Armed and Famous. Jennifer Morey
group of strange men dressed in suits had just tried to kill her. Why?
“What was in the envelope?” he asked.
She kept her face forward. She still didn’t reply.
Sighing, Lincoln drove back to town. “I’m taking us to the police, then.”
“No!” She sat ramrod straight in her seat, eyes bright with renewed adrenaline, her hand tight on the door handle and the other clenched in a fist.
“No?” he replied mockingly.
“No. I can’t go to the police.”
Can’t go to the police? “Whenever I hear people say that, it usually means they’re in trouble with the law.”
A few strained breaths passed before she said, “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Good. Then let’s go tell the police about all of this. And while we’re there, you’ll tell them what was in the envelope.”
She leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. “I’m dead. They won’t stop until they find me.” She lifted her head. “And you now.”
“Why me?” Would they assume he knew what she’d done? Or had his mere presence at Remy’s house been enough? He’d seen them take the envelope.
Her head fell back against the seat again.
“If I’m in danger, then you should tell me everything you know,” he said. “I’m better equipped to deal with matters that way. You’re an HR assistant...or so you say.”
Her head came up once more. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He didn’t answer. But his silence was enough for her. He glanced over and saw her shrewdly assessing him, picking up on the accuracy of his suspicion. She may even be a little awed. He didn’t let her in on the fact that his investigative ability was part of his job.
“What makes you better equipped than me? You’re a martial arts instructor, not a cop.”
Again, he didn’t respond, just kept driving.
After a while, she asked, “Where is my dog?”
“She’s safe. At my house.”
“Take me home first. Then we can call the police.”
Was she only trying to buy time? Would going home be a diversion? He wasn’t letting her out of his sight until he knew why a bunch of criminals were about to come after him.
* * *
Remy gripped the door handle of the SUV as Lincoln drove down the street toward their homes. There was a marked police car in the street and another that was unmarked parked in her driveway.
“What are they doing here?” She’d planned to escape Lincoln, take Maddie and make a run for it, but now she was trapped.
Lincoln didn’t respond. He was probably as stumped as her. How could they have found out about their abduction so fast?
“Keep driving,” she said. “Don’t stop.”
“What?”
“Please. I can’t talk to them.” Oh, God, what would she do? She couldn’t be arrested.
“Why not?”
His sharp tone said enough. She must sound like a real fugitive.
He drove to a stop in front of the house.
Remy saw two detectives at the door. One was in tan slacks with a purple dress shirt and tie, and the other wore dark blue slacks with a white dress shirt and tie. The officers were still in the police car, but as soon as they spotted her, they began to get out.
“No.” The whisper emerged before she caught it.
“Why are you afraid of the police?” Lincoln asked.
She couldn’t answer. Her life could be over in a matter of minutes. All that would be left was rotting in prison.
“You don’t understand.” Shaking, fumbling with the door handle, she opened the SUV door and got out.
Lincoln came around the SUV, studying her intently. “Make me understand.”
She stared at him, numb with all-consuming fear. Stark. Terrifying.
“Ms. Lang?” the detective in the purple shirt called, leaving the front porch to approach. He was in his thirties, younger than his partner, taller and thinner, too.
Remy heard her own breathing, hating her weakness, helpless to be strong when the consequences were so great. She was innocent, but no one would believe her.
“Remy?” Lincoln took her hand.
She focused on his blue eyes.
“It’ll be okay.”
Her heart did a flip from the unexpected kindness, kindness she hadn’t had in more than two months. But he couldn’t possibly know it would be okay.
“We’ll put them off for now.”
Because he wanted to know what she was hiding, why men would not only try to kill her, they’d now want him dead right along with her. She owed him the truth. There was no refuting that. But the consequences were unforgiving if he didn’t believe her.
“Come on.”
Keeping her hand, he led her away from the SUV to the waiting detectives and officers. Did they know? Had Wade told them?
She tightened her grip on Lincoln’s powerful and steady hand. Walking toward the detectives made her knees weak. Lincoln hooked her arm with his and supported her on her death walk. She was seldom like this. There was very little she allowed to rock her. She was a strong woman, but going to jail for crimes she hadn’t committed threatened to break her.
“Ms. Lang?” the purple-shirted detective repeated.
“Yes,” Lincoln said. “This is Remy Lang.”
“Who are you?”
“Why don’t we go in and talk?” he suggested.
The detective passed a studied gaze over Remy and then nodded. They went inside; the officers waited outside. In case she ran?
Lincoln guided Remy to the sofa and sat beside her, a stranger and yet someone she could rely on.
The older detective sat in the chair adjacent to the sofa, and the taller one took out a pen and notebook and remained standing.
After the tall detective introduced himself as Baker and his partner Henderson, he asked, “How well do you know a Mr. Wade Nelson?”
She squeezed Lincoln’s hand, only then realizing she held it again.
“Not well. I met him two months ago.”
“How did you meet?” Baker asked.
Her heart was beating so hard, and her mouth went dry. “I...” This was rapidly going downhill. “Why are you asking me about Wade?”
The detective paused, scrutinizing her. “He was murdered last night.”
Remy covered her mouth with her free hand. Shock ripped away anything else she’d suspected. Murdered...
“How? Who?” They were here questioning her. Did they think...
“How did you meet Mr. Nelson?” Henderson asked from the chair.
She had to lie about that. She was a terrible liar, but she had to now. “I ran into him...at a coffee shop.”
“Which one?”
She gave them the name of one near Wade’s gun store. He went there almost every morning.
“When was the last time you saw him?”