The Reunion Mission (27 page)

Her stomach pitched, but she steeled her nerves. She had no choice but to help Jonah. She couldn’t live under this cloud of fear, couldn’t bear the idea of her children living under a threat of danger. Wishing she weren’t in this predicament didn’t make it so.

“You promise you’ll go to the class?” he asked, his eyes drilling hers.

She raised a hand. “Promise.”

Sighing his resignation, Jonah drew her to the sofa and pulled her down onto the cushions beside him. “All right. Let’s make some plans. I don’t want to leave anything to chance. We have too much at stake.”

* * *

Jonah angled the seat in his truck to a more comfortable position, settling in for the long night ahead. Annie would balk at the idea of him camping out on the street to watch her apartment, but the stakes in this case kept getting higher. He remembered her saying she’d thought someone followed her to work the day before. Coupled with Hardin’s murder, he wasn’t about to leave her home unguarded.

Acid flooded his gut when he thought of Annie becoming involved in his investigation. He should never have agreed to let her help him, but what choice did he have? He’d seen the determination and passion that fired her eyes. She’d have acted on her own if he hadn’t let her help him. At least this way, he could keep closer tabs on her involvement.

He scanned the parking lot and the oak-tree-lined yard. Everything was quiet, dark, still. A stark contrast to the turmoil writhing inside him.

Telling her about his abuse, his history with Michael and his mentor’s suicide had been wrenching. Painful. He never relived those memories if he could help it. But Annie had asked him point-blank, and she wouldn’t have been satisfied with evasion or half-truths. He needed her to trust him.

The question he was left with, however, was where did they go from here? He couldn’t deny his attraction to her. His feelings went deeper than the protective instincts she aroused in him. But given her history, knowing the hardships she’d already survived, he was the last person she needed in her life.

Even after he’d explained to her how he’d gotten involved with sparring, explained how the physical outlet for his emotions kept him sane, he’d seen the doubts and disapproval in her body language. She wanted nothing to do with any form of violence, even the controlled, therapeutic version he practiced at the gym.

Not to mention the fact that any future with Annie had to include being a father figure to her kids. And his only example of fatherhood was the horrid one his father had set. What kind of father would he be?

The notion of having a family, sharing his life with a wife and being a role model for children left him in a cold sweat. He wanted those things, deeply, but only if he was sure he could give his family what his father hadn’t. Love. Security. Happiness.

He didn’t have a clue where to begin creating a healthy family life. It wasn’t that he feared he’d physically hurt Annie or her kids—he’d cut his hand off before he’d raise it against them—but there were so many other ways to fail a family. He’d be damned if he’d repeat his father’s mistakes, but he didn’t have any other point of reference. On the job, he’d faced down armed gangbangers without a second thought. But being a husband or father, being in a position to screw up the lives of those you love, scared the hell out of him.

Which left him with only one option. Never marry. Never have children. Never recreate the hellish existence that had passed for his childhood home.

Jonah dragged in a lungful of oxygen, his chest knotting with regret. As much as he wanted his own family, as much as he wanted Annie, he was destined to be alone.

Chapter 11

T
wo days later, the police released the murder scene, and the diner reopened. Annie arrived early for the breakfast shift, hoping to look around in Hardin’s office before the diner filled with the morning rush.

She pressed a hand to her stomach, trying to calm the battalion of butterflies swooping in her gut as she stepped through the swinging door into the kitchen. The images and smells of the last time she’d walked through this door were all too fresh in her mind.

Enough dawdling. She had limited time before the rest of the kitchen help and waitstaff arrived. And the interim manager. Who would take Hardin’s place and was he connected to the money laundering the way Hardin was?

She had no doubt whoever was in charge of the illegal operation would handpick Hardin’s replacement.

Sucking in a calming breath, Annie pushed through the door and surveyed the kitchen as she crept cautiously back to the manager’s office. Would the police have removed the financial records and computer drive for their investigation of Hardin’s murder? What were the odds that, had there been any proof of money laundering before Hardin’s death, the men responsible for his murder would have left any evidence behind to incriminate themselves?

Annie reached the door of the office and, knees shaking, turned the corner into the cramped office. No trace of blood or death remained, other than the faint chemical smell of the cleaner used to erase the evidence a man had been shot and bled to death on this floor.

An uneasy jitter crawled through Annie, but she shoved down her discomfort and set to work. She started with the file cabinet in the corner. The disarray of the papers and the haphazard order of the contents told her that someone had already rifled through the papers. But had it been the police...or Hardin’s murderer?

Order forms and delivery slips from various grocery vendors were jumbled together with personnel applications and insurance documents. Records of health inspector visits had been jammed to the back of the top drawer, but she saw nothing resembling a financial ledger or a computer spreadsheet of expenses and profits.

Of course not.

Did she really think it would be that easy? That she’d flip through a few files until she found a neat and organized record of all past criminal activity along with a typed and signed confession of those involved?

She scoffed. Anything she found would be far more subtle. Just a piece of a bigger picture.

She moved on from the file cabinet to Hardin’s desk. She rummaged through the center drawer but found nothing beyond basic office supplies and an opened pack of cigarettes. Next she searched the deep side drawer where it appeared the most recent paperwork was kept. As she fingered through the files, she realized the kind of evidence she was interested in wouldn’t be kept in the obvious places. Evidence of wrongdoing would be hidden. Protected.

Was there a safe? A bank lockbox?

She pulled the drawer all the way out and felt behind the hanging files. Nothing. Same with the next drawer she searched. Then, on an impulse, she pulled the center drawer all the way out, off its tracks, and emptied the contents onto the desk. As she flipped the drawer, her heart sank when she found nothing stuck to the underside other than a wad of very old gum.

“Looking for something?” a deep voice growled behind her.

Gasping, she whirled around, her heart hammering at the dark glower she met.

Martin Farrout.

A chill washed through Annie as she faced Farrout’s intimidating glare. “Uh, sir, the kitchen is for employees only.”

His black eyebrows beaded. “I’m well aware of that. And from now on this office is off-limits to anyone but the new manager.” He paused a moment, his head cocked at a haughty angle.

A staggering heartbeat later, understanding dawned through the muddle of her spinning thoughts. “You’re—”

“The new boss. Yes. So what are you doing snooping in my office?”

Annie’s breath backed up in her lungs. “I—I was looking for—” She glanced at the mess she’d dumped from the center drawer. Grabbing the first item she saw, she held the opened pack of cigarettes out. “These. I...needed a smoke. Hardin let me have his when—”

“So you got ’em. Now beat it.”

She jerked a nod, praying she’d returned the other drawers to enough order that he couldn’t tell the full extent of her searching.

Scrunching the cigarette pack in her hand, she hustled out past the large man. He refused to step aside, so she was forced to turn sideways and sidle out of the office. Heart thundering, she rushed out to the dining room, where Lydia was chatting with the first breakfast customers. The older woman glanced at the cigarettes Annie squeezed and propped a hand on her hip. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

Annie pressed her free hand to her chest, struggling to calm her ragged breathing. “I don’t.”

Lydia gave a meaningful nod toward Annie’s fist. “What are those for, then?”

Annie glanced down at her hand and sighed. “Nothing. I...was just—” She stopped herself, realizing something hard and distinctly uncigarette-like poked her hand through the paper packaging.

“The first step to quitting is admitting you have a problem,” Lydia said with a teasing grin and a bump from her hip as she headed out to the tables.

Annie turned her back to the customers sitting at the counter and upended the crushed pack. Several bent cigarettes slid out—along with a small silver key that pinged as it clattered onto the counter. Why did Hardin have a key in his cigarettes? What did the key go to? She studied it, turning it over in her hand, her pulse picking up. Folding the key into her palm, she peeked into the packaging to be sure she hadn’t missed anything else. Empty.

She brushed the cigarettes and empty package into the trash and jammed the key into her apron pocket.

Would Farrout be looking for that key? Would he suspect her when he found it missing? Did the key unlock something here at the diner or was it part of Hardin’s personal property?

She wondered if Jonah would stop by the diner today and what he’d make of the key she’d found. The key she’d
stolen.

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.

Stolen.
If Farrout or the other men involved in this money-laundering scheme found out—

“You have any grape jelly? I’m allergic to strawberries,” a woman at the counter asked, jarring Annie from her disturbing thoughts.

“Oh, uh, sure.” She wiped her sweaty palms on her apron and took a moment to redirect her thoughts. As she turned to the tray where they kept the condiments, another man at the counter caught her eye, and her stomach dipped. The businessman who’d ogled her earlier in the week was back, his weighty gaze following her every move.

Her skin crawling from his discomfiting scrutiny, Annie found the grape jelly and handed it to the woman with the strawberry allergy.

She cast a surreptitious glance to the businessman as she moved the pot of decaf coffee that had finished brewing to a warming burner. He caught her eye and lifted his eyebrow and his mug. “I’ll take some of that, doll.”

Squelching the uneasy jitter that he elicited, Annie crossed to him with the coffee just as a handsome, familiar face arrived at the counter. Relief and pleasure spun through her as Jonah took his seat at the counter.

When had she decided his face, with his broken nose bump, the scar over his black eyebrow and his perpetual five-o’clock shadow, was handsome rather than rough-hewn? Comforting instead of daunting?

She’d have been the first to deny she’d formed any attachments to Jonah, yet the leap in her pulse and the lift in her spirits when she spotted him were undeniable. He held a central role in her thoughts lately, too, whether she was at home or at work, thoughts that had her lying awake at night with a restlessness stirring inside her.

He shook his head slightly, a subtle reminder of the warning he’d given her last night not to greet him with more than normal, businesslike attention. He wanted to keep their association as low-key as possible when at the diner.

“Morning,” she greeted him casually. “Can I get you coffee?”

She wanted desperately to tell him about the key she’d found but knew now was not the time or place.

“Sure. And I’ll have the sunrise platter.” He lifted a corner of his mouth in a polite grin, but as she filled his mug, his attention shifted and his countenance clouded. She turned, curious to see what had darkened his mood.

Martin Farrout stood just outside the kitchen door, casting an imperious glance over the dining room like a ruler surveying his land. Her new boss’s gaze lingered on Jonah, then skipped briefly to the businessman beside him before moving on.

“Our new manager,” she told Jonah under her breath.

She could almost see the wheels in Jonah’s head clicking, figuring how Farrout’s appointment as manager fit into the money-laundering scheme and Hardin’s murder.

Lydia returned from the tables, brushing past Farrout, and clipped new orders up for the cooks. “I could use some help out there if you can, Annie. Notoriety over Hardin’s murder has brought out the morbidly curious this morning, and tables are filling up fast.”

“Of course.” Annie surrendered to the frenzy of the breakfast rush but kept tabs on Jonah’s progress through his meal. She needed an opportunity to talk to him before he left.

He’d cleaned his plate and had nodded to her for his bill before inspiration struck. In tiny printing at the bottom of his order ticket she wrote
Meet me at restroom.
Jonah gave no visible sign he’d noticed her message as he checked his total and handed her his cash. She held her breath as he left his seat, glanced at the morning paper on the rack beside the cash register and took a toothpick from the dispenser on the counter. She tried to hand him his change, but he waved it away.

After pocketing his tip, she picked up a rag to wipe the counter and watched him make his way to the back hall that led to the bathrooms.

Relief unfurled in her chest, and she wiped her hands on her apron as she made her way toward the back hall, using the employee entrance from the kitchen.

Jonah stood by the pay phone at the end of the hall thumbing through a well-worn phone book. Glancing about to be sure they were alone, she hurried over to him and pulled the key from her pocket. “I found this in a cigarette pack in Hardin’s desk.” She kept her voice low, kept an eye on the door to the dining room. “Guess it’s Farrout’s desk now.”

Wrinkling his brow, Jonah took the key from her palm and examined it. “Any idea what it goes to?”

“None. I didn’t find it until after I left the office. Farrout caught me in the office earlier and asked what I was looking for. I had to make up a quick excuse and get out of there. I told him I was there for the cigarette pack, so I grabbed it and left. But I could try to get back in there later when he’s not around and see—”

“No! If Farrout is already suspicious, it’s all the more dangerous for you.” Jonah bounced the key in his hand. “Besides, this looks more like a locker key. Like the ones at my gym or the kind at the bus depot.”

She nodded her agreement. “So how do we find the locker it goes to?”

He shrugged. “I’ll look into that today.” He held the key toward the light and narrowed his gaze, studying it closer. “There’s a number on it—223. That should help narrow the search.”

“I want to go with you when you open the locker.”

As soon as Jonah started shaking his head, Annie snatched the key from his hand and shoved it down the front of her waitressing dress and inside her bra. “You promised not to shut me out. I found the key. I want to go with you when you open the locker or whatever the key goes to.”

Agitation shaping his expression, Jonah clenched his teeth and sighed.

She saw the businessman from the counter before Jonah did and cut off his protest, saying, “Yeah, that phone book is way out of date. You’d do better to just call information. Sorry.”

Jonah’s gaze flicked to the man in the pressed suit who strolled past them into the men’s room. “Okay, thanks anyway.”

As soon as the men’s restroom door swished closed, Jonah whispered, “Annie, give me the key. I never promised you could be involved in every aspect of my investigation.”

She backed toward the kitchen, whispering back, “I can get off at two, if Susan will cover my last hour. You can meet me at the bus stop on Third Street, and we’ll go together from there to start looking for the locker this goes to.”

“Annie.” His tone dipped in warning. “Give me the key.”

“I will.” She backed to the kitchen door, mouthing, “At two.”

* * *

At five minutes until two, Jonah sat in his car waiting for Annie at the Third Street bus stop stewing over her stubbornness and the cheap tactic she’d used to keep the key from him. If it had been anyone besides Annie, he’d probably have gone after the key without blinking. But he figured Annie was the last person who needed to be manhandled and groped—even if she’d all but dared him to with her ploy. He chuckled despite himself. Her moxie had caught him off guard, but he wouldn’t be so easily outmaneuvered again.

The show of gumption also encouraged him. Beneath the layers of shame and intimidation her ex had heaped on her with his abuse lurked a strong, vibrant woman waiting to be freed. She just needed a safe environment, the right timing and the encouragement of people she trusted to revive the side of herself she’d forced into hibernation.

A few minutes later, Annie opened his passenger-side door and slid onto the seat. “So where do you want to start?”

He cranked the engine. “Not the gym. I checked, and those lockers are numbered one to one hundred. We’ll try the bus depot first.”

When they reached the bus station, Jonah took a gym bag inside with him. He placed a proprietary hand at the small of her back as he ushered her into the dingy brick building. They located locker 223 easily, and she handed him the key.

“Bingo,” he said when the metal door opened.

Annie huddled in close as he examined the locker’s contents. The light, feminine scent that clung to her was distracting. With effort, he focused his attention on the locker and not the thrum of his blood and the pounding desire to pull Annie into his arms.