Hidden Agenda (22 page)

Olivia started jotting down notes, trying not to worry about Michael. Trying not to think about his kiss. She'd spent so much of her life being the protector to both her mother after she got sick, and then to Ivan. Michael had made
her
feel protected, and she liked that feeling. But when this was over, things between them would change. And besides that, she had a pretty strong feeling that his southern-born mama wouldn't exactly welcome the daughter of a cartel kingpin into her family with open arms.

Still, as crazy as it seemed, part of her wanted to hold on to the dream fantasy, even if it was nothing more than a grand illusion that would vanish at the stroke of midnight like Cinderella's carriage turning back into a pumpkin.

Fifteen minutes later, she signaled to Avery that she'd found something.

“What have you got?” Avery asked.

Olivia started to answer when the hotel door opened and Michael and Mason walked in.

The men hung their coats on the coatrack, then walked into the room. Michael tossed his cap onto the table, fatigue masking his expression.

“You're limping,” Olivia said.

“I'm fine.” He shot her a smile. “Just the normal chasing
down a suspect and scaling security fences. Though I admit, it made me wish I was Ivan's age again.”

Avery laughed. “Well, while you were out gallivanting, Olivia's been researching the name you sent us and was just about to tell me what she found.”

“That's great.” Michael turned to Olivia. “Did you find anything?”

“I did.”

“Good,” Mason said. “Because according to Jinx, Salazar is moving up the ranks and has plans to take over.”

“Salazar's father had known ties to the cartel,” Olivia said, “though most reports say that Julio never wanted anything to do with the drug empire. He's smart, well educated, and has somehow managed to stay so low profile that even his digital footprint is light. He has a squeaky clean bio.”

“Too clean if you ask me,” Michael said.

“You might be right, because I did find one interesting fact.” Olivia glanced down at her notes. “According to one source, six years ago, Salazar's father was brutally murdered by La Sombra, and at the time, Salazar promised revenge.”

“So Salazar killing La Sombra becomes a win/win situation,” Michael said. “Not only does he avenge his father's death, but he gains new territory.”

“Exactly.” Avery grabbed her coat off the rack. “I'm leaving you all on your own for a bit. I'm going to talk to Jackson about looking through Michael's file at the medical examiner's office. In the meantime, Mason, see if you can track down Longhurst, the ME who signed off on Michael's death. I want to talk to him again as well. If he was paid off, like I've always suspected, it could help us connect the dots.”

“You got it, boss.”

A
very rubbed her hands together. She'd chosen to meet Jackson in the town center—still decked out with Christmas decorations and lights—and now wasn't at all certain the ambiance was worth having to face the dropping temperatures. She needed to talk to him on a professional level, as a medical examiner. But she also needed to talk personally with the man she'd fallen in love with.

A minute later, Jackson approached the bench where she waited, carrying two cups of coffee.

“Hey.” She took one of the paper cups, smiling as he brushed his lips across hers, lingering just long enough to set her heart racing.

“We might have to do this more often,” he said, smiling back.

“I agree, plus you're a lifesaver. I needed this.” She took a long drink of the coffee, letting its heat spread through her chilled body, thankful for the distraction. And even more thankful for Jackson.

“When you told me where you wanted to meet,” he said, “I thought you might be able to use warming up with a bit of pumpkin spice.”

“It's perfect.” She nodded toward the empty sidewalk lining
the shops and businesses. “I thought we could walk while we talk.”

“Sure.”

He matched her stride as they started down the sidewalk. Most of the stores, with their brick-face buildings, were decorated in holiday garlands and lights, but with the cold weather, the number of shoppers was minimal, making the setting quiet for now.

She offered him another smile, hoping he didn't notice the fear in her eyes. “Thanks for coming.”

“You're welcome, though as a born-and-bred Texan, I have to admit, it's a bit too cold for me out in these lower-than-normal temperatures.” He slipped his free hand into hers and laced their fingers together. “Why do I have a feeling you're about to cancel our dinner date?”

She shot him a weak smile. “I promise to make it up to you.”

“Yes, you will, with one request attached.”

“Anything.”

“Hmmm . . . I was thinking of dinner, just you and me, and with no talks of mother-in-laws or wedding plans.”

“Are you saying you don't like my mother?” she teased, throwing out the question more as procrastination than anything. The inevitable storm had already hit, but she knew if she didn't find the answers soon, the swells would eventually take her under.

“I love your mother almost as much as I love her fried chicken,” Jackson said. “But I miss you. Since moving up the wedding—and all the work that's entailed—I don't think I've seen you alone for more than ten minutes.”

She smiled back at him. “In about six weeks that will all change.”

She'd much rather focus on the two of them and put aside everything else, but that wasn't possible—not with all that was happening.

“Married to the most beautiful woman in the world with seven days in the Caribbean.” Jackson took another sip of his coffee. “Just you and me and a cruise ship . . . I'm already counting the hours.”

Avery's mind longed to follow Jackson there, but instead, Michael's face kept flashing in front of her. Memories from the crime scene after the explosion. His funeral. And now . . . seeing him again. The distraction wasn't working.

“As soon as I wrap up the case I'm working on, I'm all yours. I promise. With no talk about cake flavors, flowers, or appetizers.”

“Just so you don't forget I was right. Eloping is sounding better every day.”

They slowed down in front of an open bakery, the scent of fresh-baked bread and pastries reminding her she'd skipped breakfast again.

Jackson reached up to stroke her cheek. “But we both know you didn't call to talk about wedding plans. What's wrong?”

Avery hesitated, wishing there was a way to delay the inevitable conversation. Talking about Michael's death was only going to make what had happened today feel all the more real.

“What is it?” he asked.

Avery took another sip of coffee. She'd gone back and forth in her mind on the drive over, unable to decide if she should tell Jackson that Michael was alive. Because once he knew the truth, he'd be honor bound to turn him in. Putting Jackson and his career at risk wasn't something she was prepared to do.

But on a personal level, neither did she want to start keeping things from the man she was about to marry.

“Avery . . .” He stopped and caught her gaze. “When I asked you to marry me, it meant I was ready to go through everything in life with you. The good, the bad, and the ugly. We're in this together.”

“Then I don't know how else to tell you but to just come out and say it.” Her voice caught. “Michael's alive, Jackson.”

“He's alive?” She clearly had his full attention now. “I don't understand. How is that possible? The ME signed his death certificate, there was DNA evidence . . .”

“Trust me, I'm still struggling to figure everything out myself.”

“Tell me what you know.”

“I told you about the video of the gas station robbery and the rumors that he'd been spotted there.”

“Yes.”

“They aren't just rumors. I met with him this morning.”

“You met with Michael?” Jackson asked. “What did he tell you?”

Avery started walking again, thankful it was too cold for most shoppers and dog walkers to be out in this weather. “It's a long story, and I don't have a lot of time to tell you everything now, but I do need your help. His life is in danger.”

“You know I'll do anything I can, but I'm not sure how I can help. You know I wasn't working for the ME here when Michael . . . died.”

“I know.” She nodded. “But now, not only does the cartel have a hit out on him, there are people in the department who are convinced that if he really is alive, that he's guilty of murder and more. If he lets the chief know he's alive, he'll be arrested.”

“What can I do?”

“You did the recent autopsy on Russell Coates, and as you know, we suspect that his death was an inside job, handled by someone who didn't want the information he had to get out, and if Michael's arrested . . .”

“They could just as easily do the same thing to him.”

She nodded. “I can't lose my brother again, Jackson, but the police now believe he's responsible for the death of an FBI agent and for the convenience store shooting.”

“And you believe he's telling the truth?”

“I know you've never met Michael, but trust me. He's not guilty. I've known men who'd betray their own mother if it was to their advantage, but nothing—not even the evidence stacked up against him—will convince me of Michael's guilt. Michael would die for his country before betraying it. And we've also got Ivan's eyewitness account of Agent Kendall's murder.”

“Who else knows about all of this?”

She tossed her empty cup into a trash container as they walked past. “Mason. Emily. Tory, Levi, Carlos, and my father. We're holed up in a hotel, trying to figure out how to clear his name.”

“You haven't brought the captain in on this?” he asked.

“I'm supposed to be working the case to track Michael down, but until we know what's going on and who's behind this, I'm afraid to trust anyone.”

“You could lose your job over this, Avery.”

“I know. And so could you, if you do what I ask.” She studied Jackson's face as he struggled to take in what she'd just told him. “Which is why you can walk away from this right now, and I'll never bring it up again.”

“What do you need me to do?”

She let out a sigh of relief at his response. “Donald Longhurst, the medical examiner who signed off on Michael's death, has already been interviewed, but I need to know what you know about the man.”

“Longhurst . . .” Jackson slowed his steps. “He was a member of the committee that hired me, but I can't say I know much about him. He was a bit reserved, but not unfriendly. Very knowledgeable. He left a month . . . maybe six weeks after I was hired.”

“What do you know about him personally?”

“Not much. He wasn't very social. Never saw him hang out with colleagues. I remember his mother was sick. Not sure what was wrong with her, but I know he took care of her. Don't think
she was supposed to live much longer, but after he retired I never saw him again. I believe he has a daughter in the Atlanta area. He had a photo of her on his desk. I think her name was Sally . . . or Molly. I don't remember.”

“Did you notice anything strange about him around the time of his retirement?”

Jackson shrugged. “Like I said, I didn't really know him enough to recognize any changes in his behavior.”

“How hard would it be to alter DNA evidence, falsify a death certificate, and not get caught?”

“You'd have to breach the chain of evidence, but I suppose it wouldn't be impossible. Foolish and even risky, but not impossible.”

“Enough money can make all kinds of things happen.”

“So you think Longhurst was paid to change the results on the death certificate?”

“Yes.”

“That's quite an accusation.”

Avery hesitated, praying she wasn't running in the wrong direction. “I know, which is why we have to move carefully. But on the other hand, we don't have a lot of time.”

“You know I'll do anything I can to help, Avery.”

“I know, but before you agree too quickly, let me tell you exactly what I'm asking you to do. The captain knows that I'm looking into the possibility that Michael faked his death. What he doesn't know is that I've found him,” she said. “I've been given permission by the captain to open up Michael's case. I need you to go back through the autopsy reports and see if you can find anything that stands out. If necessary, we'll exhume the remains of the body that's in the casket.”

Avery's phone rang. “Mason?”

“We found Longhurst and the information you wanted from the files. He's living at his daughter's house.”

“I'm on my way.” Avery reached up and kissed Jackson's cheek. “We might have just caught another break. I'll call you as soon as I know something.”

Thirty minutes later, Avery knocked on Molly Parker's door. A pretty woman with bright blue eyes opened the door, letting the scent of pine and baking cookies escape from inside the house.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

Avery held up her badge and introduced herself and Mason. “We're looking for Donald Longhurst.”

“Just a minute.” Ms. Parker stepped back into the house. “Dad, someone's here to see you.”

A moment later, the former associate medical examiner, Donald Longhurst, a skinny man with a matching thin face and crooked nose, stepped into the doorway. “Is there a problem?”

“Dr. Longhurst,” Avery began, “we're currently investigating the death of a Michael James Hunt, and we need to speak with you. You were in charge of his autopsy eight months ago and signed off on his death certificate?”

“You'll have to forgive me if I can't remember that case in particular . . .” Longhurst slipped his hands into his front pockets. “You must realize that I handled hundreds of cases a year. But I'm retired now and am no longer with the medical examiner's office.”

“How long did you work as a medical examiner?” Avery interrupted.

“Thirty-five years, but—”

“I understand you had aspirations to be the chief medical examiner.”

“I don't see how that has anything to do with this.”

“Just answer my questions, please, Dr. Longhurst.”

“I once had that career goal, but working as an associate was very satisfying.”

“Satisfying, maybe, but not nearly as lucrative. I understand you have a bit of a gambling habit you struggle to support.”

Dr. Longhurst pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know, that's none of your business.”

“But you would agree that your finances are in a bit of a mess?” Avery asked.