Crash & Burn (Tessa Leoni, #3)(67)

“Apparently. You okay?”

“Yeah. Been thinking about your boundaries.”

“At four A.M.?”

“That’s the kind of world we live in. I love you, you know. I respect you. Admire your job. Appreciate your ethics.”

“Okay.”

“Having said that, f*ck boundaries.”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, you can have them if you want. Feel free. You’re right; some kind of limits are implicit in our jobs. But see, you want everything hard lined. Solid walls, this fits over here, this fits over there, bing, bang, boom. I don’t buy it. World’s too complicated. Our jobs are too complicated. We are too complicated. Personally, I like dashed lines. Boundaries with a bit of flexibility built in. Hence I’m calling you right now, even though I don’t have to.”

“Damn right you don’t have to call me at four A.M.—”

“Your client needs you.”

“What?”

“You don’t want to talk, so just listen. Nicole Frank received a call from Northledge Investigations Wednesday night. Ergo, Nicole Frank is most likely a client of Northledge. Knowing the way your highfalutin firm works, I’m assuming that meant she put down some hefty sort of retainer—”

“I can’t comment—”

“Dashed lines, remember? Nicole’s house burned down tonight. Her husband has vanished. She’s currently all alone, no place to go. As in she’s sleeping with her head on our conference room table. I’m assuming her retainer with your firm is still valid. I’m assuming if that’s the case, her best interests are in your best interests. I’m assuming . . . Dammit, Tessa, the woman could use help. I can only be an investigating officer. She needs an ally.”

Tessa didn’t answer right away, but he could nearly hear the gears turning in her mind. “It would be in your own best interest if she was dependent on you,” she murmured at last. “She’d be more likely to tell you everything. Even help you find her husband.”

“Yep.”

“You owe me nothing. Your job. Your case. Your boundaries. Eventually, she might have thought to call Northledge, but you would’ve had that much more time to isolate her, press your advantage.”

“True.”

“You didn’t have to do this.”

“Exactly.”

Another pause. Tessa doing the math. Which would always be one of their differences, Wyatt knew. He was a big believer in going with his gut. But for a woman with Tessa’s history, it would never be that simple.

“What do you want, Wyatt?”

“The truth. It’s why I became a detective. I like answers. And trust me, this woman is a whole lotta questions.”

“What if she tells me some of those answers but doesn’t allow me to share them with you?”

“Dashed lines are still lines. I know that.”

“Do you know why her husband has gone AWOL?”

“No. But I know her real name.”

Pause. “Is it Veronica Sellers?”

Wyatt’s turn to be surprised. “You didn’t know?”

“No. Not what she hired us for. But once I did some digging, I suspected. Only thing that made any sense. It’s not my job to report suspicions, however. I can only do what the client employs me to do. Do you think the husband is trying to kill her? The multiple falls, the accident Wednesday night?”

“I have no idea. But I think if half of what Nicky just told us about her abduction thirty years ago is true, her life is about to become very dangerous.”

“All right. I’m on my way. And Wyatt . . .”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”





Chapter 25




I JERK AWAKE. MY legs kick out. My head flies up. Maybe I scream? At the last second, I do my best to choke off the gasp, old habits dying hard.

Round wooden table. Gray linoleum floor. Ugly drop ceiling. The sheriff’s department. I have fallen asleep with my head on the conference room table, still clutching the pale yellow quilt.

Wyatt and Kevin are no longer sitting across from me. Instead, Wyatt stands near the door and there’s a dark-haired woman beside him. She wears dress jeans, black leather boots and a tailored navy-blue jacket that brings out the color of her eyes. There is something about the way they are standing that captures my attention. Together, but separate. I have a sense of déjà vu. Thomas and me.

“Nicole Frank?” the woman asks. Her voice is low and firm, a voice of authority.

“Yes.”

“Do you remember me? My name is Tessa Leoni. We spoke on the phone. Wednesday night.”

Something clicks in the back of my head. I glance at Wyatt.

“Sergeant Foster contacted me on your behalf,” the woman provides, as if reading my mind. “He thought, given present circumstances, you might appreciate some assistance.”

“You’re not a lawyer.”

“No. I’m a private security specialist.”

I can’t help myself; I smile. “My life is so bad I require a specialist.”

The woman returns my smile. She’s not beautiful, I think, but striking. Hard angles. Strong jaw. Her smile is not soft, but reassuring. Her stance is not relaxed but confident. She doesn’t look like a person who was given a private security title. She looks like a woman who’s earned it.