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“Dammit.” André had hoped to avoid driving to Trent’s home and rousting him out of his nest. But it seemed the man was going to force him to do just that. He dragged on his Kevlar vest. André didn’t believe Trent was the shooter, but he was going to be careful.
If the shooter had been Woods—my client has nothing to say—André was in the clear. If the shooter was the second perp—my client has no comment—then he could still be in danger. The now dark purple bruise on Dante’s chest was a reminder of just how close he’d come to losing him.
As bulky and unwieldy as the Kevlar was, André didn’t plan on being a statistic because of vanity. There was still the chance that André’s shooter wasn’t related to what was going on with Dante and Daniella, but André had always subscribed to the simple solution first. If it barked like a dog, it was a dog.
“Would you like me to go along?” Lani asked.
“No. We both know Trent won’t take a visit from you well at all. I’ll do it.”
He wanted Lani to stay back with Carol and Dani. A person would have to be out of their mind to break into a police station, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
“Consider having Dante go along for the ride then,” Lani suggested. “Carol and I will keep Dani safe.”
André pressed the doorbell, but there was no resounding chime from inside the house. The wind buffeted against his back. It was picking up again, a second storm rolling in off the Pacific, and really, he’d rather not get soaked two days in a row. Pressing his thumb hard against the button again in case there was a bad connection, he listened for a chime. Nothing. He tried peeking in through the blinds, but they were drawn tight.
Trent’s house was not what he expected. He’d expected a run-down double-wide or a post-war cottage that needed work. Instead, Trent lived in a cozy, two-story, wood-and-brick house with a tidy front lawn. Colorful garden gnomes with watchful eyes were observing them from underneath leafless hydrangea bushes.
“Is it just me, or is this place a little disturbing?” Dante asked from where he was waiting by the bottom step. The small porch wasn’t big enough for both of them, and he’d insisted on coming even though there wasn’t another vest for him to wear. “This one is better than nothing,” he’d said.
André supposed he wasn’t wrong. The damaged vestwasbetter than no vest, but he didn’t like it.
“Very disturbing. It’s the gnomes, they’re watching us.”
Raising his fist, André banged against the front door, rattling it in the frame. He smiled to himself; it had been a while since he’d gotten to use his marshal’s knock.
“Trent, you in there?”
He was about to knock again when he heard a rustling sound and then slow footsteps approaching the door.
“Just a dammed second,” a voice grumbled.
The door opened about halfway, and André found himself almost eye to eye with a late-middle-aged person wrapped up in an ancient plaid bathrobe.
“Good morning, I’m Chief André Dear. We’re looking for Lionel Trent.”
“Oh, I’m Lionel’s sister, Chief Dear.” Turning her head slightly, the woman coughed into her fist. When she got her breath, she straightened up again, her curious beady gaze pinging from André to Dante waiting on the walkway and back again.
“Is Lionel home? We’ve been trying to reach him, but he hasn’t responded.”
The woman contemplated André, her expression reminding him of Luna’s when she was trying to decide whether to come inside. The wind gusted again, driving sharp drops of rain against the back of André’s neck and causing the woman’s bathrobe to billow. She narrowed the opening further, trying to keep the heat inside and the wind out.
“I haven’t seen my brother in a day or so.” She didn’t sound particularly worried about Trent’s whereabouts. “I have to say, he doesn’t have a very high opinion of you, Chief Dear.”
André hadn’t known that Trent’s sister was living with him. Or maybe it was the other way around. He didn’t know much about Trent at all. He hadn’t even known Trent had a sister. And he couldn’t care less what Trent’s opinion of him was.
“Do you mind if we come in and ask you a few questions?”
The sister didn’t immediately step back, but she didn’t say no. “I’ve had the flu, so enter at your own risk.”
André eyed Trent’s sister, cataloging her appearance. She did seem a bit pale, and she certainly hadn’t brushed her short, graying hair that morning. But then, André hadn’t bothered to shave, so perhaps he was being a tad judgmental.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” André said, deciding against stepping inside. “Lionel hasn’t returned our phone calls, so we’re concerned. When you see your brother, would you let him know to contact us?”
The woman shivered, tightened her bathrobe around herself, and moved enough so she was effectively blocking André’s view of the living room.
“I ’spose. Like I said, I haven’t seen him in a few days.”
“Thank you, we appreciate your assistance.” André nodded encouragingly. Pulling out his wallet, he handed her a business card. “Here’s my direct number. If you think of anything, or if you hear from your brother, please give me a call.”
