Chapter 8
Eight
In an eerie repeat of the morning, Cam navigated Nic’s truck down another winding, tree-lined street, dodging parked cars and emergency response vehicles.
No press vans yet, but it was only a matter of time.
As soon as they connected Harris Kincaid to Curtis Price, reporters were bound to start asking questions.
Cam wanted answers before that happened.
Aidan’s Vanquish helped clear a path for them, the roar of the engine scattering cars and people.
Cam pulled into a spot next to the coroner’s van and let the truck idle, staring at the spooky sight ahead.
One town over from Cam and Nic’s place, Harris’s house looked about the same size and style but not nearly as well kept.
The front lawn was overgrown, the box hedges dying, and in the harsh glare of headlights and emergency vehicle strobes, the peeling paint and rotting wood were apparent.
Together with the crime scene spotlights inside, backlighting the huge front windows over which were hung lingering Halloween decorations, the place looked almost haunted.
“This is what put Harris underwater?” Cam muttered disbelievingly.
Beside him, Nic pointed to the young woman sitting on the front porch, rocking a small child in her lap. “That’s why,” he said. “Better schools and higher property values.”
Were better schools worth being indebted to your gangster uncle-in-law? Worth losing your life? Cam doubted Harris’s kid would grow up to think so.
“Versus our place,” Nic carried on, “this one’s probably worth half a million more, at least.”
Cam’s low whistle covered his delight at hearing Nic refer to the rental as our place. He felt the same, more each day, and on this day, when their world had been turned upside down, it meant everything.
“He’s taken a personal interest in this case,” Nic said, drawing Cam’s attention back to the scene. Cam followed Nic’s gaze to Moore, who’d come out of the house to speak with Harris’s wife.
“You’re not doubting him again, are you?” It had taken serious work to get Nic to bring the AD in on this case. It’d been worth it, Moore providing critical information and political juice when they’d needed it.
“No, it was the right call to involve him, but I am still debating how much our interests truly align. Ultimately, he’s a political climber.”
Cam lolled his head against the headrest, side-eyeing Nic. “Says the man climbing the DOJ ladder.”
“Says the FBI ASAC,” Nic fired back.
They both smirked until Cam returned his attention to Moore, standing tall and in charge on the porch. Nic was right to a degree. “I don’t know why he’s climbing it. But he’s on our side with this one. It somehow benefits him.”
“But if we step out of line, do something that doesn’t benefit him . . .” Then they’d lose his favor and the leverage he provided, if not their jobs.
Cam nodded. “Proceed with caution.”
They met Aidan and Lauren in front of the truck, and Moore intercepted them halfway up the front walk. “What’ve we got?” Aidan asked. “You wouldn’t say on the phone.”
Moore eyed the gathering crowd of neighbors across the street. “Let’s move this someplace more private.”
They dodged the exiting crime scene techs and huddled in the garage, which, like most Silicon Valley cottages, wasn’t big enough for today’s cars and served as storage and a mudroom instead.
“It looks like a suicide,” Moore said.
“Looks like?” Cam asked.
“Hung himself from his bolted-in chin-up bar.”
Cam winced while Aidan scoffed, repeating, “Looks like?”
“It looked like Price’s father had a heart attack,” Moore said with a significant glance at Nic, who seemed a million miles away.
Cam moved a step closer. “But Harris could be a suicide. Between the debt, the pressure Vaughn was putting on him, the pressure we were putting on him, and the pressure he no doubt put on himself. Then after finding Curtis . . .”
“It could be,” Moore agreed. “Sixty-forty shot here.”
“That’s more of a shot than most suicide cases.”
“I’ll see what else I can find on his computer,” Lauren said.
“That’s the other reason I give it a sixty-forty shot,” Moore said. “Toward looks like.”
“You found something?” Aidan said.
“The opposite. Harris’s computer is gone.”
“Maybe he left it at the office.”
“Not according to the wife. He never went anywhere without it.”
Which left two possibilities as far as Cam could discern. It was taken or it was hidden. “There a safe it could be in?”
“The wife says not usually, but yes, there is one, and yes, it could be in there.”
“She didn’t check?” Aidan asked.
“She can’t get into it.” Moore’s dark gaze shifted back to Cam. “I understand you’re the man to talk to about cracking it.”
Cam hesitated, and Nic, who’d been quiet until then, came to life, laying a hand on his shoulder. “We can wait—”
Cam shook his head; this was necessary. “We don’t have time.”
“Okay, then,” Moore said. “Talley, let’s go talk with the wife. Get us clearance.”
“I’m gonna coordinate with the techs,” Lauren said. “If his laptop is here, we’ll get them to process it on the scene so I can get right to work.”
They headed out of the garage, leaving Cam behind with Nic, whose hand was still on his shoulder. Cam covered it with his, squeezing. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” Nic said. “We can let Aidan give it a go first.”
Cam shook his head. “I’ll be fine with you here.” He slid his hand off. “Though should you be?”
Nic’s brow furrowed, eyes thankfully sparking again at the challenge. “Meaning?”
“This is your dead father’s dead executive assistant.”
“He’s also my star witness in the case against my dead father’s loan shark, who’s also his uncle.”
Cam lifted a brow, Nic having made his point for him. “Conflict of interest much?”
“My only interest here is justice. And not dying.” He stepped back, hands on his hips. “I don’t see a conflict.”
Not yet.
But it was plain as day. And growing by the day if not by the minute. Cam didn’t voice the concern, though, the both of them distracted by a commotion on the other side of the crime scene tape at the end of the drive.
As they approached, Vaughn’s blond head was easy to spot.
“Civilians are not permitted on the scene, sir,” one of the officers said to him.
Vaughn pointed at Harris’s wife, who’d stood upon seeing him. “That’s my niece,” he said, calm as could be, a hint of impatience in his voice but no anger. He was confident he’d get through eventually. “Beth Kincaid.”
“He means you aren’t permitted on the scene,” Cam said, coming to stand next to the officer.
“I beg to differ, Agent Byrne.” He flashed him a smile, absurdly inappropriate given the context, then flashed Nic an even brighter one. “I have a right to be with my family.”
Cam was not at all amused. He ducked under the tape, coming up in front of Vaughn. “Not if you’re a suspect.”
“Beth called me in tears. She said Harris committed suicide.”
Cam stepped closer, getting in Vaughn’s face. “Cause of death has not officially been determined.”
“Let him through,” Nic said behind him, likewise eerily calm.
Cam glared over his shoulder. Nic’s eyes were anything but calm, stormy icy blue instead, and the set of his shoulders, his spine . . . Cam knew that look.
Determined, Nic had a plan and needed Cam to trust him.
Glancing back at Vaughn, Cam lifted the tape and Vaughn scooted under it, stopping in front of Nic.
“Thank you, Dom.”
Nic answered him in the same cool tone. “Don’t thank me yet.”
Vaughn smiled wider, then headed up the walkway to his niece.
Ducking back under the tape, Cam followed Nic to the opening of the garage. “What was that about?” he asked when Nic turned around.
“That was me pulling up that mask you mentioned earlier. And also . . .” He pointed at the eaves overhanging the garage.
Eyes widening, Cam spotted the small home security camera there. “Ten to one,” Nic said, lowering his voice, “there’s one of those on the patio too, right by the front door.”
Right where Vaughn and Beth were sitting. “You want to see what he says,” Cam said.
“I also want to know if this is the first time tonight he’s been here.” Cam looked back at him. “You think the computer’s in the safe?”
“If I saw my gangster relation on the front porch the day after I’d discovered a body and papers were served on him, I’d be hiding evidence too.”
“Sounds like I’ve got a safe to crack.”
“Only if you can.” Nic skimmed a hand over his lower back, out of sight of the swarming officers but exactly the grounding Cam needed.
“You’re here. I’m tethered. I can do it.”
Cam entered the conference room with a pink, brown, and orange box in each hand, skirting past Nic who held the door open for him. “We come bearing doughnuts.”
Despite his vow in Boston to never eat Dunkin’ again, once Cam had learned there was a new one on their way from the house to the office, all bets were off. His colleagues had reaped the rewards ever since, as Lauren did today, looking up from her computer with a tired smile.
“My heroes.” She took one of the boxes from Cam and dug right in. “You’re lucky he didn’t eat them all on the way here,” Nic said as Cam slid the other box onto the table.
With his free hand, Cam shot Nic the bird. “Well, if someone hadn’t kept me up all night.”
Lauren clapped her hands over her ears. “Earmuffs!”
Cam laughed around a bite of blueberry-glazed doughnut.
“It was nothing that fun,” Nic said, headed for the coffeemaker. “He pretended to be Vaughn, and I grilled him for hours.”
“Waste of a night. You’re ready.” Cam reached for a second doughnut, and Nic shoved a cup of coffee in his hand instead.
“That’s four already, and as for last night, I want to be prepared.”
“I think I can help with that,” Lauren said, losing the battle with a powdered one, her navy blazer from yesterday taking a sugar beating.
“You cracked Harris’s computer?” Cam asked.