Best Laid Plans (2 page)

She’d been put on administrative leave for two weeks and didn’t blink. They’d spent part of her leave in Sacramento with his brother and newborn niece. While she’d been upset about disappointing her boss, she’d appeared content. She’d spent more time with her brother Jack and Sean’s brother Kane than anyone else, but at the time Sean hadn’t thought much about it.

That should have been his first clue. When he’d first met Lucy eighteen months ago, she had kept herself closed off from others, icy and distant. It had been a defense mechanism to manage the pain and rage from her past. Constantly training, running for miles, working long hours. She didn’t let herself feel anything, and that meant the only time her emotions were free to escape was in sleep. And those emotions became nightmares, violent memories that Sean had helped Lucy overcome.

And for months, he’d thought they were over. After they’d moved to San Antonio in January, she rarely woke before dawn, her insomnia under control. But the nightmares had returned when they came home after her leave. He wanted to pull the truth from her, because he didn’t think she was being honest with him. She wasn’t lying to him … just omitting details. She never wanted to worry him. But what she didn’t understand, what Sean hadn’t made clear enough, was that holding back made him worry more.

He thought time would fix the problem, as long as he was here for her, and some nights she did sleep soundly. But not tonight. The urge to hit something propelled him out of bed. He’d put in an aggressive workout later. Instead, he followed Lucy downstairs.

He thought she’d be in the kitchen brewing coffee—he smelled the rich coffee beans Lucy liked—but the pool lights were on. He walked outside and saw Lucy swimming laps, her long, curvy body as graceful as a mermaid’s as she swam the breaststroke one way, flipped, and did the backstroke going back. He could watch her for hours. She’d swum in high school and college, but now she did it for fun. Or a workout. Or trying to out-swim her personal demons.

The late spring nights were cool, but not cold, and the early morning air was refreshing. It would be another humid scorcher today, but right now the weather was perfect. Maybe there was a benefit to getting up at three thirty in the morning.

Sean liked everything about the Olmos Park house he’d picked out for them, but the pool had sold him. It wasn’t as fancy as some of the others—no rock walls or elegant waterfalls or curving design. It was a large, black-bottomed rectangle and the only added touches were custom tiles along the edges and a raised infinity hot tub that dropped water into the pool below. When Lucy first saw the pool she grinned like a kid, then jumped in fully clothed. Such behavior was out of character, but also a testament to her complete and total joy, justifying Sean’s decision to purchase the house and surprise her.

Sean wanted that Lucy back. The Lucy he knew was still in there, waiting for the nightmares to run their course.

After twenty laps, Lucy slowed down for a few more, then got out and spotted him. “I woke you up,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

He handed her a towel and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She shrugged and dried off. “I feel better.” She drank from a water bottle. She was out of breath, but there was color in her cheeks.

He wrapped a hand around her neck and kissed her warmly. “I’m here.”

“It helps.”

“I want to do more.”

“You do far more for me than you should. I need to stand on my own two feet. But having you here gives me peace. Know that. I’ll get over this funk.”

“It’s more than a funk, Lucy. We’ve been back for two months and you’ve only slept through the night twice.”

She frowned. “Are you keeping track?”

“No, not like that, but I love you and I know when you’re not sleeping.”

“The nightmares aren’t so bad,” she said. “They just seem real. They startle me, because I wake up at first not knowing that it was a dream. I think that’s what’s bothering me so much. There’s like a minute or two when I don’t know where I am, I don’t know who I’m with, I think I’m still there.”

“Where are you?”

She didn’t answer the question, not directly. “It changes.” But she didn’t look him in the eye, and he feared she was retreating further into the past, beyond the imprisoned boys in Mexico, back to the darkest time of her life, when she’d been held captive by a psychopath and repeatedly raped.

Sean hugged her tightly, because he had to. For him as much as for her. She grabbed him just as tight. She whispered, “Let’s go back to bed.”

He kissed her. He would have made love to her in the pool, on the lounge chair,
anywhere
, but Lucy would be nervous having sex outside. And he wanted—needed—her to relax and feel how much he loved her. He picked her up and carried her inside.

As soon as he stepped through the door, the house phone rang. Lucy jumped out of his arms. “It’s never good news before dawn,” she said and answered the closest phone. “Hello?”

Sean watched her face. In two blinks she’d gone from romantic to panicked to professional.

“I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” she said a few minutes later then hung up. “That was Juan. A VIP is dead. Doesn’t appear to be murder, but the circumstances are suspicious, and the dead guy is a government contractor with high-level security clearance. The powers that be want the FBI to take the lead.”

The way she spoke surprised Sean. “Do you know him?”

“No, why?”

“Because you generally show more compassion for the dead.”

She hesitated then said, “SAPD reports that the guy, fifty-four, was having sex with an underage prostitute when he died. They think heart attack, the girl got scared and ran. The police think the girl robbed him after he died. She was scared that her pimp would beat her senseless if she didn’t bring back any money. And yet this pervert is the
victim
? If the police find her, they’ll terrify her even more.” She started up the stairs. Halfway up she turned around. “I’m sorry, Sean.”

“No apologies. It’s nice to see that fire back. But I will take a rain check on what you promised.”

She smiled at him, warm and genuine with a hint of teasing. “I’m cashing in that rain check tonight.” Then she ran up the stairs.

Maybe Lucy was okay. At least she sounded like she was back on track.

Sean went to the kitchen to make her breakfast. If he didn’t feed her before she left, he knew she’d go without until lunch, and after that morning swim, she needed fuel.

CHAPTER THREE

The White Knight Motel was near the freeway, on Camp Street, not far from San Antonio PD central headquarters. It could have been cloned from any number of dives in the area—two-story crumbling structures with questionable rental and cleaning policies. Lucy had investigated a murder at a place just like the White Knight when she’d been in D.C. last year. A prostitute had been brutally murdered and Lucy had moved heaven and earth to work that case and find the killer.

This time, the john was dead, and Lucy had no sympathy.

The coroner’s van was already on site, along with several SAPD cop cars. It was barely dawn and the onlookers were mostly drunks or other guests at the motel—keeping their distance, wary of the police.

Juan had given Lucy the bare minimum of information—he’d hardly spoken to her outside of work for the two months she’d been back on duty. She’d hoped her two-week administrative leave had been enough time for her boss to forgive her, but Juan was still angry. Maybe not angry—disappointed. Somehow, that was worse.

Suck it up, Kincaid.

Before she got out of her car, she read over the brief memo Juan had emailed to her and the other agent assigned to the case, a nearly twenty-year veteran named Barry Crawford. She hadn’t partnered with Crawford before. In the six months she’d been in San Antonio, she’d noticed that Crawford was one of those agents who did his job and went home. He seemed to be smart and competent, but she couldn’t remember him ever working past five or taking an extra assignment.

Juan’s memo was brief and to the point. The deceased was Harper Worthington, owner of Harper Worthington International, a global accountancy corporation that primarily handled government contracts and audits. Because he specialized in auditing defense contractors, he had a high-level federal security clearance. In addition, he was married to Congresswoman Adeline Reyes-Worthington.

Worthington had been found dead and partially clothed in a motel room at the White Knight at approximately 1:00
A.M.
by the motel manager when a taxi driver retained by Worthington insisted management check the room. The driver had been waiting for over an hour for the deceased, who had requested the pickup, and he’d witnessed a teenaged girl leaving just after midnight. When SAPD arrived and checked the deceased’s ID, they recognized the name and contacted their chief, who in turn contacted the FBI.

Juan ended with:

This case is need-to-know. I don’t have to explain the sensitivities of not only Worthington’s position as a government contractor, but the potential media interest because of his congressional ties. I expect this case to be handled with complete discretion and the utmost professionalism.

Lucy checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. Sean was right, she looked tired. She added more concealer under her eyes and a touch more makeup than she usually wore before she got out of the car.

Lucy recognized Julie Peters, one of the deputy coroners. Lucy had met many of the SAPD and county staff during the two months she’d spent working on Operation Heatwave, which had culminated in hundreds of arrests of wanted fugitives through the combined efforts of all levels of law enforcement.

Julie was leaning against her van talking to one of the cops as Lucy approached. “I heard the feds were taking over,” Julie said.

“By mutual agreement,” Lucy said. “Good to see you again, Julie.”

“VIP,” Julie said and rolled her eyes. “Agent Kincaid, meet Officer Garcia. Garcia, Kincaid. She’s okay for a fed.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Lucy extended her hand to Garcia.

“You should. Julie doesn’t like anyone,” Garcia said.

Julie snorted. “Not true. I just prefer dead people. They don’t lie.”

Lucy didn’t know Julie’s story, but she was about forty years of age, dressed down almost to the point of being sloppy, wore no makeup, and had a barking laugh. She’d also graduated from the prestigious university Texas A&M with a degree in biology and a minor in chemistry. She was a well-respected forensic pathologist.

Lucy asked, “Is the body still inside?”

Julie nodded. “Waiting on the crime scene techs. I swear, they’re a bunch of prima donnas now that they have a gazillion television shows about them. Think they run the world. Well, that body’s gonna start stinking to high hell as soon as the sun comes up, so they’d better get a move on.” She glared at Garcia.

“I’ll make another call.” He stepped over to one of the patrol cars and picked up the radio.

“Is Agent Crawford here?”

Julie scowled. “Perfect Hair? Not yet.”

Lucy barely refrained from laughing. The moniker fit Crawford.

“Wanna see the body? He was caught with his pants down, literally. That’s why I love the dead. They have no secrets.”

She did want to see the room, because crime scenes were her specialty. But she’d been on thin ice for two months, and Barry was the lead agent. “I should wait for Barry.”

Julie shrugged.

Garcia came over and said, “Five minutes out, they said.”

“They mean fifteen,” Julia countered. She looked at her watch. “It’s quarter after five. They’d better get their asses here or I’m going to chew them a new one. I want the body on my table this morning—and considering who he is, he’ll go to the front of the line. If there’s anything wonky here, I’ll find it.”

That perked up Lucy’s ears. “Wonky? Prelim said heart attack.”

“Right, and patrol cops can tell that just by looking at a corpse. I did an external exam when I got here and sure, it has all the signs of a guy getting his rocks sucked off until his heart gives out, but…” She motioned for Lucy to follow her.

Lucy hesitated, glancing around for Barry, but he hadn’t yet arrived. Her curiosity won out and she followed Julie. Yellow tape sealed off room 115, but the door was open.

Worthington was flat on his back on top of the stained brown bedspread. His pants and boxers were around his ankles. His shoes were on his feet. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned and he wore an undershirt. The man was lean and looked like he exercised regularly.

On the dresser was a half-empty bottle of cheap vodka and two plastic cups. Lucy breathed deeply. The room smelled dirty, and there was a sharp liquor aroma as well as the stench of urine. He may have thrown up, though she didn’t see any evidence of it from the doorway. His wallet was on the lone nightstand.

“Are you tired, or what?” Julie asked. “You look like you’ve been up all night.”

“Just didn’t get enough sleep.”

Julie nodded in commiseration, but said, “Look again—you’ll see it.”