Keep Her Safe(82)

I’m about to turn my back to the stranger, to overtly dismiss him for listening in on our conversation, when I hear a soft “fuck” slip out under Noah’s breath.

The guy leans over to rest his elbows on his knees, his steely gray eyes shifting from Noah to me, and then back to Noah, amusement on his face. “How was your drive back from Tucson?”

Noah doesn’t answer. He doesn’t look the least bit pleased.

The guy studies me through a shrewd gaze. I’d put him in his early thirties. He’s decidedly attractive—his jaw hard, his nose sharp, his blond hair holding a wave. There’s a twinkle in his eye, and I can’t tell if it’s borne of arrogance or mischief, but I can tell that this guy is probably used to getting whatever he wants where females are concerned.

“Who the hell are you and why are you following us?”

“So you did see me.” He smiles easily, highlighting the small cut and bruising on his bottom lip.

“Hard not to notice such a terrible tailing job. Who are you?”

“Special Agent Kristian Klein. I work with the FBI.” He holds out a hand.

I simply glare at it. “Bullshit. You guys don’t creep around in Honda Civics and faded jeans.”

“You’d be surprised what we do.” Suddenly there’s a badge in Kristian’s hand, the golden eagle unmistakable and, just as quickly and smoothly, it’s gone again. “Ask Noah, if you don’t believe me.”

“You said forty-eight hours,” Noah grumbles by way of response.

Klein shrugs. “I also said I was bad with telling time.”

“Wait, when did you two talk?”

“Where’s Tareen?” Noah searches the grounds around us.

“He’s on the other side of the bush, listening while making sure no one else is listening.”

“How fucking clandestine of you.”

“So, which one of you spotted me?”

Noah nods to me.

“Nicely done, Grace Richards. Or are you going by Wilkes again, now that you’re back in Texas?”

“Okay, what the hell is going on?” How does the FBI know my name? And why does Noah know this guy? And forty-eight hours to what?

“I’m trying to figure out what happened to Abraham Wilkes and I’d love some help. I was hoping Noah here would tell me what he knows.”

I frown with realization. “Does this mean that the FBI is looking into my dad’s case?”

Klein leans forward and peers across to Noah. “Wow. You actually didn’t tell her.”

“Tell me what?” I demand, glaring at Noah as Klein casually taunts him.

Noah heaves a sigh, his face drawn with misery. “Klein is the guy who came to your mom’s hospital room. He came because my mom called him the night she died and told him that Abe had been set up. He was outside of our motel in Tucson on Saturday night.”

“And you weren’t going to tell me?” I hiss, my rage flaring.

He holds his hands up. “I was just about to when you noticed the car following us, I swear.”

“I don’t believe you.” Again. Noah was withholding from me again. I turn my back to him, to face Agent Klein. “What do you know?”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “A bit. But first, I’m curious about what you know, Gracie.”

“It’s Grace. And I’ll tell you everything. Every last detail.”

A smile of satisfaction fills his handsome face. “That’s what I was hoping for.”



* * *



Klein snaps his notepad shut. “We’ll be by to collect that evidence.”

“And the picture of Betsy, right?”

“Give me all the names and birth dates that she may be going under and I’ll see what my people can find out.” His cool gaze drifts to Noah, who has been quiet, aside from a nod here or a grunt of agreement there. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you had anything to do with your mother’s death. I deserved this.” His gestures at his lip. “And I get why you covered for your mom with the cops in your statement. I’m not out to get you for that. But if I find out that you’re lying to me about anything—”

“Gracie’s told you everything we know about Abe’s death,” Noah says, his gaze locked on the agent’s.

“I believe you. Well . . . I believe her.” Kristian stands, and I see how tall he is. He’s lankier than Noah, but he has definition to his body. He gestures toward a man who suddenly appears next to him. “This is Agent Tareen.”

The dark-haired man nods once toward me, his near-black eyes skating over Noah with indifference, before handing Klein a letter-sized envelope.

“Have you seen the police report on your father?”

“No. I need to request it . . .” Wherever it is you request police reports. I’m not going to rely on Noah or Silas to get it for me.

“Don’t bother. It’s the one meant for the public. You won’t find anything in it of any use.” He scrawls something across the front of the envelope and then passes it to me. “Here’s the real one.”

Noah’s mouth drops open. “How did you get that?”

“A courier showed up at my house the morning after your mother died. She sent it to me. How she got hold of it, I don’t know, but she was the chief, so I’m sure it wasn’t too hard.”