Behind the Shadows (25 page)

Max used his key to go into the main Westerfield house. Mrs. Baker wouldn't be there yet.

Lights had been on in several rooms when he'd left for the hospital. That meant Leigh had been up and probably wandering about the house. Now the house was dark except for the faint light in Leigh's room.

He was beyond angry when he stepped inside. Angry, and jealous as hell, too. He'd seen that moment of distrust in Kira's eyes, the way she'd turned to Chris Burke. He hadn't thought something like that could hurt as much as it did.

His immediate target, though, was the security company. The two men on duty said they'd immediately gone to Kira Douglas rather than trying to find the shooter. Someone else assisted her, and then and only then had they looked around. He couldn't really quarrel with their priorities. Kira came first. Still, they were supposed to be professionals. They should have seen
something
.

He'd broken every speed limit to get to the hospital. He'd felt great relief to find her walking and talking and wanting to go home.

What he hadn't expected was the suspicion and reserve in her eyes when she saw him. Nor the rejection when he offered to take her home.

He'd left quickly. He wanted to kill whoever had shot her, and he didn't want her to see that part of him. He'd worked hard to harness a temper that once threatened to destroy his life. But now it was like a raging bull inside.

Worse was the unexpected ache he felt in places he thought well guarded …

Everything was silent in the house. He went into Ed's study. It was just as the old man had left it. He went to the wall gun cabinet. Ed's rifles were still there, locked by a chain. He counted them. One was missing. Then he went to the safe located in a large closet behind the desk. He used the combination to open it. He didn't know if anyone else knew it, but he doubted whether Ed wanted them to know it. He had grown paranoid in his last years.

Ed kept his handguns in the safe. A .45-caliber had been of particular concern. It was a heavily regulated weapon, and Max had never updated the registration. He'd been uncertain what to do about the weapons. The house and its contents belonged to Leigh. And she'd changed nothing in her grandfather's study. She'd made very few changes in the house itself. She hadn't seemed to care, almost as if she continued to live in someone else's house.

He went through the weapons. The .45 wasn't there, either.

The sniper last night wouldn't have used the .45, even with a noise suppressor. Too inaccurate. But it worried him that it was gone. He closed the safe. He didn't doubt that the police would be here. Burke and Kira would have to tell them about the connection to the Westerfields now.

He doubted they would come with a search warrant. They wouldn't have enough probable cause, but they would be here and might well ask about weapons.

They would check his answer against ATF records. He would have to tell them that the .45 and one rifle were missing or let them discover it for themselves. Either way, there would be questions. Lots of them.

He knew Leigh wasn't involved in the shooting. She didn't have the skills, nor the mind-set.

He also knew where suspicion would point.

He went into the kitchen. He filled the coffeepot with water, then coffee, and turned it on.

He thought about the first time he was in this kitchen. He was seventeen, green as could be, and thought it the most wonderful house in the world.

Maybe that was the reason he didn't move away. The Westerfields were the only family he had.

He started upstairs to wake Leigh up when he heard a noise at the kitchen door. Mrs. Baker came in. She stopped in surprise when she saw him.

“You're up and about early,” she said.

“There's been another attack on Kira Douglas.”

She dropped the purse, spilling the contents on the floor. “Oh no!”

“This time someone was killed.”

“Ms. Douglas?”

“No. Someone shot her and three other people at city hall last night.”

“Maybe it was a coincidence,” she said hesitantly.

“I don't think so. Neither will the police. It wouldn't surprise me if they were here in a few hours.”

She gathered the belongings on the floor. “But why?”

“Surely they couldn't suspect Miss Leigh.”

“Mrs. Baker, I think they will suspect everyone in and around this family, including me.” He paused. “I'm going to wake Leigh and tell her. You might make some tea for her.”

Her face had paled, but she nodded. “I'll do it right now.”

He left her for the stairs. He hated to barge in, but he wanted to see her before she saw the television. Or maybe she'd heard something last night. He hoped to hell not. He wanted to see her reaction. He had to know whether she had anything to do with the shooting. It would be the only way he could help her.

He knocked at the door. No answer.

He tried again.

“Mrs. Baker?”

“No, it's Max.”

“Just a minute.”

It was more than a minute, but less time than he expected. She opened the door and peered out at him.

Her eyes were red, swollen, but her hair was brushed and she wore a long robe. Alarm was in her eyes.

“Max?”

“May I come in?”

“I'm not sure. You have that frown you wear when delivering bad news.”

“I didn't think I was that transparent.”

“You usually aren't, but occasionally displeasure breaks through.”

“You look like you had a sleepless night.”

“That transparent?” she said with a teasing note born, he thought, of tension.

“You usually are,” he replied.

She stepped aside and went to one of the big lounge chairs in the room. She sat in the chair, drawing her legs under her. She looked far younger than her thirty-two years. And innocent.

“There was another attack on Kira Douglas,” he said abruptly.

There was no mistaking the surprise in her eyes. “Is she …?”

“No, but another person was killed. She and two others were wounded.”

“How?”

“Someone started shooting people leaving a meeting at the Atlanta City Hall.”

She looked dazed for a moment. “You're sure it was her he was after?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “And I think the police will as well.”

Then she caught the meaning of what he was saying. It was in her eyes. “You don't think I had anything to do with it?”

“No.” And he meant it. He knew her too well. She couldn't feign the emotions that crossed her face.

Yet he had another question. “Have you been in your grandfather's gun safe?”

“No. I was there when you took everything out and showed them to me.” She gave him a wry look. “I didn't pay much attention. Grandfather trusted you and so do I. I know you put the guns there, and that was fine with me. I never liked them.”

“Did you know the combination?”

She shook her head. “You know how I am about numbers, and I had no reason to want to know.”

“Did anyone else? Seth? David?”

“If they did, they never said anything about it. Besides, neither of them hunt.”

“There are two guns missing. A forty-five and a rifle. The police will surely check because they're registered.” He let that sink in. “Who else has been in the house in the past week?”

“Seth. David. Mrs. Baker.” She stopped. “You can't possibly think any of them are involved. Can you see Mrs. Baker with a gun?”

“No,” he admitted. He'd always marveled at the way Mrs. Baker always remained “Mrs. Baker” despite more than thirty years with the family. Ed had been scrupulous about calling her “Mrs. Baker,” and she had always called him “Mr. Westerfield” and Leigh “Miss Leigh.” His death had not changed long-ingrained habits.

“Are you sure it was there? There were so many. I never understood why he wanted so many.”

“He was a collector. He liked having what no one else did. And I think he liked the control a gun gave him. Much more powerful than a golf club,” he said. He didn't have to elaborate. Ed Westerfield always liked being in control. And he relished owning a .45, otherwise known as an assassin's gun.

He paused. “My security guys said there had to be a noise suppressor.”

“Your guys?” Her eyes had grown larger.

“I didn't want anything else to happen to her,” he said simply. “It would lead back to us.”

She gave him a sly look. “Is that the real reason? She's pretty, but she doesn't look like your type.”

“And what is my type?”

“Sleek and beautiful. At least, that's who you always brought to my grandfather's parties.”

“You're right. She's not my type,” he said shortly. “Now back to the safe. You're going to be asked about the gun collection.”

“I haven't opened it.”

“You will have to tell the police who might have had access.”

“I don't think anyone but you has the combination.”

“But you don't know.”

She shook her head. She obviously realized what he was saying, but it was also evident she didn't want to implicate anyone. “Maybe it's not the gun that was used.”

“Probably not,” he tried to assure her. “I just want you to be aware of everything.”

She was shaking. He put his arms around her. “Just answer the questions,” he said. “Insist on me being there, but I won't interrupt unless it's necessary. You'll do okay.”

She straightened. “Yes, I will.” She gave him a wan smile. “I'll get dressed.”

He paused. “The DNA technician will be here at two.”

She made a face. “It's not going to go away, is it?”

“No.”

“I suppose I hoped it would, if I delayed long enough. I wanted to believe she was a fraud.”

“I'll call Chris Burke. He should be there.”

“Why?” she asked.

He saw a blush start in her cheeks and wondered why.

“A representative of Ms. Douglas should be present. He might well want to run a sample through another lab.”

“I'll be here.”

“There's something else,” he said.

“More bad news?”

“I don't think this whole … baby-switch supposition will be under wraps after this morning.”

He watched as the words sank in. She stiffened.

“Kira Douglas hasn't made it public. She wanted to do it all quietly. But now murder's involved. And the police. They will certainly ask her whether she has any idea of who is behind this …”

“Surely she doesn't think I …” She paused. “You said several people were shot. It could have been one of those crazies …”

“I doubt anyone else had their home trashed in the past few days, nor had someone tried to push them in front of a train. She'll have to tell the police about everything that happened in the past few days, and suspicion will be aimed right at us. The police have never been known for being discreet. I imagine Ms. Douglas, as a reporter, will be writing her own story. The fact is you'll probably be hounded by the media soon. Just say, ‘No comment.' I'll send a couple of people to man the gates and make sure no one gets to the house.”

“My friends …”

“Tell them I said you can't discuss it. I don't want anything being misconstrued and repeated.”

She nodded.

“You'll be okay,” he said. “You're a lot stronger than you think.”

“I'm not sure about that. What if I lose everything?”

“I won't let it happen, okay?” He stood. “I'll tell Mrs. Baker to start breakfast. What do you want?”

“I don't think I can eat anything.”

“Yes, you can. You need to keep up your strength.”

Her shoulders straightened. “Okay. Maybe some fruit. A piece of toast.”

“I'll tell her.”

He left, satisfied that she could hold her own when questioned.

His mind went to those who might benefit from the revelation that Kira Douglas was really Leigh Howard. Seth had been pressuring Leigh to file suit and try to end the trust. The Crawfords—Michael and his son, David—had never expressed an interest in getting anything but the nice bequest Ed had left them. He wondered whether Seth could bear closer scrutiny. Maybe he'd been using his own money for the campaign.

Yet as far as he knew there had never been a hint of scandal around him, and God knew he would have heard if there was one.

He knew one thing. They would all be investigated now. Seth. Leigh. Himself. How deep would they go?

Chris made coffee at six the next morning after grabbing a few hours' sleep in an easy chair. He'd peeked in at Kira several times.

He'd spent much of the night waking friends with phone calls. Six retired officers agreed to take turns watching her. After last night, he sure as hell didn't trust Payton's private cops.

After they talked to the police this morning, he would head for the hospital himself. He could reassure Katy about Kira, and he wanted to talk to her about the doctors who treated her and Kira thirty-two years ago. He also wanted to know what nurses were on duty that day. They should be in hospital records someplace.

Maybe he'd been looking in the wrong direction. He'd been thinking the attacks came because someone today thought they would lose, or gain, something if Kira was proven to be the granddaughter of Ed Westerfield.

Maybe the attacks weren't about money or inheritances at all. Maybe someone was trying to cover up a thirty-two-year-old crime.

26

“Drink this,” Chris ordered. He handed Kira a large glass of orange juice.

She sat up in bed. She didn't want it. She was a little nauseated, but he had insisted.

“You lost blood yesterday,” he persisted. “You need it.”

“I need to get up.”

“After the orange juice.”