Love You More (Tessa Leoni, #1)(107)

Lastly, I retrieved Brian’s Glock .40 from my duffel bag and wrapped Purcell’s right hand around the pistol grip to transfer his prints. Purcell’s .22 went into my duffel bag, to be tossed in the first river I passed. The Glock .40 went inside Purcell’s house, taped to the back of the toilet as he’d done with the first firearm.

Sometime after the sun rose, the police would find Purcell’s body tied to the house, obviously tortured, now deceased. They would search his house, they would discover his basement, and that would answer half their questions—a guy in Purcell’s line of work was bound to die badly.

While searching Purcell’s house, they would also discover Brian’s Glock .40. Ballistics would match the slug that killed police officer Shane Lyons to that firearm, providing a theory that Purcell had once entered my home and stolen my husband’s gun, which he later used to kill a highly respected state trooper.

Purcell’s murder would go to the back burner—just another thug meeting a violent end. Shane would be buried with full honors and his family would receive benefits.

The police would search for the weapon that shot Purcell, of course. Wonder about his murderer. But not all questions were meant to be answered.

Just like not all people were meant to be trusted.

One-seventeen a.m. I staggered to my feet, made my way back to the truck. I downed two bottles of water and ate two power bars. Right shoulder burned. Tingling in my fingers. A hollow sensation in my gut. A curious numbness to the set of my lips.

Then I was on the road again, shotgun on my lap, bloody hands at the wheel.

Sophie, here I come.





41



It’s Hamilton,” Bobby said, pulling D.D. out of Leoni’s garage and already jogging back to their car.

“Hamilton?” D.D. narrowed her eyes. “As in State Police Lieutenant Colonel?”

“Yep. Has access, has opportunity, and knows all the players involved. Maybe Brian’s gambling problem started the ball rolling, but Hamilton was the brains of the operation—You guys need money? Hey, I happen to know where there’s a huge pot of cash, just sitting there …”

“Between him and Shane …” D.D. murmured. She nodded, feeling the first tinge of excitement A name, a suspect, a target. She climbed into the car and Bobby pulled away from the curb, already racing toward the highway.

“Yep,” he said now. “Easy enough to work out the logistics of setting up a shell company, with Hamilton pulling strings to cover their tracks from the inside. Except, of course, all good things must come to an end.”

“Once the internal investigation kicks into gear …”

“Their days are numbered,” Bobby filled in for her. “They have state investigators sniffing around, plus, thanks to Shane and Brian continuing to gamble excessively, they also have various mobsters wanting a piece of the pie. Hamilton, of course, grows concerned. And Brian and Shane go from being partners in crime to highly expendable liabilities.”

“Hamilton killed Brian, then kidnapped Sophie so Tessa would confess to shooting her own husband and be framed for defrauding the troopers’ union?” D.D. frowned, then added, “Or an enforcer did it. The kind of mobster Brian had already pissed off. The kind of guy willing to do one last piece of wet work in order to get his money back.”

“The kind of guy who’d mail photos of Shane’s family as a warning,” Bobby agreed.

“That’s the thing about the brass,” D.D. said with a shake of her head. “They’re big on ideas, but don’t like to get their own hands dirty during implementation.” She hesitated. “Following that logic, where is Sophie? Would Hamilton risk personally holding a six-year-old girl?”

“Don’t know,” Bobby said. “But I’m betting if we drop on him like a ton of bricks, we can find that out. He should be downtown, at the scene of Lyons’s shooting, hanging out with the colonel and other brass.”

D.D. nodded, then suddenly grabbed Bobby’s arm. “He’s not downtown. Bet you anything.”

“Why not?”

“Because Tessa is on the loose. We know it. He knows it. Furthermore, he would’ve heard by now that Trooper Lyons’s shotgun and M4 rifle are missing. Meaning he knows Tessa is armed, dangerous, and desperate to locate her daughter.”

“He’s on the run,” Bobby filled in, “from his own officer.” But then it was his turn to shake his head. “Nah, not a guy as experienced and wily as Hamilton. Best defense is a good offense, right? He’s going for Sophie. If she’s still alive, he’s gonna get his hands on her. She’s the only bargaining chip he’s got left.”

“So where’s Sophie?” D.D. asked again. “We’ve had a statewide Amber Alert for three days. Her picture is plastered all over the TV, her description on the radio. If the girl’s around, we should’ve gotten a lead by now.”

“Meaning she’s someplace buttoned up tight,” Bobby mused. “Rural, no close neighbors. With someone assigned to keep her under lock and key. So a place that is inaccessible, but well supplied. A location Hamilton trusts not to be compromised.”

“He’d never stash Sophie in his own house,” D.D. said. “Too close to him. Maybe she’s at a friend of a friend? Or a second home? We saw the pictures of him hunting deer. Does he have a hunting lodge, a cabin in the woods?”