Sins That Haunt (17 page)

S
hannon opened the freezer drawer of her fridge and pulled out the file she'd kept on JJ. She'd made a copy to give JJ, proof that she could do him more harm than her money would do him good. She hadn't had time to return it to her safety deposit box and, as there was nothing but ice in her freezer, she'd used it as a temporary safe. She had a small one in her bedroom for jewelry, but security for her building was fairly tight so there was no need for anything larger.

She'd promised Maggie she'd grab the file and return right away—and yet found herself sitting on the couch, opening the folder. She wiggled her bottom trying to get comfortable. When she'd bought the white couch she'd been going for an industrial feel. Well, she'd got it. Concrete was more comfortable than the damn sofa cushions. One of these days she planned to replace it.

She flipped over the first document. It was the bogus insurance policy JJ had written to show potential buyers. The one Mr. P had wanted to cancel. At least she could be grateful for one thing: Mrs. P had managed to make the savings she had left stretch until Shannon earned enough money to fund the sweepstakes no one remembered her entering. Pride would never have allowed her to take Shannon's money, so the sweepstakes had been a brilliant idea.

The next sheet of paper contained the names of everyone who'd been scammed, including the money they'd so innocently signed over to JJ and his buddies. Over the years she'd considered finding a way to let them know who had taken their savings, but coward that she was, she'd been afraid to be implicated. And what was done was done. She would be of no use to the women she helped if she had no law firm to work out of, or a reputation that didn't make opposing lawyers rethink taking the case.

If someone had linked her to JJ, could one of these people be seeking retribution? Or have shot JJ? But for once, everything Noah, Maggie, and Christian said held some truth to it. She'd been just a kid. Coming after her would be a little extreme. She continued to flip through the papers, passing lists of banks JJ used to hide money, tellers and clerks in on the scams or paid to look the other way. He'd once bribed a cop to destroy evidence that would have earned him serious jail time for a lottery fraud. After that she'd seen the dirty cop around far too many times. JJ didn't pal around with police. So if they weren't playing poker on a Friday night what had they been doing? How she'd wished she'd had the balls to report that cop. The insurance fraud would never have gotten off the ground.

The Nokia JJ had bought her—one of his more expensive offerings for her silence—was still tucked away in the safety deposit box. Compared to today's smartphones the camera wasn't up to par, but she'd managed to snap shots of a few people who, perhaps like her, would today not appreciate being associated with JJ Lewis. Had the dumbass opened his big mouth and told someone she had proof of his, or her, criminal activity? Or . . . had he taken it one step further?

And here she'd thought she'd been so clever. What if he didn't agree to back off because of the trouble she could send his way? What if he'd figured he'd make more money blackmailing the names on the list she'd compiled? Could this have gotten JJ killed? She knew she should take this file to the police. But whether she would remained to be seen.

She propped her elbows on the glass coffee table and, using her hands as a chin rest, stared at the file she'd worked so deviously to collect. She was no longer the kid who helped her father. She might not be able to atone for past sins, but now—today—she was a good person. But did she care if JJ's murderer was caught? In the grand scheme of things did it matter? Or was she just trying to convince herself handing over the file would serve her no purpose? Then again, was she making excuses because she didn't want any more of her life to be tarnished by the maggot who called himself her father? She glanced down at the names of victims and those who'd helped steal their savings. Were they still working cons? Were more people being milked of their money? Damn. She was so screwed.

Grabbing the file, she snatched up the extra bag of clothes she'd packed earlier and left her condo. In the lobby she thanked her doorman when he opened the door and headed for the short-term parking circle where she'd left her car. Inside, she glanced at the dashboard clock and hoped she'd beat rush-hour traffic or she'd never hear the end of it from Maggie. Perfecting her stink eye wasn't the only thing her best friend had learned from Shannon. Maggie was extremely overprotective of the people she cared about. She didn't hesitate to butt heads with anyone she believed was hurting someone she loved. Even if—or especially if—you were doing it to yourself. She could lecture like no tomorrow. Shannon had taught her well.

She waved to the guard at the security gate and pulled into so-so traffic. Good, Maggie wouldn't harp on her for being too late. At a red light she glanced down at the file on the passenger seat. She'd created the stupid thing to protect her ass. How ironic that it was coming back to bite said ass. Well, at least maybe now Noah would have something to say to her instead of pretending she didn't exist. Which, honestly, was starting to grate on her nerves.

The light turned green and she debated calling Maggie. Then again, the woman had on more than one occasion given Shannon cause to worry, so perhaps it was true that payback was a bitch. She smiled. She truly was going to hell.

Shannon's grip was torn off the steering wheel, her body jerking to the left. Then, losing the battle with the seat belt, she was jarred right. Glass imploded and splattered the interior of the car as, over the ringing in her ears, metal groaned and tires squealed. Her left side screamed as her brain registered . . . something had hit her car and her side airbag had deployed. Out of nowhere it happened again. She was clipped on the right. Her neck snapped sideways, smashing her head into the bag. It hurt like a mother. She blinked, warm liquid stinging her left eye. She'd been cut. She saw red, and when she attempted to wipe away the blood she couldn't move her left hand. She was pinned. Dizzy, her vision blurred. Shit, Maggie was going to kill her.

There was shouting. “The ambulance is on its way. Don't move.”

She didn't need an ambulance, only wanted out of the car. But give her a few seconds. She rested her forehead on the steering wheel. Then the passenger door protested but opened. Maybe she could get out that way? She turned her head and blinked, trying to see who it was. Someone was reaching down to the floorboard. Her file. She opened her mouth to protest when the lights went out and her brain went numb.

* * *

Shannon fought to stay awake. Someone was stealing the file. “No.” She groaned, trying to make her eyelids open. Why wouldn't they open?

“Shannon.”

That voice; she knew that voice. Shit. She'd never hear the end of this. “Maggie.”

“I'm here. Go back to sleep. You're safe, sweetie.”

Sleep? Why the hell would she sleep in her car? “Jesus.” She wasn't in her car. She forced her eyes to open. Maggie stood over her, arms crossed.

“I'll blame
that
on the drugs they gave you.”

Maggie hated cussing, but more so when it involved the Lord's name. She tried to smile, but her face protested. Medical tape tugged on her cheek. That's right; she'd cut herself. She was in a car accident. She glanced down, trying to assess the damage. She wiggled her fingers, her toes. She could bend her right knee, but the left made her hip hurt. Maggie, noticing what she was doing, answered her unspoken question.

“Nothing is broken. You're very,
very
lucky. That airbag saved your life.”

“And why don't you seem happier about it? Less for you to nag me about?”

She tried to sit up, but trussed up like a turkey on Thanksgiving made it hard to move.

“Don't,” Maggie scolded. “Here.” She put the bed control in Shannon's hand. “Adjust it how you like; that way I won't hurt you.”

“I thought you said nothing was broken.”

“Nothing is, but the left side of your body is covered in cuts and contusions from where the door hit you. It's going to hurt.”

“News flash—”

“I meant it's going to hurt more when you move.”

Carefully, she adjusted the bed so she was more sitting than lying. “When can I get out of here?”

“This morning, I think. We're waiting for the doctor to return.”

“This morning? I've been here all night?”

Maggie nodded. “They kept you for observation.”

“Hey, gorgeous.” Christian walked into her room, the
we're
Maggie had referred to.

It was all right. She didn't need Noah to be here. “Get me a mirror,” she told Maggie.

“Why?”

“Because if your husband paid me a compliment my face must be totally wrecked.”

Christian laughed. “Do you ever give it a rest?”

Maggie gave her husband a playful slap on his arm. “Leave her alone. She's hurt.”

“She started it,” he protested.

Maggie gave him a look that promised no sex for a week if he didn't shut up. Shannon, starting to feel grateful to be alive, stuck her tongue out. But the tool one-upped her. The moment Maggie's back was turned he gave Shannon the finger.

Having seen Shannon open her mouth in feigned horror, Maggie spun around. “Christian . . .”

He took a seat in one of the chairs, muttering something about guys never winning.

It was then Shannon noticed the cop standing guard outside her room and everything came flashing back. “Hey, as much as I enjoy her putting you in your place, I need you to come here.” She waved him over. When he was close enough she asked, “Why is there a cop outside my door?”

Maggie answered. “Noah insisted.”

Noah? The Noah who wasn't here to see how she was doing? That Noah? She told herself to forget it. They weren't a couple; hell, they were barely friends again.

“Shannon,” Maggie said, “the accident was a hit-and-run.”

“Let me guess: He thinks it wasn't an accident.” If Noah was right, Shannon's theory about the file was also right.

“You don't sound surprised,” Christian said.

She shook her head, instantly regretting it with a grimace.

“What has Noah gotten her involved in?”

Before Maggie armed herself to hunt the guy down, Shannon filled them in, careful not to be overheard by the guard outside her door.

“We should tell Noah.” Christian pulled out his phone.

Shannon grabbed his arm. “No. Don't. There was a cop on that list.”

“Okay,” he said, “but you don't trust Noah?”

“He's a law officer. I won't put him in a position where he'd have to compromise his job.
Anyone
who knew about the file could be behind this, and that includes his team. He'd have to keep this to himself, at least until we learn if that cop is still around.”

“You think a fed did this?”

“I don't know.” And she didn't. “But when Noah arrested me, he asked if his team could have the file. I didn't think anything of it. It's of no real use to them, but a dirty cop . . . He would have a member of the local police on his team, right? Can you do that thing you do? You know, the stuff the cops can't and you do better.”

“But you don't have the file anymore. Do you remember every name in it?”

“I'm good with names. I'm not that good. I'm also not stupid. I scanned everything years ago. It's on a flash drive in the safety deposit box I kept the file in.”

“Okay, great. Look, Shannon, technically the feds don't cooperate with ICU. Exchange of information is . . . let's say, frowned upon by the people in charge. We don't exactly play by the book and the feds, well, they do. They're supposed to, anyway.”

“Right, that's why I'm asking you to help.”

“But if I find something, especially something the feds will need, you'll have to be the one to tell Noah. Then you'll have to explain why you kept this from him. You okay with that?”

“From my understanding, JJ's death is being handled by the local police. If something in that file points to JJ's killer, it doesn't have anything to do with Noah. But I'm not under a sworn obligation to tell him everything. We're old friends and I think we've made up.” And of course that was the end of it. “But he's still the fed who dragged my ass into his investigation.” She didn't say anything else as Lieutenant Cooper entered her hospital room.

It wasn't that she didn't trust Horace—or Noah, for that matter—and maybe it hadn't been a cop who'd hit her or arranged for the accident, but she wasn't going to put anyone in a position where they might have to break rules. And if she told Horace, it wouldn't be fair not to tell Noah. She needed to remember the name of that cop.

“Glad to see you're awake. Your doctor is releasing you and Christian here has arranged for a bodyguard until we get this all sorted out.”

“You did?” Shannon asked Christian. “Aw, I didn't know you cared.”

“I don't.” He nodded toward his wife. “She made me do it.”

“Did she threaten to turn you into a born-again virgin?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Anytime.” Shannon smiled. Maggie had found herself a good man.

“Stop it, you two,” Maggie interjected. “It was his suggestion. Don't let him tell you otherwise.”

“Don't tell her that,” he complained. “She'll think I like her.”

“As much as I hate to interrupt this lovefest, can I ask Shannon a few questions?” Horace took out a pen and a small pad from inside his coat pocket. “Let's start with the obvious. Do you know who hit you?”