Touch & Go (Tessa Leoni, #2)(126)

Tessa watched his gaze ping-pong from the open door, to Kathryn’s restrained form, to herself, who already had her firearm leveled at his head.

“Justin Denbe,” she declared. “Drop your weapon. You are under arrest.”


JUSTIN DIDN’T IMMEDIATELY DROP HIS GUN. Figured, a man like him. He remained crouched, appraising the situation, gaze darting to the open door.

“We know what you did,” Tessa said, aim perfectly level. This close, she had all the time in the world. She continued conversationally. “And I wasn’t making that up. Mick did return last night. He attacked your wife and daughter.”

Justin straightened, finally giving her his full attention.

“What? Is Ashlyn okay? Is Libby okay? I told them, the terms of the agreement…”

“No hurting your wife and child,” Tessa filled in. Beside her, Wyatt was on the move, cuffing Kathryn’s arms behind her back. “That was the deal, right? You hired the men with the explicit instructions not to hurt your wife and child. But they could hurt you. Had to for the nine million dollars in ransom. That’s how you paid them, right? They received at least part of the ransom funds, as promised. That way, you still didn’t have to share your eleven million.”

Justin Denbe, clad in dress jeans, button-up shirt, leather shoes, more clothes suitable for a plane: “Are Ashlyn and Libby all right?”

“Other than terrified? Traumatized? I mean, seriously, who the hell are you to be so concerned about them now? After all you put them through?”

“They were not to be harmed,” he reiterated stubbornly.

Wyatt shoved Kathryn’s cuffed form to the side. “Sixteen years,” he stated. “You embezzled from your own company for sixteen years.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” But he wasn’t looking at them anymore, his gaze once more darting to the open doorway. “Can’t steal from yourself.”

“Oh, you can,” Tessa corrected, grip tightening on her gun. “Because anything you put in your personal accounts you risked owing to your wife, who was bound to figure out about your affairs and demand a divorce. Or you could siphon money into slush funds no one ever knew about. Until sixteen years had passed, and you found yourself with eleven million dollars, a dying business and a jilted wife. Must not have been too hard to make your decision after that. Time to get out, while the getting was good.”

Justin still didn’t say anything. He wasn’t even making eye contact with Kathryn Chapman. Instead, skittishly, he continued to lean toward the open door.

“What time’s your flight?” Tessa asked.

He flinched.

“We got your girlfriend. Gonna travel without her?”

Belatedly, he glanced at Kathryn. Wyatt no longer had his hand over her mouth. She gave an involuntary moan.

“Yep, this is your boyfriend,” Tessa told her. “A man who hired his own kidnappers, faked his own death and abandoned his own family. But, hey, he’s all yours.”

Beside her, Wyatt said, “Mick’s dead. Your wife shot him.”

Justin’s eyes widened. He appeared startled.

“But your daughter has a serious concussion,” Tessa pressed. “She needs you. In fact, your miraculous return from beyond the grave might be exactly the kind of thing that would enable her speedy recovery.”

It was interesting, really, to watch the agonized look that overcame Justin Denbe’s face. The clear internal struggle. Be there for the daughter he adored, but also return to the life of responsibility. Or go. Just go. No commitments, no obligations, a free man with eleven million dollars in his pocket.

He looked at Tessa.

He looked at Kathryn, not even speaking, just making pleading sounds in the base of her throat.

And then…

He ran for the doorway. Leapt through it. Got as far as the deck. Tessa yelled his name, gun coming up, but holding fire as she couldn’t very well shoot a man in the back. Wyatt thrust Kathryn aside, preparing to give chase.

As somewhere in the distance, a rifle cracked. Tessa registered the sound, then dropped instinctively to the floor, Wyatt joining her, as together they watched Justin Denbe’s head explode on the front porch.

Now you see him, now you don’t.

Justin’s body collapsed.

Kathryn started to scream.

There wasn’t a second shot. Or a third. The first round had gotten it done.

After an eternity had passed, Tessa climbed shakily to her feet. Wyatt rose to stand beside her. They took in Justin’s lifeless form.

Wyatt said: “Told you the hired muscle involved a brain or two.”


THEY PHONED SPECIAL AGENT ADAMS. Let the federal agent flex her muscle as neither one of them had legal standing. Plus, it meant she’d inherit the paperwork. Kathryn was led away, still screaming. Most likely would be taken to a local emergency room and treated for shock.

In the meantime, uniformed officers patrolled the neighborhood. Rooftop deck, two houses down and across the street, they recovered a rifle and a single brass cartridge. Serial number filed off the rifle. Fingerprints wiped off the cartridge.

“Professional-grade work,” Nicole said, stating the obvious.

“Dead men tell no tales,” Wyatt intoned.

“One of the kidnappers?”

“You take Justin into custody, he’s bound to talk,” Tessa supplied with a shrug. “Most professional arrangements involve signed confidentiality agreements. Let’s just say, Justin appeared at risk for violating his.”