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Tom grabbed his laptop and fired it up. He needed to end this. He’d look up her mother’s death, find out the likely boring truth and never deceive her again. He’d be honest from now on. And he could see her without any guilt. They could date. It would be good. She’d never know that he’d violated her privacy and lied about it.
Fighting a sense of déjà vu, he began searching Chicago crimes again. But this time, the outcome was very, very different.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
TOM WAS AT his most focused the next day. He had to be. If he let one stray thought about Isabelle in, he’d lose his hold on the hundred other things going on.
Saul Stevenson had been spotted by a cop in Cody the night before, but the patrolman hadn’t realized immediately why the man had looked familiar. He’d noticed him at a truck-stop diner, made a mental note and only checked into it a few hours later. So Stevenson’s brother was on the move and coming closer to Jackson. He could be in Jackson now.
Tom’s whole team was on high alert, and there were members of both the Teton County Sheriff’s Department and the state police who were part of the extended team now, too. Tom couldn’t afford to think about Isabelle. Or the fact that her name wasn’t really Isabelle.
He shook his head and got back to the new shift schedule that Mary had written up. He added one more pass of the K-9 units through the parking lot just before court was scheduled to dismiss. Stevenson might not be going for a big statement like a courthouse explosion. He might just be targeting the single car of someone on the prosecution team.
He sent the schedule to his team leaders and answered his ringing cell phone.
“Marshal Tom Duncan?” The man’s voice was unfamiliar.
“Yes,” he said impatiently.
“This is Agent Gates with the FBI.”
“Good,” Tom said. “I know we don’t have proof that they’ve transported explosives across state lines, but I appreciate that you’re willing to weigh in. Your team deals with terroristic threats a lot more often than—”
“I’m sorry. I’m not clear on what you’re talking about.”
Tom frowned and grabbed a pen and a pad of paper. “I’m sorry. Did you say Agent Gates?”
“Yes, I’m with the Chicago office.”
The pen pressed into the paper and left a dark blot of ink that looked startlingly blue to Tom’s eyes. “Chicago?”
“I got a hit that you accessed information about Malcolm Pozniak, and I was wondering why a US marshal stationed in Wyoming would access an old Chicago case.”
Tom hesitated. There’d been a flag on the Pozniak file that information was not to be shared with any nonfederal agencies, with extra caution to be exercised with the Chicago PD. Apparently, the FBI was still taking that seriously. Tom was, too. And something about this call bothered him.
“Pozniak is a fugitive in a federal case,” Tom said carefully. “He falls under the purview of the marshal service.”
“He does,” Agent Gates said. He waited, likely trying to give Tom the chance to say more. Tom declined. Gates finally gave in. “Do you have any information about Malcolm Pozniak or his whereabouts?”
“I do not.” That was an honest answer, so he invested all his conviction in those words, hoping the lies that followed wouldn’t be noticeable. “I’m sorry to raise any excitement. My territory covers a lot of isolated places. The kinds of places where fugitives like to hole up and stay. If you could access my online activities, you’d find I scan a lot of old cases, just to keep faces in the forefront. I never know which bar or feed store I’ll walk into and find myself face-to-face with an old felon.”
A long silence followed. There was no way for Gates to dispute this. He didn’t have access to Tom’s online activity, and they both knew it. “So you haven’t seen someone who fits Pozniak’s description?”
“Seventy-year-old white male who looks like he’s seen too much life? We got a lot of those in Wyoming. But I’m afraid I can’t help you with this one.”
Another pause. “All right. What about the daughter?”
“The daughter?”
“Beth Pozniak.”
His heart thumped loudly, echoing in his ears. “I didn’t see her on the list of federal fugitives. She’s only a person of interest, if I recall.”
“You accessed her file.”
Tom forced an impatient laugh. “I may have followed a link. I looked at a few cases last night. That one seemed unlikely to be resolved. Guy’s probably dead by now.”
“Yeah.” The agent went quiet for another moment before he sighed. “Well, shit. It would’ve been nice if you’d spotted him. This damn case has been on my desk for a dozen years now. I inherited it from a guy who keeled over in his office chair, and I’m thinking I’ll carry it to my grave, too.”
