splitting the air. Antonio was recovering from his gunshot wound, though he was on medical leave for another couple of weeks. Bet he wasn’t the best patient, Nick mused. He was too intense, too driven to sit idly by. Something Nick could identify with on a personal level.
He eased the SUV into a parking space close to the sheriff’s office, his mind going back to the first time he’d been inside the mostly nondescript building. On that occasion, he’d been in handcuffs. Of course, instead of keeping up the persona he’d adopted to perform his undercover work while in Shiloh Springs, he’d been outed by Ms. Patti. Her recognition and interference threw a monkey wrench into his ongoing investigation to bring down Brashear, but it had been worth it, because that little slip up on his part allowed him to reconnect with the man and woman who’d made such an impact on his young life so many years earlier. He couldn’t regret having Douglas and Ms. Patti back in his life.
Now here he was, back in Shiloh Springs, and he still didn’t have any more answers than the day Antonio got shot. Oh, he was still convinced the bullet was meant for him, without a shadow of a doubt. Unfortunately, he had no hard concrete evidence to back up his suspicions. Or a suspect. Might be nice if he could come up with a valid reason why somebody was gunning for him. He knew it must be connected to one of his cases, but so far he’d come up empty. Grant Calvin, his boss, and the man who’d not only rescued him but helped raise him after he’d been forced to leave the Big House, hadn’t had any better luck figuring out who’d attempted to assassinate him.
Shutting off the engine, he studied the shops lining Main Street. Each one was unique, with brightly colored awnings or signs proclaiming their wares. It resembled the quintessential small-town vibe that seemed to dot the southern part of the United States, though this one held sentimental value for him. Funny how so much had changed, and yet still seemed the same as he remembered.
Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, he grimaced. It was earlier than he’d planned to be here. Rafe probably wasn’t even in yet, especially since he was still in the honeymoon phase of his marriage. Drawing in a deep breath, Nick almost resigned himself to grabbing a quick cup of coffee at the diner, when he spotted a sign across Main Street, proclaiming Gracie’s Grounds as the best coffee in town.
With purposeful strides, he crossed the street, hoping the boast on the sign proved true. Over the years, he’d become something of a coffee snob. Not that he wouldn’t drink whatever was available if there wasn’t any other option, but he liked the richness and smooth body of a good coffee.
Opening the front door, he was immediately assaulted by the scent of freshly ground coffee, the familiar aroma of instantly imbuing a sense of calm. For being early morning, the place was packed. All around, small tables were filled with people sitting and chatting, the world going on as normal. Normal—he laughed softly. He didn’t think he’d ever had what everyone considered a normal day in his life…except when he’d been at the Big House. Then again, maybe it wasn’t right to judge everyone else’s normal against life with the Boudreaus.
The sound of laughter instantly caught his attention. It was filled with joy. That was the only way to describe the sound. Instinctively he looked around, wondering which of the shop’s patrons felt such happiness. It took a second before it registered that it wasn’t a customer. Instead, a dark-haired woman standing behind the cash register snared his attention. A smile lit her face, taking her from simply pretty to beautiful.
The feeling he knew her nagged at his consciousness, like an itch he couldn’t scratch. Where had he seen her before? Because he was one hundred percent certain he had. She was the kind of woman who wouldn’t be easily forgotten or overlooked. Something about her tugged at him. He knew her; he was convinced of it.
With an internal shrug, he headed for the counter. It shouldn’t take long to grab a cup of coffee and maybe the name of the woman who’d thoroughly piqued his interest. Not that he’d do anything about it. He wasn’t in Shiloh Springs to get involved with somebody. That was a very bad idea. Especially with someone itching to put a bullet between his eyes.
“What can I get for you?” She asked the question while writing something down on a notepad directly beside the cash register, never looking up.
“Large coffee. Black. Two sugars.”
“Sure thing…” Her voice trailed off, the last word cracking slightly. A slight widening of her eyes, as though in recognition once again piqued his interest. There was something about her that seemed achingly familiar, yet he couldn’t figure out whether he was intrigued by the woman herself, or the fact he couldn’t place where he knew her from. Had to have seen her in Shiloh Springs, which meant sometime in the last couple of months. Oh, well, he’d figure it out.
“Nick.” His name on her lips was almost a sigh, barely a whisper of sound.
“That’s right. Nicholas Vincent. And you?”
“Oh, sorry.” She shook her head, a slightly guilty expression on her face, quickly erased by a grimace. “I’m Gracie Medeiros. I own the place.”
“Nice to meet you, Gracie. Though I swear I’ve seen you before.”
She nodded. “At the hospital, right after Antonio Boudreau was shot. I saw you in the waiting room when I came to check on Ms. Patti and Douglas, though we weren’t really introduced. That day was kind of traumatic for everybody involved.”
“Right. The hospital.”
“You back to visit the family again?” He watched her efficiently write his order on a large paper cup with her store’s logo, and hand it to one of the baristas behind the counter.
“I’m finishing up some business with Rafe.” Drawing in a deep breath, he took a step back to allow the next customer, a middle-aged matron wearing a harried look and clutching a young toddler by her side, to place her order for one of those fancy cappuccino-type drinks and a hot cocoa. He watched Gracie smile at the little blond-haired boy with huge blue eyes and hand him a cookie wrapped in a napkin. Seeing the excited way the kid took the treat, Nick felt a yearning in his chest, and wondered if he’d ever felt that kind of eagerness for something as simple as a frosted sugar cookie.
“I bet Ms. Patti would love to see you. She hasn’t stopped talking about you since the last time you were here, when she and Douglas renewed their vows. You can’t possibly know how much your being there, walking her down the aisle, meant to them both.”
Hmm, maybe this Gracie person was closer to the Boudreaus than he thought. Another reason not to get too close to the pretty girl. The last thing he needed was another complication to add to his Shiloh Springs debacle.
“Ms. Patti is one of a kind. It was my honor to be there.” Glancing up when his name was called, and spotted Chance and Rafe Boudreau standing in the doorway. Guess his five minutes of peace was about to end, and before he’d even had a chance to drink his coffee.
“Thought we’d grab some coffee before heading to the station. Looks like you had the same idea.” Rafe nodded to Gracie, and Nick noted the familiarity between the two. Rafe’s warm, easygoing smile made it clear they were friends, and he noted an identical expression on Chance’s face.
“My regular, please, Gracie, extra large. I have the feeling it’s going to be a long day.” Chance pulled out his billfold and handed her two twenties. “I’ll cover whatever Nick’s having and Rafe’s, too. And keep the change.”
Rafe quickly gave his order, grabbing a blueberry muffin from a large wicker basket atop the counter. Nick studied Chance as he started to reach for one, then pulled his hand back, a wistful expression on his face. The other man must have noticed, because he shrugged.
“Dude’s on a diet,” Rafe answered Nick’s unanswered question, a huge grin splitting his lips. “He’s trying to get in shape for his wedding, which means no sweets or goodies for the next couple of months. Sucks to be him.” Rafe took a huge bite of his muffin, taunting his brother.
“I hate you so much.”
“Aw, don’t be a hater, bro, just because my pretty redhead doesn’t mind giving me all the sugar I want.” Rafe took a huge bite out of the blueberry muffin, then waved it in Chance’s face. Chance rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to Nick.
“Let’s head across the street and get comfortable. I’m interested in hearing what you’ve discovered about Antonio’s shooter.” Grabbing his cup of coffee that Gracie had just placed on the counter, he spun and headed for the door.
Nick picked up his cup and nodded toward Gracie. “Nice to meet you, Gracie. Appreciate the coffee.” He watched the sweep of pink paint her cheeks, and she gave a quick bob of her head before heading down to the other end of the counter.
“I’m interested in what you’ve found out too. We’ve had crickets on our end.”
“Wish I could say I’ve got a lot to tell you, but I’d be lying,” Nick answered as they crossed the street, pausing long enough to let a lone car drive down the main drag in front of the sheriff’s station. The place hadn’t changed since the last time he’d been through its doors. That was the thing about small towns though, not a whole lot did. At least this time he was walking in under his own steam, minus the handcuffs and disgruntled townsfolk thinking he was a hired hitman or a terrorist.
Proceeding down the hall, Nick ended up in the conference room, one of the biggest rooms the small sheriff’s station sported and grabbed the chair across from Chance. He couldn’t help but notice the open manila folder in front of Shiloh Springs’ district attorney. Chance had hung his suit jacket across the back of his chair and rolled up his shirt sleeves, making himself comfortable. Nick took that to mean this meeting was informal, because he doubted the other man would have done that if this were a formal investigative meetup.
“How’s Antonio doing?” Nick shifted in his chair and then took a sip of his coffee, astonished at how good it tasted. Surprising for a small town to have such a sophisticated blend, and he knew it wasn’t just over-the-grocery-store-counter stuff. This was high-end, expensive stuff. He knew, because he’d become a bit of a connoisseur of his favorite caffeinated beverage. He’d have to frequent Gracie’s place again if he stuck around Shiloh Springs. Thinking about the pretty brunette, he felt his lips curve up.
“He’s doing good. Doc says another week and he can go back to work full time. For the past week he’s been allowed light duty stuff only.” Chance grabbed his coffee cup and leaned back in his chair. “Believe me, Antonio wasn’t made to sit behind a desk. It’s driving him nuts.”
“And he’s driving us crazy wanting to find out who shot him. I think our brother would like a little payback.” Rafe grabbed the chair at the head of the long conference table, slinging his large form onto it with a grace that belied his size. While he wasn’t a muscle-bound jock, Rafe hadn’t let himself go like a lot of law enforcement did after being on the job for a while. Nick had the feeling Rafe could keep up with the rest of them without a problem, getting sugar from his wife notwithstanding.
“I wish I had a suspect I could tell you to go after. It would make my life easier if I could say, ‘hey, it’s this guy, let’s go get him.’” Nick ran a hand through his hair, feeling the longer strands which had started to curl at the ends. When undercover, he’d kept it extremely short, almost a high and tight, as the military would call it. After finishing the job of ousting Brashear, watching him being led away to a prison cell, he’d allowed it to grow out, keeping it trimmed until the natural color had grown out. Looking in the mirror felt strange, not seeing the almost black hair he’d maintained for his undercover assignment, he’d decided to let it go. Still, it took a bit of getting used to. Sometimes catching sight of his reflection when passing a window or mirror startled him.
“No leads at all?”
He shook his head. “I’m not saying that exactly. Calvin and I have been scouring my past records, looking at the people I’ve had a hand in putting behind bars. Checking to see who is still incarcerated, anybody who might have been paroled, gotten early release. Unfortunately, it’s more than I’d like. The Australian justice system, while effective, is like America. Sometimes things fall through the cracks, get manipulated. And unfortunately, money talks. It’s the universal language of the criminal elite.”
“True enough.” Chance flipped a couple of pages in the folder in front of him. “We’ve been working from our end, looking at cases Antonio worked.” The FBI has been cooperative, especially since Antonio’s direct boss, Derrick Williamson, had moved to Shiloh Springs. Of course, Antonio had worked a lot of cases in the last few years, including the one that had made national news, Big Jim Berkley, a known homegrown terrorist—who also happened to be his fiancée’s uncle.
“Anything look promising?” Nick was still convinced the bullet Antonio took had been meant for him. Call it a gut feeling, but it didn’t track in his head that on the day he showed up in Shiloh Springs a random shooter was gunning for Antonio on his family’s ranch. No, it had been somebody tracking him, Nick was sure of it.
“So far? No. Antonio’s been going through files, looking for any loose ends, anybody who might have a grudge, anybody who hated him enough to take a sniper position on our land, and try to kill him.”
Nick couldn’t help hearing the emphasis Chance put on our land and watched Rafe nod at his brother’s words. Guess they were royally pissed that somebody had come onto their land and hurt one of their own. He felt a tightness in his chest at the thought he might have been one of their own—once upon a time.
“Antonio’s looking into anybody who might have gotten out in the past three years. He figures if it’s anybody who got out farther back than that, they’d have already made a play for him.” Rafe’s gaze met his. “I agree. Most of the people Antonio and the FBI put away, at least for the most part, weren’t murderers or cold-blooded killers. I kind of agree with you, Nick. Thinking it’s somehow connected to Antonio doesn’t feel right.”
“Calvin is running the list of men we’ve narrowed it down to through the airports and airlines to see if we get a match for anybody headed to the States. Of course, if they went to another country and then bounded to the U.S., that’ll take longer to find. That’s if anybody matches up.”
“At least that’s a solid plan. Maybe you’ll get a hit.”
“We’re still looking at open cases, though I haven’t really worked on much other than the Brashear case for the past couple of years. Plus, I was undercover, as you know. I wasn’t able to keep close tabs on my prior cases. Was there bad blood between me and some of the men I helped put behind bars? Threats to kill me? Yes. Narrowing the list down is going to take time, which unfortunately we might not have if it’s somebody intent on taking me out.”
“How many people are we talking about, ballpark figure? Let’s start with those who’ve been released from jail or prison, who might carry a big enough grudge to take a potshot at you.”
Reaching into his shirt pocket, Nick pulled out the folded piece of paper and spread it out on the table before passing it to Rafe. He knew the listed names by heart, he’d studied it so many times.
Fifteen names. Fifteen men he’d been responsible for arresting, assisted in gathering the information that got them prosecuted and put behind bars. Some with life sentences, though most of them were given multiple year sentences. Two of the lifers on the list had their sentences commuted to multiyear terms. He wasn’t sure how they’d managed to get their sentences reduced, though he knew they had deep pockets, and unfortunately, some judges were like everyone else, susceptible to bribes if the dollar amount was big enough.
Rafe looked at the list and whistled before passing it to Chance. Nick knew exactly whose name elicited that response. Wallace Fleming. One of the richest men in Australia, a billionaire who’d made his name producing blockbuster films. Some of the biggest stars in Australia and Hollywood had starred in Fleming’s films. He was sought after, courted, and wooed by Hollywood’s elite, big names and wannabes, all hoping they’d get a chance to work in Fleming’s movies. Walking down the red carpet at star-studded events had become a stroll in the park for Fleming, who’d been nominated for an Academy Award three times.
What nobody knew was behind the camera, Fleming ran his own private, off-the-books, child pornography business, one that had a worldwide clientele. Nick shuddered as he remembered the kids, hidden away at a secluded estate, basically kept in cages, dirty and disheveled, malnourished to the point of emaciation. It was a case he took personal pleasure in bringing down the monster who fed the predilection of evil people who thought nothing of the kids whose lives were destroyed.
“I didn’t know you worked the Fleming case. That was big news, even here in America. Weren’t they able to tie two deaths to him?” Chance’s hand smoothed the creases out of the page.
“We did. Two of the boys who were rescued were in such bad shape when they were admitted to the hospital, they didn’t make it. Fleming owned the property where the victims were found.” Nick sighed. “He appealed his case, got off on a technicality for the deaths, because he rented the property to a corporation, and had no direct knowledge of any illegal activity taking place at the residence.”
“What a crock. He knew.” Rafe’s frown spoke volumes.
“The judge had no choice. Somehow key evidence in the case disappeared. Evidence I know was in the file, because I saw it with my own eyes. Pictures of Fleming with one of the boys that died. Pictures of him with the little girls. He didn’t participate in the actual films, but he—” Nick couldn’t continue, anger roiling deep in his gut. Knowing Fleming walked the streets after what he’d put those kids through was untenable. Nobody knew better than Nick exactly how those kids felt, how helpless and alone. Waiting and hoping for a savior who’d rescue them—only no one ever appeared, and they were trapped with no way out.
“Fifteen names on this list. All free now. What’s your gut telling you, Nick? You’ve been at this for a long time. Anybody on this list make the hair on the back of your neck stand up when you think about them walking the streets? Anybody you hurt enough they not only want you dead, but took steps to make it happen?”
“Yeah.” Nick stared at Chance for long moments before shifting his gaze to Rafe. “There are more than a few who’d love to see me go toes up. Hate me enough to wish me dead. Other than Brashear, there are two with the wherewithal, the money and the connections, to get it done. One is Fleming, without a doubt. The other, well, he’s the one who makes my skin crawl just thinking about him. Calvin thinks I’m crazy to even consider him, because he was simply a white collar-type criminal, didn’t do anything violent or evil, simply did everything for financial gain. But every time I picture his face, that last day in court, the look in his eyes when he was taken from the courtroom, I read the hate and the promise of revenge. He wants to paint the walls red with my blood.”
“Who?” Rafe asked the question quietly.
“Simon Norville. Except there’s one problem with that scenario. Simon Norville couldn’t have flow to the U.S. and taken a shot at me, because he’s stuck in a wheelchair. He’s paralyzed from the neck down. During his arrest, he tried to run, and I tackled him. We tumbled down a flight of stairs, and he ended up with a broken spine. In court he acknowledged it was an accident, and claimed he didn’t blame me. I didn’t buy his testimony that he didn’t hold me responsible for his injury. He was totally lying, which he did throughout his trial. But, if you’re asking for my gut instinct, the person who’d get the most pleasure from seeing me dead, who’d gleefully pay to have me shot, it’s Simon Norville.”