Yuletide Suspect. Lisa Phillips

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СКАЧАТЬ stepped behind him, where she secured his hands with the leash. “The sheriff is on his way.”

      “Good.” Tate tugged on the man’s elbow, took him into the kitchen and deposited the man on a chair. “Don’t move.”

      Liberty shut the back door and took off her gloves, so thin they were pointless. She blew on one hand, then the other, switching off the hand holding her gun as she attempted to impart some warmth back in her stiff fingers. Tate frowned and then hit the power icon on the display of his coffee maker. Fancy. She used a four-cup coffeepot, the cheapest she could find, but he’d always been particular about what brand he drank. Liberty didn’t care, so long as it was thick, hot and strong.

      The man in the chair glanced between them but didn’t say anything. Under the LED kitchen lights his clothes looked worn, his hair matted to the top of his head.

      Liberty disliked silence. She motioned to the man but asked Tate, “Is this the guy from outside the barn?” He could have come back and gotten inside somehow. Though he’d had a gun before.

      Tate shook his head. “This is a different guy.” He pushed off the counter and took a step toward the man. “Come here with your partner. Come here to kill me. Why? Who am I to you?”

      The guy looked away. Liberty had to wonder where the other man had disappeared to. Two assailants at Tate’s house tonight, within minutes of each other? It seemed impossible they weren’t connected.

      Tate slammed both palms on his table. Liberty started and the seated man’s eyes widened. Tate said, “Why did you come here to kill me?”

      “I want my lawyer.”

      Liberty said, “We’re not cops.”

      The minute the words were out of her mouth, Tate glanced at her. What? What had she said? He was being hard on the man. Yes, he had a right to be angry. But it was as though he’d forgotten everything they’d learned about questioning and just gone with what was in his gut: anger.

      The last time she’d seen him, Tate had been so angry it had taken two of their fellow agents to pull him back from punching the director. He hadn’t been fired; it’d been more like a mutual decision between both parties that he should move on from the Secret Service. Liberty’s heart had broken even more than it already was that day, as she’d realized it was all her fault. Those tendencies he’d had as a kid to get mad instead of working through his problems had resurfaced through no fault of his own. Only hers.

      Liberty strode to the intruder, because if she didn’t she’d start crying, thinking about how everything between her and Tate had gone wrong. She didn’t want to contemplate again how it was all her fault.

      She said, “Stand up,” and glanced at Tate. He nodded to indicate he had her back. Liberty stowed her gun, but the man hadn’t moved. She hauled him up by his elbow and patted his pockets.

      She found a cell phone, then a knife, and laid both on the table. She kept searching but found nothing else. Liberty grabbed the phone and stepped back. It wasn’t locked, and it had no apps downloaded. There were no contacts listed, and if there were any messages, those had been deleted as well.

      “It’s clean.” She tossed the phone on the table.

      “Our friend here can talk to the sheriff.”

      “And it doesn’t bother you that his friend tried to kill you?” She couldn’t believe he was acting so blasé about this.

      Tate shrugged. Was this his default now, when he’d decided he wasn’t mad? The indifference almost hurt more than the anger.

      One of the dogs started barking. Tate said, “Sheriff’s here.”

      Liberty left him with the intruder and went to the front door.

      * * *

      Tate waited where he was until Liberty walked back in with the sheriff. He lifted his chin at Dane Winters, a good friend since peewee football. “This guy is all yours.” Tate explained what had happened. The more he talked, the wider Dane’s eyes grew.

      “And you have a guest.” Dane smiled. Because, yes, Tate had shared about Liberty. But Dane could fish all he wanted, Tate wasn’t going to spill.

      “She was just leaving.” His only guest except Dane in months.

      He pushed off the counter and didn’t offer anyone a cup of coffee, even though it was done brewing. He could drink it later and stay up all night brooding about the mess his life was now.

      “Don’t you want to know why I’m here?” Liberty asked.

      She might think he should be curious about this missing plane. She likely would be if things were reversed and he’d shown up at her house after so long. They’d been engaged. Tate had honestly figured it meant something, but apparently not. It was a good thing she wasn’t here for a reunion, or she would have been sorely disappointed.

      Liberty looked almost sad. “Like I said, I’m here because a small aircraft, a business jet, went down not far from here. On board was a senator from Oklahoma and two White House staffers. Twelve hours ago we lost contact with them. We think the plane might’ve crashed somewhere close to here, and it’s believed there was foul play involved, possibly with the pilot. At least, as much was indicated from the last radio call before communication was cut off.” She paused. “We need to find those people.”

      “That should be an FBI investigation, shouldn’t it?”

      “They’re on it. But at the top of the list of suspects who might be involved is a certain former Secret Service agent I happen to know personally. So I figured, why not? For old times’ sake I’ll visit this former agent and let him know the Secret Service and the FBI are all on their way here to ask you a whole lot of uncomfortable questions you aren’t going to want to answer.”

      She couldn’t seriously think he might be part of it. “You think I have something to hide? Something to do with this?”

      “Do you?” She lifted her chin, like there was no history between them and she had every right to suspect him of something heinous. “It’s a valid question.”

      “You really think I’ve changed that much?”

      She didn’t answer. Instead, she said, “The FBI and the Secret Service want to know if you’re involved. But they’re betting on the fact that a disgruntled former Secret Service agent—”

      “Disgruntled?” Why would they think he harbored resentment? Tate had moved on. Wasn’t it obvious?

      Liberty shrugged. “Despite the cute cabin all decorated for a family Christmas, there is evidence against you. Seems to me from the blog, at least, that in the last few months your attitude has deteriorated. And it’s the basis of their evidence.”

      “What blog?”

      The sheriff shifted, but Dane couldn’t hide the fact that he was listening to their conversation. They were friends, and Dane was curious. Tate didn’t fault him for it. Even beyond this missing plane, there was a lot to talk about. Too bad there wasn’t time.

      And good thing he didn’t want to talk about it anyway. His life now was none of her business.

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