AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“God, Sophie, what the hell have you gotten yourself involved with?” Jude’s concern almost made the tears that were just beneath the surface break through. Now that the shock was starting to wear off, she was feeling rattled and scared. She fought for control of her emotions. She couldn’t afford to break down.
“Will you help us?” she asked with a glance at Owen. He’d been silent since Jude had got in his vehicle, letting her handle it.
“I will,” Jude said and thought for a moment. “I can take the knife to the police and claim a source turned it into me. That’ll work in our favor. The police will have to prioritize the investigation into Razor’s death since they’ll know the paper’s watching their every move. Give it to me.” Jude opened the briefcase he’d brought with him.
With a quick check to make sure no one was watching them, Sophie handed the towel-wrapped knife to her editor who put it into the briefcase and slammed it shut.
“I’ll let you know how it went later.” He caught her eye. “Will you tell me now where you’re hiding out? The paper can get protection…more protection for you.” He cast a look at Owen. “This could get dicey.”
“I’m okay for now,” she said. In truth, she was feeling anything but okay, but that was no reason to let her guard down. Owen had her back. She might have fought with him last evening, but she trusted him to keep her safe. “Email me with updates.”
Jude looked exasperated but nodded. He and the paper were going out on a limb here for her, she knew that. She was glad Jude was willing to step up like this. “Take care, Sophie.”
He got out of the truck and walked across the parking lot to his car. Owen waited for Jude to drive away before starting his engine. She didn’t bother to ask where they were going. Like her, he knew they had to retreat to somewhere safe.
She was the reason Razor was dead, though, and she was no longer sure anywhere was safe.
TWENTY-THREE
Owen had kept an eye on Sophie since leaving Virginia Beach. She had her head turned as though looking at the scenery out the side window, but he doubted that she saw any of it. He wanted to broach the topic of what she might be feeling, but he waited until they were back in their cabin at the retreat.
“What happened wasn’t your fault,” he said once they were inside. She’d dropped onto the loveseat. Normally, she’d be buzzing around the cabin or checking her email. But now, all of her energy seemed to have drained away.
“How can you say that? He’s dead because of the investigation I started.”
“You didn’t kill Razor. Wilson did.” Owen was careful to enunciate his words. “That’s where the blame belongs, not on you.”
She shook her head. He worried that she wasn’t really hearing him since she was too caught up in her emotions. Razor was dead, but she wasn’t the murderer. She had to get that straight in her head.
Her reaction, though, reminded him that she was a civilian and out of her depths here. He’d seen worse, far worse, but he was trained to put his feelings aside and focus on the job. Those memories still sometimes got him in the night, but he’d learned to manage them.
What concerned him went a layer deeper than Razor’s death. Wilson had blatantly murdered a man, which meant his behavior was escalating. He was becoming increasingly reckless and dangerous, probably a manifestation of feeling cornered. Wilson was all too aware of the pressure of Sophie’s investigation, and if he found her, he’d kill her, too.
That was what sent a shudder through Owen. He’d committed to keeping Sophie safe, and that job had just gotten a lot harder, especially since it called for a certain detachment that he no longer had. He’d gotten too close to Sophie and started to form a relationship. He couldn’t let himself do that any longer. It might cloud his judgment and prevent him from keeping her safe.
Still, he couldn’t prevent himself from taking her in his arms. It was a hug, nothing more, since she seemed to need the physical contact. He felt a tremor go through her body before she relaxed into him. He held her, closing his eyes and drawing in the scent of her shampoo. Then, he placed his hands on her upper arms and held her slightly away from him until she met his eyes. He knew her well enough to know that she needed purpose, a job.
“You have to get back to writing the story that will expose Wilson as a drug dealer and murderer. That’s how this ends. That’s how you bring Wilson to justice,” Owen said.
“You’re right. I should look at what’s on the phone.” She turned away from him, seeming renewed, and got the phone from her purse, punching in the code Razor had given her. “He said there were images.” She tapped the icon and saw hundreds of pictures. “This might take a few minutes.”
“What made you keep it from Jude?” he asked. He’d been curious about that, but he’d decided it was her call.
“Instinct, I guess. The phone either is going to give us everything we need or nothing. I want to see which that is before I hand it over, especially since he’s been so skeptical. Let’s sit.” She tucked a leg under her and sat on half the loveseat with the phone in her hand. He joined her, watching as she scrolled through images. “This might be something,” she said a few minutes later. “Looks to be a shipping manifest.”
He could see columns of merchandise listed along with the date. It matched Razor’s description of when Wilson had gone to the port to bribe the customs agent. “What’s on the list? Stuff headed to the museum?”
“I think so.” She enlarged the image. “Supposedly, it’s a bunch of gift shop items. T-shirts, books, paperweights.” She looked up. “Like the labeling on the box that Helen found the drugs in. What else?” They analyzed the entire manifest, noting several packages destined for the museum. “Jackpot.” She wasn’t smiling when she looked up at him, but her shattered look was fading. “I’ll send this to Micky. It should help him since it gives us the name of the vessel, date, and time. He should be able to come up with what agent was on duty.”
“What else?” he asked as she continued to scroll through images. Most were nothing useful—selfies of Razor and pretty girls. “Wait. Stop.” An image caught Owen’s eye. “That’s the woman from the country club.”
“Quinn?” Sophie asked.
The woman was in the background, but Owen recognized her. He’d lay money on the fact that she was the fixer Wilson had brought in. She looked to be in her thirties with dirty blond hair.
“Yeah, I’m sure of it,” Owen said. “She might also be the woman who tried to get access to Ethan and Helen’s apartment. That woman was described as dark haired, but she could have worn a wig.”
“Okay, so we’ve got a face to go with the name.” Sophie favorited the pictures so they could find their way back to it easily.
