Born to Die - Lisa Jackson [156]
As he slid behind the wheel, she voiced second thoughts. “I don’t know if staying with you is the answer,” she said.
“Eli would love it.”
“That’s not what I’m thinking about.” She slid a glance his way. “And you know it.”
He realized suddenly how close the cab of his truck was, how their breaths had fogged the glass. “Yeah.” To break the mood, he flipped on the defrost.
He jammed the truck into reverse, backed out of the parking spot, then switched gears to drive. Slowing so that he could ease into the steady stream of traffic heading out of the town, he inched forward, feeling her gaze upon him as he slid into a spot behind a flatbed truck with a load of Christmas trees.
“It’s just that I have to know that you’re safe, okay? So I want you to stay with me.”
“You want to protect me.”
“Something like that.”
She half smiled, and it was about the sexiest gesture he’d ever seen. “You know what, O’Halleran? Maybe I’ll end up protecting you. Or something like that.”
“I want to surprise Gerald Johnson and see what he has to say for himself,” Pescoli said as she and Alvarez walked to her office.
“Okay. I was doing some research earlier. Let’s follow up some more and then take it to Grayson, so he can contact the FBI.”
“FBI, my ass,” Pescoli muttered.
Alvarez grabbed up the information she’d already pulled from the Internet, and then she and Pescoli spent time searching for other women born twenty-five to forty years earlier in Helena who’d died accidentally. There was a raft of them, but they chose about a dozen.
“This is just so bizarre,” Alvarez said.
“Beyond bizarre. And there are a lot more to sift through. If this is our guy, he sure as hell got around.”
“Which means he had money and free time.”
They looked at each other. “One of Gerald Johnson’s kids?” Pescoli asked.
“Not the youngest. He would have only been six when the first fatal ‘accident’ took place.”
“Unless the first accidents really are accidents or aren’t our look-alikes . . . These deaths really started piling up around fifteen years ago, about the time the youngest of Johnson’s kids, the twins, were twenty-two, which is about the same time they would have graduated from college if they went.”
“And ended up on Daddy’s payroll?” Alvarez thought aloud. “But why? And how would whoever it is know where to find the daughters of Seven-twenty-seven?” She grimaced. “Maybe they worked at the clinic while going to college, got the information that way.”
“Could be. Or even bought the information if they found dear old Dad had made regular deposits to the local sperm bank. You know what they say, ‘Everything has a price.’ That includes personal information.” Pescoli thought of her own son and his fascination with the Internet. She’d worried that he was playing games and wasting time, or perusing porn, but what if he was hacking, breaking into private files? “What do you think? Is anyone in Johnson’s family a computer geek?”
CHAPTER 33
The roads were a mess, traffic snarled, the storm relentless as it dumped more snow over northwestern Montana. It took over an hour for Trace and Kacey to collect her dog, computer, and an overnight bag. Trace’s truck slid twice, but he was able to finally reach the old farmhouse he called home.
She’d never seen it before, this big, square home perched on a bit of hill nearly an eighth of a mile from the county road. Snow was thick on the roof, icicles were dangling from the eaves, and a bitter wind was blowing through the naked trees in a small orchard. Trace pulled into an open garage at the back of the house, where a Dodge pickup, nose facing toward the road, was already parked, three inches of snow piled on its hood. Outbuildings stood in the distance, security lamps offering pale, almost eerie, illumination through the curtain of falling