The Highlander Next Door (20 page)

This time Birch checked up and down the sidewalk to make sure the coast was clear, then walked over and got in the cart and shoved the key in the ignition. She patted the young girl’s knee, giving her a brilliant smile. “You leave everything to me, sweetie. I’ll have you and your mom safely settled at the shelter before supper,” she promised, glancing over her shoulder and backing into the road when a hole opened in the traffic. “And I hope you both brought your appetites, because I’m pretty sure I saw Noreen putting a huge turkey in the oven this afternoon.”

Niall stopped at the bottom of his station stairs and tapped the notes icon on his phone, opened the list of vehicles he intended to ask Sam to check out, and added the Quebec plate number of the Lexus parked at the top of the lane. He was likely more optimistic than efficient for noting all the Canadian plates he came across, but the only way he knew to find a needle in a haystack was to roll up his sleeves and start looking. Quebec and New Brunswick were neighboring provinces, and Hazel had said Leonard had an Ontario driver’s license, but he wasn’t ruling out vehicles from any provinces.

Not that Birch’s attacker couldn’t have already ditched the white car and simply gotten a rental in Maine. Hell, half the vehicles in town belonged to overseas tourists who had flown into Bangor International Airport and rented cars to make the three-hour drive into the wilderness.

“Chief MacKeage,” a man called out, making Niall look up to see Silas French loping down the lane. “I happened to run into Miss Callahan coming out of the Bottoms Up,” Silas said when he reached him, “and thought you might like to know she’s leaving town in that golf cart with a young girl. From what I overheard, the girl’s mother is hiding in a gravel pit north of here.” A terse grin lifted one side of his mouth. “My offer to accompany them was answered with a French cuss and the suggestion that I mind my own business.” He sobered. “The reason I’m telling you is that I heard what happened with the Vaughns, and it occurred to me things could get ugly if this woman’s husband suddenly showed up.”

Well, so much for not going anywhere alone—although Niall wasn’t surprised Birch had grown tired of behaving herself, considering five entire days had passed with no one trying to kill her. Nay, he wasn’t surprised, but he definitely intended to go after her. “I thank you for your concern, Mr. French,” he said as he slipped his phone in his pocket, figuring he could catch the cart within a mile. But even before he took a step, Niall felt his phone vibrate and pulled it out to find Jake’s name on the screen. “MacKeage,” he said, only to slowly relax as the man filled him in on what was going on. “I trust ye can keep an eye on them without being seen? Okay, call me if you need backup,” he added when Jake promised even the squirrels wouldn’t see him.

“I thank you for your concern, Mr. French,” Niall repeated as he mounted the station steps. “One of my officers is with Birch.”

“That’s it?” Silas said, making Niall turn and look down at him. “Logan told me word in town is your two new officers aren’t from around here and that no one knows anything about them. Are you really going to leave your girlfriend’s welfare in the hands of a man you met less than a week ago?”

Niall found himself wondering if Mr. French simply had a bad habit of sticking his nose in other people’s business or if the
overly
concerned idiot hadn’t taken his warning about Birch seriously. “I didn’t hire Jake and Cole for their looks. Good luck negotiating with Titus,” he added over his shoulder as he strode into the station.

But Niall didn’t make it two steps inside before he was brought to a halt by a silence thick enough to taste as Hazel pulled her purse from the bottom drawer of her desk and stood up. He didn’t believe the possibility she’d overheard his conversation with French had anything to do with the decidedly awkward silence, but more likely the gentleman sitting in a chair across the room.

“Niall,” Hazel said as the man also stood up and approached them. “This is Claude St. Germaine. Ah . . . Birch’s father.”

She needn’t have bothered with the clarification, as the resemblance was undeniable. Other than his height and age, Claude St. Germaine could be a male version of Birch—right down to his eyes, hair color, and several defining facial features. Hell, there certainly wasn’t any question which parent had given Birch her direct stare. “Mr. St. Germaine,” Niall said as he shook his hand, pleased to note the man’s firm grip.

“I respond well to Claude, Chief MacKeage.”

“And Niall works for me,” Niall offered, turning and walking behind his desk. He picked up the small pile of memos on his blotter and shuffled through them. “Would that be your red Lexus parked at the top of the lane?”

“Yes. It probably looks familiar because it was purchased at the same time as my daughter’s,” Claude said, making Niall lift his gaze at the amusement in the man’s voice. “Birch insisted mine also be red, and since she was buying, I didn’t argue.”

A soft snort sounded off to his right, and Niall looked over to see Hazel’s nose all but buried in her purse as she industriously searched for something. “Don’t feel ye have to stay glued to the office when I’m not here, Hazel. Just lock the door and go sit in the park or out on the docks to eat your lunch, if ye wish.”

She lowered her purse with a quick glance at Claude before looking at Niall. “I wasn’t waiting for you; I’m waiting for Sam. He’s taking me to Turtleback this afternoon so I can check out station sites several business owners have generously offered.”

Instead of being amazed that in five days Hazel had accomplished what he hadn’t been able to in three months, Niall honed in on the fact Sam was taking her. “Does Birch know you’re going?” he asked.
Just you and Sam,
he refrained from adding.
Alone. For an entire afternoon and likely most of the evening.

After another glance at Claude, Hazel gave Niall an impressively militant look as her chin lifted. “No, she doesn’t. I intend to call Birch from Turtleback and let her know I’m away on business and won’t be home for dinner.”

Niall caught himself also glancing at Mr. St. Germaine, apparently hoping for some sort of help, only to see the man lower his head on what appeared to be a sigh—but not quickly enough for Niall to miss his grin.

“Yes. Well,” Hazel said when an awkward silence filled the station again. “I guess I’ll go see what’s keeping Sam.” She opened the door but stopped and looked back at Niall. “Are you comfortable letting me choose the station site?”

“Aye, if you promise to consider Sam’s advice on the matter.”

That militant look was replaced by a twinkle. “He will have my undivided attention,” she said deadpan, striding outside and closing the door behind her.

“How well do you know Sam?” Claude asked as Hazel’s steps faded away.

Niall sat down and gestured at the chair opposite his desk. “Well enough to assure you he’s not interested in her money.”

That got him a chuckle. “It’s not me you need to assure, but my daughter,” Claude said, also sitting down. “You might want to warn your friend that Hazel comes with a formidable watchdog.”

“I believe Sam is aware of Hazel’s . . . history with men.” Niall leaned back in his chair. “Can I ask why ye came to see the chief of police upon arriving in town rather than your daughter?”

“Before I answer that, I have the same question as Mr. French, only instead of a concerned citizen, I’m asking as her father. Is Birch really in good hands right now?”

“I wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t. Jake is more than capable of getting everyone back to town safely.”

His visitor’s eyes narrowed. “I heard French call Birch your girlfriend, yet not once in our recent phone conversations did my daughter mention she was seeing anyone.”

Niall decided he liked Claude St. Germaine. Not only did the man obviously love his daughter enough to travel from Montreal to see her; it was equally obvious he was Birch’s formidable watchdog. Niall answered the unspoken challenge with a shrug. “I imagine she didn’t say anything because she’s still getting used to the notion.” He tossed the memos down on the desk and folded his arms over his chest. “So if sizing up your daughter’s new boyfriend isn’t the reason you’re here, what is?”

Claude also leaned back and propped an ankle on one of his knees. “Actually, I am here to size you up,” he admitted. “But as a cop. I wanted to meet you in person to decide if you have what it takes to protect my daughter and Hazel from the bastards who are after them, or if I’ll have to break a few American laws and do it myself.”

“There’s more than one?” Niall asked, not knowing which alarmed him more—that the man had just confirmed someone truly had tried to kill Birch or the fact there were several people involved. “Are ye saying it’s not Leonard Struthers?”

“Leonard Struthers is dead.” Claude gave a soft snort. “For the
second
time. They fished his body out of the Saint Lawrence some thirty miles upriver of Quebec City the same day as Birch’s accident. It was decided he’d been in the water over a week, which means it wasn’t Hazel’s fourth husband driving that white car.”

“Birch told you about the accident?”

“She called me the next evening and told me what had happened and who she suspected. But then she told me not to worry, because there were three badass police officers protecting her.” Claude’s eyes filled with amusement. “And that one officer in particular had gotten really good at saving her butt.”

Which told Niall that Birch had called her father
after
she’d spent the night in his bed. “Did she also mention that I threatened to hunt her down if she left town without one of us accompanying her?”

Claude nodded. “That was the reason I didn’t tell her about the body in the river until I had a positive ID, and also why I didn’t show up here the next morning.” His grin finally broke free. “I figured any man brave enough to order Birch not to do something was more than capable of protecting her.”

“Exactly what have I been protecting her from?” Niall asked.

His visitor’s amusement vanished. “I don’t know
exactly
; at this point I’m only speculating, based on what I’ve pieced together since Birch told me Leonard Struthers had tried to mortgage their house.” Claude dropped his foot and leaned forward. “His real name was Jacques Rabideu, and he’d assumed six identities that I know of over the last twenty years—likely taken from recently deceased men in other provinces.”

“So Hazel wasn’t his first victim?”

“I can’t actually prove it, but she appears to be one of at least six.”

“So if Rabideu died nearly two weeks ago, then who are the bastards ye believe are after Hazel and Birch? Did he leave behind a family; maybe a wife or brothers that might want Birch out of the way so they can exploit Hazel themselves?”

Claude was shaking his head before Niall had finished. “My guess is whoever murdered Rabideu is after something other than money. His body was missing several fingers and toes, and the medical examiner concluded he’d endured several days of torture before someone finally carved out his heart and shoved it down his throat.”

Sweet Christ. “Who in hell did the man piss off?” Niall growled. “And what makes ye think his murder involves his marriage to Hazel?”

“From the research I’ve been doing, con artists of Rabideu’s caliber operating in Canada are almost exclusively from three, possibly four families. And I think Rabideu may have crossed one of them, and they tortured information out of him and then cut out his heart as a warning to others.” Claude shrugged. “My guess is he’d stolen from them or had incriminating evidence that he intended to use for blackmail, and I’m worried that whatever they’re after unwittingly ended up in Hazel’s possession. Birch said they packed up all of Leonard’s belongings, sent everything to a storage facility, and left the locker key taped to the door of their house along with a note saying divorce proceedings had already been started.”

“And you believe the women may have missed something when they packed, and that’s why Rabideu followed them to Ottawa?”

Claude blew out a heavy sigh. “That’s my best guess.”

Niall stood up and walked to the window, then shoved his hands in his pockets and stood staring out at Bottomless. “Is it possible you’re mistaken,” he asked without turning around, “and Birch’s attacker could be a vengeful husband of an abused woman she’d recently helped?”

“Birch stopped seeing clients two years ago when she went back to school to get her doctorate. And the timing of Rabideu’s death is too coincidental.”

“Aye,” Niall murmured, not liking that Claude was probably right. He turned around. “Have you shared any of this with Birch?”

“No.”

“Is that why you’re here, then; so you can tell her in person?”

Claude softly chuckled. “I’m here because I miss my daughter.” He cocked his head, his perspective appearing to turn inward. “My life did a one-eighty the day I walked into a Montreal hospital room and a frail-looking, six-year-old waif lifted her bandaged arms for me to pick her up. Whatever Hazel had told Birch about my absence in her life, she must have been kind in the telling, because even though I was a complete stranger, Birch hugged my neck, said, ‘Hello, Daddy,’ and thanked me for coming to see her. And then
she
explained to
me
that we would be living together for a little while, because some funny-smelling lady with crooked teeth had told her
Grand-mémère
was dead and her mom was hurt too badly to take care of her right now.” His expression still distant, he grinned. “Birch has been teaching me the finer points of being a father ever since.”

“Was there a car accident?” Niall asked softly.