Cold Pursuit - Carla Neggers [59]
“Maybe whoever it was didn’t hear the commotion outside and thought Bruni blew off their meeting.”
“I suppose it’s possible, but the news is out now.”
“Would you come forward, or would you fade quietly into the woodwork?”
“I’m not the fading-into-the-woodwork type.”
“If you were,” Grit said.
“I don’t know. Doesn’t matter what I’d do. The FBI and Washington PD are conducting a joint investigation.” Myrtle sat back, her eyes catching more of the light and turning back to lavender. “But it’s not like the hotel has a sign-up sheet for people who walk in off the street. A hotel guest would get asked his room number, but that’s a dead end so far. Interesting, isn’t it? My take—whoever was meeting Bruni doesn’t want to come forward.”
“Could be for political, personal or professional reasons—someone who wants to keep a low profile.” Grit sipped some of his scotch. He was careful about booze. It’d be too easy to dive into a bottle, even with Moose right there. Maybe especially with Moose right there. “There are endless possibilities. What if it wasn’t a breakfast meeting? What if the breakfast was a setup? There was no one waiting—it was just to get him here at a particular time so the car could be there and bounce him into oblivion.”
“You’ve got a twisted mind, Petty Officer Taylor.”
Grit shrugged. “I’m not a pro. The cops will have a dozen other possibilities by now.” He swirled the ice and booze in his glass. “What if he was going to someone’s hotel room?”
Myrtle slanted a sharp look at him. “A woman?”
Grit shrugged, noncommittal. “I suppose it’s possible.”
“But a long shot, even if his wife was out of the country. They seemed happy together.”
“What about the ex-wife?”
“She moved to Seattle. They have two grown sons out there.”
“The new wife’s ex-husband?” Grit asked, just to see how Myrtle would respond.
“They’ve stayed friends—they’re ‘evolved.’ It’s easier on the daughter.”
“How’s she taking the news, do you know?”
Myrtle gave him an openly suspicious look. “No. Why? Is there something I should know?” She leaned forward again, her eyes like purple-tinted onyx now. “There is, isn’t there?”
“It’s a good thing you’re on our side.”
“I’m not on anyone’s side. I just want to know what’s going on. I’ve kept quiet in the interest of national security from time to time. Depends. For instance, if I’d had a tip about what you special-ops types were doing when you got your leg blown off, I wouldn’t have told the world. If I found out it was illegal or nefarious, then I’d have had to make a judgment call.”
“Nefarious?” Grit couldn’t hold back a grin. “Come on. Nefarious?”
“Now you’re making me sound like one of those pompous reporters.”
“You are one of those pompous reporters. And I don’t know anything.”
“You’re a good liar, but I’m good at seeing through liars. What’s on your mind, soldier?”
“Not soldier. Technically—”
“I know. Sailor. Don’t start with me on the SEAL thing. Sea, land, air. Navy. I know. I was just trying to be nice.”
“No, you weren’t, but whatever. Is there a chance Bruni’s death is connected to any other hits?”
Myrtle tapped her fingers on the table. “Ah. You do have your ways, Petty Officer Taylor.”
“You know, just because you found out I’m a SEAL doesn’t mean you have to get formal. Grit’s fine.”
“All right, Grit. What do you know? Some of your old SEAL pals are HRT, counterterrorism, spooks, right?”
He didn’t answer.
“How come you’re not?”
He shrugged and didn’t answer.
“The leg?”
Moose gave another low whistle next to him. “She doesn’t let up. If she were thirty years younger, you’d be in love.”
Grit sighed. “Just shut up, will you?” But Myrtle’s eyebrows went up, and he smiled at her. “Not you.”
Her expression softened. “Human frailty can be hard to take, but we all bump up against it at some point. I’m dying with my boots on. I have friends on Captiva Island, friends in Puerto Vallarta, one very good friend in Nova Scotia. Not me. I’m staying right here in Washington until I say the big good-night.”
“You’ve a flare for drama.”
“Not