11. Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
The nightmares hadn’t been this bad for a while. The creeping feel of unwanted hands restraining her. The memory of the scared faces of young girls clung to Kathleen when she woke. Up with the dawn and very disgruntled about it, she went for a morning run to clear her head. On her way back, she was still cranky enough about being up that she scowled at her doorman, Ben, and resolved to apologize to him with muffins… later.
When she first saw the assassin, Kathleen thought most of his bulk came from his uniform, but seeing him last night had disabused her of that. His long-sleeved shirt had clung to his broad shoulders, highlighting a sculpted chest and bulging biceps that drew her eye. Her earlier guess that he had been military felt certain; he had the build of someone who worked hard to keep himself in top shape.
The way he held himself unnerved her the most, though. He didn’t have the emotionless confidence of the man who had effortlessly killed people in the Palace. Instead, he acted wary and skittish, like someone who wanted to bolt but also didn’t dare draw attention to themselves. He kept his head tilted forward, like he was trying to hide behind his long brown hair.
And the way he had looked at her—his remarkable blue eyes sad and lost, the rest of his expression blank—haunted her most of all.
Kathleen was never a maternal person. She didn’t have great role models, having grown up in a series of successively worse foster homes after her parents died, but she’d always felt a need to protect others who were weaker than her. It was the reason she’d joined the police force.
It seemed to her this man needed protecting. She just wasn’t sure from what yet.
But she was about to find out.
Though Kathleen could not catch him last night—he was disturbingly fast—she had seen a black SUV peeling away from the curb. She was certain he had been in that vehicle.
Now it was just a matter of pulling the traffic camera footage. She spent an hour in the almost empty office. The traffic camera footage was missing—not a great sign—but she pulled footage from a nearby surveillance camera.
Kathleen saw him as a blur. She had to pause the footage, back up, and step forward frame by frame to see what was happening.
He leaped down from somewhere out of the camera's frame, at least a two-story fall. He straightened and stalked toward the SUV, opened the door, and got in. It was like he was expecting the vehicle to be waiting there for him. The way he moved—the stalk—reminded her of the confident way he had moved in the Imperial Silk Palace, entirely different from the hesitant way he’d carried himself in the street when they met the night before.
Kathleen found a clear view of the license plate. Unsurprisingly, it was registered to a generically named company—Mainstream Logistics Pty Ltd, undoubtedly a subsidiary of some sort. They had a business address listed in Northeast Washington.
Driving the Mustang always made her feel better. The lighter traffic meant she could drive it the way she preferred: hard acceleration, quick turns, and few stops.
The building was a fenced-off warehouse surrounded by an empty parking lot. Kathleen’s Mustang stood out, so she parked down the street and walked to the address, peering through the chain link.
Kathleen grabbed at the fence, fingers squeezing to contain her reaction as she sighted a familiar face: Washington DC Governor Wyatt Wilson. Her primary suspect for the murder of Lachlan Hayden.
Wilson was talking with a man dressed in scuffed jeans, a faded gray jacket beneath a high-visibility vest, and a white hard hat bearing the word “Foreman.” She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Wilson’s stern gestures breathed anger, and the foreman looked like he was trying to placate the politician. Kathleen snapped photos with her phone.
As she watched, Wilson continued to gesture, even pointing his finger at the other man. She didn’t recognize the foreman, but even she could read from this distance that Wilson was pushing his luck. The foreman was putting up with it, but that patience wouldn’t last for long.
Perhaps Wilson sensed it, too, because soon he was striding toward his black Town Car.
Kathleen was curious about the foreman—about this whole place—but she was only one person, and she had to make a choice. She should listen to Murphy and stay out of things. Yet, by some miracle, Wilson had landed right in the middle of her investigation, pointing another neon sign in his direction.
She told herself it was fate.
After all, what was the harm in casually running into Wilson?
It would be a tough sell, but Kathleen desperately wanted to nail this guy, and it was the best she had. She hurried back to her Mustang, sliding in just as she saw Wilson’s Town Car pull away down the street. She stayed back until they reached busier streets.
Wilson pulled in front of a sunshine-themed coffee house and stepped out, smoothing back his hair before he walked inside. She found a place to park and followed him in. The place smelled of fresh coffee beans and baked goods, and it would have been heaven if she didn’t have other things on her mind.
The man was already doing his politician spiel: two minutes out of her sight, and Wilson was taking a woman’s baby from her arms and cooing at the infant while the mother snapped a photo.
Kathleen moved to stand behind him in line. “Governor Wilson.”
He turned. Wilson was dressed like a career politician bucking for promotion—dark blue tailored suit, crisp white shirt, and red tie—and unfortunately, he had the silver fox look to pull it off. He even managed to smile charmingly, and not in an obviously fake way, though she could tell in the faint narrowing of eyes he both recognized her—and was ill-pleased to see her.
It made Kathleen wonder who had been talking to him and what they had been saying—about the case—and about her.
Wilson offered his hand to her, his politician’s smile plastered on his face. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure, though I’m always humbled to be recognized. Wyatt Wilson.”
“Detective Kathleen Harper.” She glanced down at his hand. The thought of touching him gave her the creeps. “I’m coming down off a cold, or I’d shake your hand.”
Wilson knew she was lying, and his smile dimmed marginally as his hand dropped. “Well, detective, can I buy you a coffee?”
“I’m afraid I can’t. New policy, so we’re not seen as biased. I’d love to ask you about Lachlan Hayden, though.”
Wilson was so well practiced, Kathleen could almost believe the way his face fell wasn’t pure artifice. “An awful business. Is that something you’re working on? Anything I can do to assist, of course. I have the Chief of Police on speed dial.”
It was a threat, and both of them knew it.
Kathleen would only get one shot at this. He was good at covering his body language, but she was better at reading him, and she knew it. She needed to know, one way or another. If she was going to burn, she was going to go down, and take him along with her.
Fixing her gaze on him, she asked, “Did you have anything to do with it?”
Wilson’s eyes widened, lips parting. It was shock, but it was too perfect. Too practiced. “I understand there’s some fringe conspiracy theorists suggesting I benefit from this. And while it makes my Senate run a little easier, I would give it up in a heartbeat to have Lachlan back with us. He was a true patriot.”
He was lying. About all of it. Kathleen could see the hatred burning in his gaze.
Wilson managed to control it as he stroked his hand down his tie. “You girls and boys in blue are doing a fantastic job. I don’t blame you for being so ruthless about hunting down possible leads. In fact, I applaud it.”
“Governor Wilson?” The smiling woman behind the counter offered a takeout cup. “Latte with soy, extra hot.”
“Thank you, Angela. You do an amazing service.” Wilson left a twenty-dollar note, earning Angela’s genuine smile. Then he turned back to Kathleen. “I think you’re one to watch, Detective Harper. I’ll pray you find Lachlan’s killers. Have a good morning.” He smiled one last fake smile at her and departed.
Kathleen flexed her fingers into balls, blowing out a breath.
“Ma’am?” Angela looked at Kathleen expectantly.
“Sorry. I think I’ve had my caffeine limit for the day.” Kathleen gave her an apologetic smile and threw another twenty on the counter. “Can you package up two muffins for me? Whatever’s freshest.”
Through the window, Kathleen could see Wilson pulling out his phone as he got into his Town Car, his movements jerky and quick. A few minutes later, he pulled into traffic.
Kathleen could tell things were going to get very messy… and soon.