Cold Pursuit - Carla Neggers [42]
Elijah headed straight to the wooden stairs.
Jo took two gulps of water and followed him up the stairs. She considered saying something about his butt, which looked extremely fine to her, but decided she’d been reckless enough with him for one day.
She stayed behind Elijah as he knocked on a closed door at the top of the stairs. But there was no answer. No surprise, but Jo noticed his hesitation, the tension in his hand as he held it to the door. “Tempted to break in?” she asked calmly.
“I don’t need to. A.J. has the key.”
“Same difference, Elijah. If Devin—”
“Easy, Agent Harper.” He lowered his fist back to his side and turned from the door, face-to-face with her and very close. “You’re getting all excited thinking about slapping me in handcuffs.” He was obviously enjoying himself. “Another time, sweet pea.”
“You used to call me sweet pea at eighteen. I don’t think I liked it then, either.”
“You loved it,” he said with a grin, brushing past her and trotting back down the stairs.
Jo crushed her paper water cup and followed him at a more deliberate pace, her thighs feeling her five-mile run with Beth that morning and her fast trek up and down a decent chunk of Cameron Mountain. Her left side ached from her airsoft bruises—a well-timed reminder of why she was in Vermont in the first place.
Elijah dipped behind the counter and disappeared through an open door into a small back room. Jo tossed her paper cup in a trash can, again thinking about the virtues of a trip to New Zealand. Elijah had fifteen years of military experience that had honed his natural skills as a leader and an independent thinker, but even before he’d joined the army, he’d had a remarkably positive mental attitude. All the Camerons did. They weren’t brooders. She wasn’t afraid of Elijah going off half-cocked, but that didn’t mean he’d do things her way. The past seven months had dealt him a tough hand.
He came out of the back room and set a gray metal box on the counter, then opened it up. “A.J. keeps petty cash in here.” He flipped the box around, allowing Jo to see inside. Index cards, a few dollar bills and change. Then he said, “Three hundred dollars in fives, tens and twenties is unaccounted for.”
“You mean it’s been stolen.”
“Borrowed, stolen—it’s gone. A.J. noticed first thing this morning. Normally he doesn’t check the box every day, especially this time of year when it’s slow, but lately he has been.”
“Because you asked him to keep an eye on Devin. You think he hasn’t told you everything he knows about your father’s death.”
“He hasn’t,” Elijah said. “He skipped work this morning, too. A.J. called me. I checked the café first. Then I headed out to the Whittakers’ place. I didn’t know about Alex Bruni until Vivian Whittaker told me.”
“Did you ask Devin about the missing money when you caught up with him?”
“He said he doesn’t steal.”
“Do you believe him?”
“I believe he’s holding back.” Elijah got still, his eyes half-closed on her. “But so are you.”
Jo let that last comment slide over her and nodded to the box. “The key’s in the lock. No reason to even have a key if you keep it in the lock.”
“I’m sure A.J. will thank you for pointing that out, Jo.”
She stood back from the counter and looked up at a bright red kayak hanging from the ceiling. Why not rent it for tomorrow, go out on the lake before it froze and paddle to her heart’s content? Missing money, two teenagers with problems—why push herself into the middle of whatever was going on with Devin Shay, Nora Asher and the Camerons? Even Alex Bruni’s death in Washington wasn’t her concern.
Elijah shut the cash box. “You need to level with me. Soon.”
Jo’s throat felt tight. Maintaining