The Liar

“Come on over and pay us a visit about two a.m.”

She caught the look in his eyes and, understanding, pushed up. “I’m going to take him in awhile—and pass him off to his grandmother. That’ll give me some time in the kitchen whether she wants me there or not.”

She took the baby from Shelby, slipped inside.

“I need a minute,” Forrest told Shelby.

“Sure. Sit down.”

“Kids all right out here for a minute? Clay’s right over there in the vegetable patch playing farmer.”

“He’s got Daddy’s knack for it, and the kids are fine.”

“Then let’s take a walk around front.”

“What is it?”

“Around front,” he repeated, took her arm.

“You’re making me nervous, Forrest, and damn it, I was having a really good day.”

“I’m sorry for that, and sorry to drop this on you on a really good day.”

“Am I in trouble? Does the FBI think—”

“No, it’s nothing like that.” He guided her around the side of the house toward the front yard. Out of sight of the kids, out of earshot. “It’s Privet, the Florida PI.”

“I remember who Privet is,” she said testily. “Did he tell you who his client is, finally?”

“No, and he won’t. He was found dead early this morning, by his secretary.”

“Oh my God. What happened?”

“It looks like he was killed between ten and midnight, and it looks like he was shot with the same gun that killed Warren.”

It shouldn’t come as a shock, she thought, and still it did. “He was murdered?”

“That’s right. Looks like a break-in, or made to look like it. Like a sloppy one. But then you figure—from the report we got from the investigating officers—he was shot at his desk. He had a nine-millimeter in the drawer. There wasn’t any sign he went for it, or put up a fight. Head shot, like Warren, too. Not a contact shot, but close range.”

“Let me take a breath.” She took it bending over, hands on her thighs. “I didn’t like him. He scared me some coming into the house up North the way he did, and following me here. Just . . . lurking. But he left me alone when you told him to.”

“They found pictures he’d taken of you and of Callie in his office, in his files.”

“Callie.”

“Some notes he’d made, an expense account. Not yet paid, and overdue, according to the file. They don’t have the name of the person who hired him to shadow you. The locals are talking to the secretary, and to his associate, but so far nobody seems to know who hired him for this particular job. And there’s no record.”

“Maybe he didn’t have a client. Maybe he lied.”

“Maybe.”

“But . . . you said it looked like a break-in, but wasn’t.”

“The door was forced from the outside, some electronic equipment was missing. His watch, his wallet, the petty cash. Things tossed around some. You might think it was a sloppy break-in. But his personal tablet and laptop, they were gone, too. And it seems the ones at his house aren’t turning up.”

“Someone was in his house, you think?”

“Slicker job there as there’s no sign of forced entry at all. But anything to do with this case of his, except for those pictures, some notes and expenses, they’re gone.”

She straightened. Her face still felt too hot, her head too light, but she knew how to follow basic logic. “You think what happened to him goes back to that damn robbery in Florida.”

“I do, as he brought it and the finder’s fee up to me when I advised him to move on.”

“So back to Richard—or to Harlow, now. Harlow escaped from prison, and he probably had a new identity somewhere. He hired the detective to help him find Richard. But he found me and Callie. Only me and Callie because Richard was already gone. He came here, and he saw his other partner. She’d turned on him, so he killed her.”

“We know he was here. You saw him yourself.”

“The detective either thought Harlow was really a client, or was working with him. Doesn’t matter much, I guess, which it was now. But he probably let Harlow into the office, sat there talking to him.”

“And either Harlow didn’t like what he heard, or he figured Privet as a loose end. He cut it off, staged a break-in, took what he needed—whatever he felt might link him—took a few valuables, some cash, and took off.”

“He can’t think I’m a loose end, Forrest. He stole all that information so he knows I’m not just broke but in debt. If he’s still looking for those millions, he knows I can’t tell him where they are.”

“I don’t know why he’d come back here, but I want you to keep being careful. He’s killed two people now. Miami’s going to keep us updated—professional courtesy. The feds will put an oar in, I expect. The damn thing is, Shelby, they can’t find anybody who’s seen hide nor hair of this guy except you.”

“He let me see him.”

“That’s right.”

She glanced toward the backyard, where the children played and her older brother tended the vegetable garden. “I can’t run, Forrest. I’ve got nowhere to go, and it has to be safer for Callie here than anywhere else. I’ve got nothing for this man. I have to believe he was just—like you said—taking care of a loose end. It’s horrible, but that’s what he did.”

“That’s what it looks like. Don’t go anywhere without your phone.”