Colder Than Ice. Maggie Shayne
one of her students. She bluffed her way into the house were Mordecai was holding the girl, and then she tried to kill him.”
“No way.”
Josh nodded. “Shot him point-blank, right in the chest. But he’d vested up ahead of time. The Feds figured the most she’d done was piss him off, and that if he could ever find her, he’d return the favor. So she was relocated.”
“You think it might have been him—Mordecai Young—in that brown car earlier?”
“I don’t know. We should probably err on the side of caution, though.” He closed his eyes. “I don’t like her being in that cottage alone. It makes protecting her nearly impossible.”
Bryan opened his mouth, then closed it again and leaned back on the couch, looking stunned by all his father had revealed.
“What?” Josh asked.
“Nothing. Hell, I’m blown away by this. I can imagine how you must feel, but—no. Nothing.”
“Bry, come on. I wouldn’t have told you all this if I didn’t trust you. So if there’s something you want to say, spit it out.”
Bryan shrugged. “Just…I don’t know. Lying to her to protect her was one thing. Not telling her you’re the guy who shot her…It’s way worse. It feels wrong.”
“I know. But…she’d send us packing if she knew. And that would leave her unprotected.”
“I guess. But shouldn’t that be up to her? I mean, it’s her life, Dad.”
Josh sighed. “I know. And you’re right. I hate this, Bry. But Jesus, if I make the wrong move and she ends up dead…”
“You figure this is your chance to make up for the past.”
“It’s more than that. This isn’t about me. It’s about protecting Beth.”
“I don’t blame you, Dad. I mean, I disagree with you, but I don’t blame you. I guess I might do the same thing.”
No anger, no accusations. Josh couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t told his son the worst of what he’d learned by reading Beth’s dossier, though. That she’d had a child, a daughter who’d been adopted while she’d lingered in a coma, fighting for her life. And raised by someone else while she’d been putting that life back together again.
A daughter. A little girl she had lost because of him. And if there was one tragedy Joshua understood, it was the loss of a child.
Bryan didn’t need to know all that. That was Beth’s private hell—and his own.
“I just wish I could come up with an excuse to get into Beth’s house long enough to check the place out, make sure her locks are secure, things like that.”
The screen door creaked open, and Maude walked in, accompanied by another woman, one who wore baggy jeans and a sweatshirt with a one-horned moose on the front. Printed beneath the moose were the words, Is That Your Final Antler?
Bryan grinned at the sweatshirt as he got up, to relieve the women of the shopping bags they carried. “A movie and shopping in one night?” Bryan asked.
“It was a long movie. We got hungry,” the newcomer said. She had short copper-red hair, in tight kinky curls, and was younger than Maude. Late fifties, Joshua guessed.
“Boys, this is my good friend, Frankie Parker.”
Joshua was on his feet, as well. “Police Chief Frankie Parker?”
“The one and only,” she said, extending a hand.
“Frankie, this is my grandson Joshua and his boy Bryan.”
Frankie was smiling, but her smile died. “Don’t play with me, Maude. You don’t have any grandson.”
“As far as you or anyone else in this town is concerned, Frankie, I most certainly do.”
Frankie frowned at her.
“Trust me. It’s important. And it’s between us, Frankie. I knew you would hear about this and start snooping sooner or later. How much Josh does or does not want to tell you is up to him. All you need to know is that he’s here for a good reason. And that I trust him.”
“I don’t like this, Maude.”
“You don’t have to, Frankie.”
Frankie moved her gaze to Josh’s. “Good to meet you.”
“Same here,” Josh said, but he wasn’t happy about the situation. Clearly this woman knew more than she should.
“If you’re up to no good, I’ll find out.”
“I’ve got no doubt about that. But I’m not.”
Bryan looked worried, and when the old woman’s eyes fell on him, he said, “I’ll, uh, put these away for you.” He carried the groceries into the kitchen.
“Leave the dry goods right in the bags, Bryan,” Maude called. Then she turned to Frankie. “Thanks for helping me in with the bags, hon.”
“Anytime, Maudie. You…give me a call if you need anything.” She sent a lingering look at Josh, and he had no doubt she would be on the horn tomorrow, checking him out with every contact she had.
“Like I’m gonna need anything with these two strapping men around the house,” Maude said. She walked her friend to the door, waved as the other woman left, then turned to face Josh. “Don’t look like that,” she said. “What else could I say? She’s known me for thirty years. And unlike most folks in town, she knows I never had children.” She shrugged. “Besides, I trust her. She’s not going to blow your cover.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. I’ve know her for thirty years, too. And you might want to think about confiding in Frankie—God knows she’s not going to let this go until one of us does. She’s good at her job, even though she’s far from your typical law enforcement type.”
“You can say that again.”
She smiled. “Now, did I hear you saying you needed a chance to snoop around Beth’s house?”
He lifted his brows. “Why, you have an idea?”
“Well, since my range is on the fritz, I thought we could all have dinner at Beth’s place tomorrow night.”
“I didn’t know there was anything wrong with your range.”
She smiled, adding wrinkles to her wrinkles. “There’s not.”
“You oughtta work for the government, Maude.”
“Isn’t that what I’m doing?”
“I guess you are.”
Maude knew nothing about his reasons for being there, other than what he had told her: that her good friend Beth had some enemies from her past who might be a threat to her, and that he needed her help to make sure Beth would be safe.
That was all he’d needed to tell her.
“I’ll clear it all with Beth when she stops by on her run tomorrow morning,” she said.
Josh got the feeling Beth wasn’t going to have much choice in the matter. She was hosting them for dinner tomorrow night. Because what Maude Bickham wanted, Maude Bickham got.
Chapter Five
Saturday (wee hours)
Beth was dreaming. She knew she was dreaming, and she wanted to wake up, but just like before, she was unable to.
Her dream self lay in a hospital bed. She could tell by the antiseptic smell, the steady beeping of her monitors and the tubes she could feel at her nostrils, gently blowing cool, ultra-dry oxygen, and the