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Jenna started shaking. The deputy wasdead. Monday morning...that was the day he was going to talk to his boss about the bank robbery—the bank robbery where Becca had died.
Jenna didn’t want to be scared, but she was now even more terrified than when she left her house yesterday. She knew far too much about the robbery—and what Becca may have been involved with. She also knew the real target of the heist and that the bank robbery was just a cover...she’d told Tommy Granger all of it, not realizing how important it was until he told her that Becca had known Michael Hannigan before the heist. And then everything else had clicked into place.
While she had only one piece of the puzzle, it was important—Tommy had told her it was the final piece he needed that made “everything make sense.” Without her testimony about what Becca had told her and who Jenna had seen Becca with before the robbery, he didn’t have a case...and without proving that Becca was involved, he couldn’t prove who the real target was.
“You’ll need to testify under oath,” Tommy had told her last week. “And I’ll protect you. As soon as the truth is out there, you won’t be in danger anymore.”
The man who picked up Tommy’s phone last night wasn’t Tommy, and he wasn’t a cop. Not the FBI, not the Marshals, no one she knew.
Now he had Tommy’s phone, and her name, and Jenna didn’t know what to do.
She paced the warped floorboards of the small cabin she had rented outside Hagerstown, near the Pennsylvania border. She had been so exhausted last night after working a twelve-hour shift. But she’d been scared, too, so she’d driven as far as she could until she got to a motel she’d stayed at as a kid with individual cabins that catered to families. She felt safe.
Today she’d stayed inside, not even enjoying the beautiful countryside. Mindlessly watched television. Paced. Slept. Ordered delivery and ate inside. She’d left her phone at her house because she didn’t want anyone to be able to track her, but now that seemed foolish. Sheneededa phone. What if something happened on the road?
It was late, but there was a Walmart twenty minutes away. She would get a prepaid phone, and call the FBI first thing in the morning. Tell them what she knew about Deputy Granger, what he planned to do on Monday—and they might be able to help her. They’d tell her what she should do, if she should go home or stay here in the cabin. Maybe she’d need to go in and talk to the police.
She desperately wanted someone to tell her whatexactlyhad happened to Tommy and whether it was because of the information she had given him or a random accident.
He’d soughtherout, but she still felt awful that what she knew about Becca might have somehow gotten a US marshal killed.
A chill ran down her spine. Maybe she had been paranoid about fleeing in a panic after the stranger answered Tommy’s phone. She told herself that there had to be a logical explanation. But no matter which way she turned it around in her head, she knew something was very, very wrong with that phone call.
Still, after she returned to her cabin from buying the phone and snacks, watched even more boring television, then turned off the lights, it took her many hours before she tumbled into a troubled sleep.
Eight
When Regan opened her eyes, the light had changed. She’d fallen asleep; it was nearly dark. She looked at the clock on Tommy’s nightstand—6:49 p.m. She’d been out cold for nearly three hours.
No surprise there; she hadn’t slept on the plane, she hadn’t given herself time to nap this morning.
She got up, went to the guest room, showered, and changed. Focused on the process and cleared her mind. Went down to the kitchen and made a sandwich, then brought the sandwich and a bottled water into Tommy’s office, flipping on lights as she went. Made sure all the blinds were closed; the house was a fishbowl at night.
It was time to get to work.
Sitting at his desk, she booted up Tommy’s computer. The FBI hadn’t taken it, which was good for her. They clearly were focused on Tommy’s past cases—who he had apprehended, who had been released from prison, who had a beef with him. Regan would go through everything she could before O’Dare decided to flex her muscle and take her and Charlie seriously.
She wasn’t holding her breath.
Tommy hadn’t changed his password—SemperFi followed by the year of his sister’s birth. Not smart, but easy to remember. Now that Regan was logged on, she could access any of his files. Tommy had embraced technology as a tool, but wasn’t particularly tech savvy, and while he used his computer, he still preferred to keep his notes in longhand.
She opened the drawer and smiled; some things never changed. She pulled out a notepad with Tommy’s familiar block printing and flipped through his notes. She understood his unique shorthand. He used only a few words and phrases when he wanted to remember things, and would star important items, liberally use question marks and underlining, and often box information he wanted to specifically remember.
Unfortunately, most of the information was vague without substance or reference. Relevant names and events that she already knew.
She noted that he had completed deep backgrounds on both Adam and Michael Hannigan. He’d confirmed everything that they’d known last year: the half brothers hadn’t been close. They’d been raised by different mothers and saw each other infrequently while growing up. They’d attempted to be friends when they reached adulthood, but their social media circles were vastly different. It appeared that Tommy had reverified everything, including their criminal records—which were clean up until Michael had robbed Potomac Bank and Adam had killed her son.
At the top of one page Tommy had written and circled:
Brock Marsh Security—paid under the table?
He didn’t indicate which brother the note referred to, though Regan assumed it meant Adam Hannigan, who had been employed by Brock Marsh for three years in his early twenties, a decade before he had killed Chase. Did Tommy have evidence that Brock Marsh was still paying Adam? If so, why under the table? Why was it important?
Everything is important until you know that it’s not.
Unfortunately, she found nothing more in Tommy’s notes about Adam or Michael Hannigan, or any affiliation with Brock Marsh.
On another page, he’d writtenBecca Johnswith two stars next to her name.
