Cold Pursuit - Carla Neggers [114]
“Fair enough. Any theories about who ordered Alex Bruni killed?”
The kid hesitated, then said, “What if he knew Drew Cameron’s death in April wasn’t an accident? What if he was killed by these assassins? Alex Bruni was a prominent ambassador. He probably had enemies who’d be willing to pay someone to kill him—who’d be able to figure out how to get in touch with such people. But he also knew Drew Cameron, and…” Charlie didn’t go on.
Grit finished for him. “Cameron was just a guy from the mountains. He doesn’t fit with the other victims. Bruni does, but since Cameron and Bruni both have connections to Black Falls, it’s a problem.”
“Yeah,” Charlie said. “It’s a problem.”
“That’s why we have cops. Anything you haven’t told me? Your father—”
“He’s not in danger that I know of. Absolutely not.” Charlie blinked back sudden tears, his breathing rapid and shallow now.
Up front, Myrtle didn’t say a word. Grit stayed very still. “Charlie?”
“I told you. Marissa was almost killed in September. Agent Harper saved her life. Jo could have died. Marissa could have died.”
“According to my sources, that fire was an accident.”
“What if it wasn’t? I don’t want anyone dying for me. The airsoft prank…I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“On some level, that prank made the risks Jo and her colleagues take feel less real to you.”
“Yeah.”
“And it was funny,” Grit said.
“Jo got sent to Vermont. I didn’t realize that’s where Nora Asher moved after she dropped out of Dartmouth. If her father’s mixed up in this network…if Drew Cameron and Alex Bruni were among its latest victims…if it’s connected to Black Falls somehow—”
“Whoa. Slow down. How do you know about Nora Asher?”
He rolled his eyes. “Facebook. Come on. That was so easy.”
Charlie noticed everyone and everything. Couldn’t be an easy way to live.
A stunning, fair-haired young woman appeared on the walkway down from Myrtle’s car. She was flanked by Secret Service agents. Charlie pulled his sweatshirt hood up over his cap and sank low in his seat. “That’s Marissa. She teaches history here. I told you, didn’t I?”
Very pretty, Grit had to admit. Even prettier than the pictures of her he’d found on the Internet.
Charlie slipped out of the car and ran, as if he were just a regular kid.
Moose slid into the seat Charlie had vacated. “Wow. She’s a knockout. The FBI agent, now the veep’s daughter. Myrtle’s not bad, either. Not so sorry you lived after all, are you?”
“Don’t speak too soon,” Grit said. “The Secret Service is running Myrtle’s tags right now.”
“Not mine,” Myrtle said. “It’s my mother’s car. And who the hell are you talking to?”
Grit grinned at her. “Your mother’s still alive? She must have been born during the War of 1812.”
“Revolutionary War.” Myrtle sighed at him. “Don’t you have PT exercises to do for your leg?”
“Did them. You going to tell me what’s going on?”
“No. My problem. I’ll deal with it.”
“You and the dead Russian?”
“Go to hell, Grit.”
Charlie’s seat was empty again, and Grit pictured Moose bleeding, screaming at him to let the Special Forces medic cut off his leg. He said, “Been there.”
Thirty-Three
Jo took her mug of coffee and followed Melanie Kendall onto the terrace. The snow—half as much as up on the mountain—spread smooth and untouched down across the meadow and into the trees. The sky was clear now, a heart-stopping shade of blue. The police were still processing the scene on Cameron Mountain. As Elijah had anticipated, a search-and-rescue team had arrived soon after Rigby’s first shots into the cabin. They’d heard them on their way up the mountain.
Jo’s sister had been part of that first team to reach them and had treated Devin and helped transport him down to the old logging road and then to the hospital by ambulance. Beth had hardly spoken, but her expression had said everything. Words weren’t necessary to convey just how close she knew Jo, Elijah and the two teenagers had come to getting killed early that morning.
There was much work to do