Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
Late Tuesday afternoon.
BP Safehouse Knoxville
“It’s ugly, Patrick. Really ugly. But a police officer being murdered always is.”
Lieutenant Patrick Danton, Army Combat Engineers, retired, leaned back in the office chair in front of the long desk and returned the copper-hued gaze of Keith “Mac” McFarlane, retired Marine and fellow Brotherhood Protector. “Are we sure it’s murder?”
“Almost.” Mac stroked his neatly trimmed beard. “After Danni called Grant Miller yesterday, his captain moved mountains to get Lieutenant Leo Anderson’s preliminary autopsy done asap. KPD isn’t about to let one of their own die under suspicious circumstances without starting an investigation. Miller will be BP’s point person again.”
Patrick nodded his approval. Last month, he and KPD’s Sergeant Grant Miller helped fellow BP member Griffith Tyler and senior social worker Elaine Prescott find and rescue a group of teens snatched from their families years ago, including Elaine’s long-lost cousin, Chelsea. That they’d found the kids two buildings down from this one still amazed Patrick. A Knoxville native, Miller was determined to slow if not stop the trafficking of children and teens in East Tennessee.
And after helping Griff and Elaine, so was Patrick.
“If Danni hadn’t found that rock with the note on her car seat, we might still be thinking Anderson died from a heart attack like the ER doc said and not bothered asking for an autopsy,” Mac continued. “Scary business.”
Recalling the report KPD had faxed here this morning of Leo Anderson’s ‘suspicious’ death yesterday, Patrick quoted “‘Next time I won’t miss.’ Sounds deliberate to me. Are we thinking Ms. Blake was the intended target and not Anderson?”
“Again, we’re not sure,” Mac admitted. “Anderson and Danni were looking into what KPD believes is the kidnapping of her young goddaughter, Sara Turner–”
“Wait a minute. Kidnapping a child instead of a teenager?” A burning sensation began deep in Patrick’s bones. “Are we thinking The Cadre is behind this?”
He watched his colleague’s mouth tighten. “Aye,” Mac said, falling into the Scottish brogue that often surfaced when he was angry. “That we are.”
“Sons of bitches,” Patrick muttered. Since early in the year, The Cadre, a crime organization out of Chicago had slowly but surely inserted itself into Knoxville’s underworld, bringing in guns and drugs but focusing mostly on teen trafficking. This was the first time he’d heard of them going after children. “I thought we’d put a major dent in their operations.”
“They’re like a hydra,” Mac described. “Cut off one head and another grows back. I’m beginning to think we’ll never get rid of them.”
“And Ms. Blake and Anderson were doing what exactly?”
“Anderson was with Major Crimes, which usually doesn’t involve kids, but he and Danni’s father were partners years ago, so he volunteered to help in any way he could,” Mac explained. “Danni had started writing a series of articles about child trafficking, especially in East Tennessee for Excelsior . Normally, Anne might be writing something like that, but we were still in Scotland when Danni started the articles, and we just got back three days ago. Anne had to meet all my relatives don’t you know. And there are a lot of them.”
“Did your family on the other side of the pond approve of your fiancée?” Patrick teased.
A contented joy spread over Mac’s features, replacing the anger. “That they did,” he said. “Only problem is where we’re gonna have the wedding.”
“Congratulations.” Patrick leaned forward to shake Mac’s hand. “What else?”
“Both Anderson and Danni had started receiving threatening e-mail messages at work, warning them to stop looking into the matter. The worst of it is, Sara Turner is only ten years old. She got off her school bus the Monday after the Thanksgiving holiday but never made it home.”
Ten. That’s how old Grace is now, wherever her rat bastard father took her. Who says parental kidnapping isn’t just as bad? Patrick coughed back the old rage rising in his throat. “All The Cadre’s other recent victims in East Tennessee–at least those we found–were teenagers,” he recalled. “Wonder why the switch.”
“I don’t know but somehow Sara being a child makes it even worse.” Mac’s expression tightened again. “We’re not sure if Danni was the intended target and the killer missed, but after she found that rock and note in her car, it seems the most likely theory.”
“Does Ms. Blake have any enemies?”
“Except for the occasionally annoyed student in one of her journalism classes, she says none,” Mac said. “Either way, we’re dealing with some very dangerous people who probably wouldn’t care that they accidently killed a highly decorated police officer instead of Danni.”
A near-silent whoosh came from the fax machine in the corner. BP’s Knoxville headquarters had every piece of state-of-the-art equipment a technophile had ever dreamed of owning. Mac crossed the room to take several sheets from the tray. “Good Lord almighty,” he said reverently as he returned to sit at the desk. “Cyanide poisoning is listed as the likely cause of Leo Anderson’s death.”
“You’re kidding?” Patrick doubted. When Mac continued to read, he probed, “Right?”
“Nope.” Mac looked up. “This is the preliminary toxicology report from the police coroner. A mixture of cyanide and some kind of venom was found in Anderson’s system. High enough concentration to kill anyone almost instantly.”
Patrick frowned in thought. “Didn’t you tell me on the way from the airport this morning that Ms. Blake and Anderson had just left a coffee shop when he died? How could the poison be administered? Certainly not in the coffee.”
Mac handed Patrick the report. “And here I was thinking Danni’s imagination must be getting the best of her. She could very well be right.”
“Are you saying Ms. Blake has an over-active imagination?” Apprehension crept up Patrick’s back. Too much imagination could be a dangerous thing.
“Well, she likes mystery and crime novels,” Mac chuckled. “She had this crazy idea about how the poison got into Anderson. Crazy, but it might work.”
“Are you going to tell me?” Patrick asked. “Or we going to play the Scottish version of twenty questions you learned from your ancestors?”
“Och, now, we Scots do like to be spinnin’ a yarn,” Mac agreed, adopting a Scottish accent again. “Danni thinks a dart or needle was released or fired at Anderson through some kind of a projectile, one that wouldn’t need to travel very far, especially if the shooter was close by.”
“Do you mean like a blowgun?” Patrick tried to wrap his mind around the idea. “Something an indigenous people would use to take down an enemy. And in broad daylight in the middle of downtown Knoxville? You’re right. That’s crazy. Someone would have noticed a person with a blowgun.”
“Not if it were fired from a recorder.” Mac swiveled in his chair to turn on the large computer screen in front of them.
“You mean the musical instrument?” Patrick frowned. “Hang on a minute. I think I’m going to need more caffeine to hear this.” He went to refill his mug with Blue Mountain coffee from the always full pot at the coffee station in the corner and return. Most of his friends and co-workers knew that it was unwise to approach him before his first cup in the morning. But since he got up before everyone else at five, no one had ever tested that belief.
“I don’t know much about musical instruments,” Mac admitted, pointing at the images on the screen. “But Danni said she and Anderson passed a small group of street musicians after they left the café, and one was playing a recorder. The group started following them and shortly after they passed, Anderson collapsed.”
Patrick stared at the screen, his engineer’s brain considering the possibility of how to turn a recorder into a weapon. “Lots of different sizes,” he said slowly. “Depending on the size and what it was made of–or if it was specially made for the job–it might be able to deliver a tiny dart or needle. But the shooter would have to be awfully close to his target.”
“Danni said the musicians were following them before they passed them,” Mac repeated. “But so were a lot of other people. Lots of holiday shoppers are out these days, looking for gifts. Maybe the shooter fired just as they passed them. Sounds probable to me.”
Patrick’s grip on his mug’s handle tightened. “Did Anderson leave any family?”
“Danni told me that he has brothers somewhere that she’s going to try to find,” Mac related. “And his wife and child died a long time ago, and he never re-married. No current or even past romantic relationships that Danni could name. The man was basically married to his job.”
For some reason, Mac’s description of Anderson’s solitary life saddened Patrick. “And you’re sure Ms. Blake hasn’t uncovered anything and written about it, that might have led to the attack?” he asked.
“Even if she had, as a cop’s daughter, she’d know better than to write about an ongoing Special Crimes Investigation,” Mac said. “Danni may have a wild imagination at times, but she’s got tons of common sense.”
Mac’s reply included things Patrick was not expecting to hear. “Dannielle Blake’s father was a police officer?” he asked.
“He was,” Mac said. “He died seven years ago after working for KPD for over thirty years. Leo Anderson helped him raise Danni after her mother took off when she was just a kid.”
Patrick frowned at his colleague. “I didn’t know that either.”
“Well, her dossier might say she was raised by her father, but probably nothing else. Did you get a chance to read it?”
“No,” Patrick admitted. “I mostly slept on the plane this morning.” His left shoulder was “nicked” by a bullet from a crazed woman’s gun last month while he was trying to stop Elaine Prescott from being kidnapped. The injury had healed, but Hank Patterson had insisted on flying him up yesterday to be checked out by Brotherhood Protector’s medical staff. “How much of her personal history is in the dossier?”
Mac shrugged. “The usual stuff I would expect. Just something I thought you might need to know. Like you should know Danni is one determined, stubborn woman and Leo being murdered has really got her going.”
“As stubborn as Anne?” Patrick had only met Anne twice, but her steely strength was amazing and at times, a bit overwhelming.
Mac rolled his eyes. “Worse,” he pronounced. “Heaven help you, since you’re now Danni Blake’s protector.”
“Is Ms. Blake going to be staying here?” Patrick asked. No one would guess this five-story building where they now met was furnished like a luxury hotel. The bedrooms alone rivaled the best the city had to offer, and the entire building had a security, Patrick would guess, equal to that of the White House.
“She’s already moved in,” Mac said. “She moved in yesterday and Anne and I stayed with her. Under the circumstances, we thought it was probably for the best. BP has a detail watching her house around the clock. Right now, she’s talking to Miller who wanted to get more details about Anderson’s killing. He sent a car for her and Anne several hours ago and will have someone bring her back.”
“So, my BP job is to keep Dannielle Blake safe until the police can find who’s trying to kill her and maybe help find her goddaughter?”
“That’s the general idea,” Mac said. His phone beeped and he looked towards the hallway. “And the girls are here.”
“Hello, in the house,” a woman’s voice called and then a slender, dark-haired woman entered the office while another woman waited in the doorway. Anne Hamilton’s gaze was only for Mac, and she went straight into his waiting arms to accept a long kiss. So long, Patrick cleared his throat and asked, “Don’t you think introductions are in order?”
“I’ll second that,” a voice called, and Patrick shifted his attention from the courting couple to the tall, slender woman in a dark blue coat and black cloche. She took it off, shook her head and for a moment, Patrick had to remind himself to breathe and not stare like a tame fool.
Dannielle Blake’s–for it had to be her–hair curling around her shoulders was a glorious palate of auburn and russet and copper hues, highlighting the freckles spreading over the bridge of her nose and upper cheeks. Her form-fitting coat showed a shapely figure and long legs, encased in boots. A guarded vulnerability hung about her upright posture while her tightly held mouth seemed to be waiting for someone go give her permission to smile.
But it was her eyes that kept Patrick speechless. Dark, rich brown fringed by long lashes, they appeared slightly swollen as if she’d been crying. Considering she’d lost one of her dearest friends yesterday, He could hardly blame her.
“Sorry,” Mac said, keeping his arm around his fiancée. “Patrick Dalton, that–” he pointed at the woman in the door–, “is Dannielle Blake, who everyone calls Danni. Danni, meet Lieutenant Patrick Dalton, US Army, retired and for the past few months, a member of Brotherhood Protectors. And no formality, you two. You’re going to be spending a lot of time together.”
“I can do that,” Patrick agreed, but still gave his assignment his most courtly bow, hoping it might relax those tightly held shoulders. “Nice to meet you, Danni.”
“You too,” she said, and the beginnings of a smile hovered around her mouth.
“Let’s get out of these coats and then we can talk about dinner, because I’m starving,” Anne announced. “Danni, you should be too, because you’ve hardly eaten all day.”
“I could eat,” Danni admitted. “But from the aromas coming from the kitchen, I’d say someone has already started on dinner. Who’s doing the cooking?”
“I am.” Her blond, blue-eyed bodyguard smiled. “What you smell is a dish called Country Captain Chicken, served with roast potatoes and carrots on the side as well as an ‘all green’ salad.”
“All green?” Danni repeated. “Sounds-interesting.”
He brushed a thumb against his neatly trimmed beard. “And it tastes good, too.”
“Are you good cook?”
Danton’s smile took some of the chill from her skin. “I am, but as they say, the proof of the pudding–”
“–is in the eating,” Danni finished. “Well, give me a moment to change clothing and we’ll be putting that boast to the test. ‘scuse me.”
She headed for her room, with Anne following. Once there, with the door safely closed, she turned to look at her friend and scowled. “You might have warned me Patrick Danton was gorgeous ,” she accused softly as she unbuttoned her coat, tossed it on the bed along with her hat and then sat on the bed to remove her boots.
“It will make all the time you’ll be spending together easier,” Anne teased. “And he’s not boasting about his cooking. It’s terrific. And he’s very good at what he does for BP, Danni. You couldn’t be safer than if Mac were watching you.”
“That’s good to know,” Danni said. “Because after what Officer Miller told us, I’m going to be looking over my shoulder with every step.”
She began to shake, and Anne came to wrap her arms around her. For a moment, the friends stood in silence, glad for each other’s presence.
“Patrick will be right there with you, every second,” Anne assured her. “Now, let’s go join the “brothers” before they start dinner without us.”