Flynn (Oath of Honor #8)

Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

“What was that about?” Taylor eyed Flynn curiously after he ended his call.

“Looks like money might be the underlying motive for all this.” He grimaced. “Gabe found another company that is owned by Investments, Inc. A firm called Financial Plus is also owned by the same company that owns the house on Peabody Lake. And that same company owns the building the bank is using.”

No surprise about money being the motivator. She suspected that was mostly the reason for criminal activity. It hadn’t been the reason for the danger shrouding Sienna and Bailey last month, but their situation was an aberration.

“I hope the rest of the pieces of the puzzle fall into place soon.” She was glad Gabe had found something, but they weren’t any closer to uncovering the person responsible.

“Me too.” Flynn fell silent for a long moment, staring off into space. Despite being his usual supportive self, Taylor sensed Flynn was intent on keeping his distance from her. As if he regretted their kiss.

Oddly, she missed being in his arms. They were very different people, but she was drawn to him in a way she’d never been drawn to anyone else. At least, not since her last relationship imploded.

Why wasn’t Flynn involved in a relationship? He was a good-looking guy, strong, honorable, and courageously protective. Maybe not as classically handsome as Zeke and Rhy, but she found him very attractive.

An attraction she didn’t want to believe was one-sided.

The sound of a car engine had Flynn leaping to his feet and striding to the door, his gun in hand. He’d moved faster than she could blink, a testament to his determination to keep her safe.

Maybe that was the problem , she thought with a sigh. Maybe Flynn is only interested in keeping her safe. Nothing more.

Sure, he’d kissed her. He was a guy after all. She had one serious boyfriend while in college, and she’d caught him cheating with her best friend. As she watched Flynn greet Cassidy at the door, helping with the groceries, she couldn’t imagine him doing such a thing.

“It’s snowing,” Cassidy announced as she came inside. “Just flurries at this point, but the temperature must have dropped ten degrees since we got here.”

“We’d better tune into the news,” Flynn said. “Things have been happening so fast that I didn’t even realize snow was possible.”

“I listened to the radio in the car, and they mentioned we should expect snow flurries tonight. They aren’t predicting a lot of precipitation, but you know how it goes.” Cassidy flashed a smile. “They’re wrong at least half the time. We could easily wake up tomorrow to twelve inches of snow.”

Flynn shrugged as he unpacked groceries. “Doesn’t much matter, as we’re not going anywhere.”

“We hope,” Cassidy murmured, just loud enough for her to hear.

Taylor silently echoed that thought. She rose to peer out the window. The soft snowflakes were pretty, clinging to the tree branches and blades of grass. The first snow of the year was always the most beautiful with everything clean and white.

“I bought all the ingredients to make shrimp stir-fry for dinner,” Cassidy said. “I like to cook, but after today, I thought it would be better to make something quick and easy.”

“Great,” Flynn said. “Quick and easy for me is fast food or pizza.”

“As evidenced by the zillions of food wrappers strewn around your car,” Taylor teased as she came into the kitchen.

Flynn winced at that but knew better than to argue since she was only speaking the truth. “Maybe, but shrimp stir-fry sounds delicious.”

She stood at the counter. “What can I do to help?”

“Cut veggies,” Cassidy said. “I can handle the rest.”

When Flynn finished putting the groceries away, Taylor removed the veggies from the fridge and began chopping. She frowned when she noticed Flynn shrugging into his coat. “Where are you going?”

“To walk the property.” His expression was serious. “I want to be sure the gunman doesn’t sneak up to use us for target practice the way he did when we were at the City Central Hotel.”

She tried to hide her concern as she nodded. “Okay. But come back soon.”

“I have the disposable phone. Keep yours handy too.” With that, he opened the back door and slipped into the cold.

“Hey, don’t worry,” Cassidy said, when she stood for a moment staring at the door. “Flynn knows what he’s doing. Only the best of the best is given a position on Rhy’s tactical team.”

She smiled at that and resumed chopping veggies. “I get that, but it’s hard to be the person responsible for placing cops like you in danger.”

“That’s our job,” Cassidy said cheerfully. She cleaned the shrimp, then drizzled olive oil in a large frying pan.

“How well do you know Flynn?” Cassidy asked. She’d finished with the broccoli and started in on the cauliflower. “I mean, it’s a little surprising he’s still single.”

Cassidy didn’t say anything for a long minute, making Taylor fear she’d overstepped. She was about to say never mind when Cassidy answered. “I think Flynn has been hurt before, so he’s probably guarding his heart.” Cassidy swept the chopped broccoli together and dropped them into the frying pan. “You should ask Flynn about that, though.”

“Of course. I didn’t mean to pry.” Okay, maybe she had meant to find out more about Flynn, but she didn’t want Cassidy to feel as if she were breaking his confidence. She changed the subject. “That smells delicious.”

“It’s nothing fancy.” Cassidy said, adding the chopped cauliflower to the mix. From there she began tossing other ingredients into the pan. Pea pods, water chestnuts, and spices like ginger and soy sauce.

Taylor finished with the veggies, then cleaned off the cutting board. Cassidy added the shrimp last, then began to stir.

Leaving Cassidy to finish dinner, she moved to the closest window to check on Flynn. The only thing she saw were his footprints in the thin layer of snow.

Ten minutes later, he returned, stomping his feet to shake the snow loose and shrugging out of his coat. “Smells great.”

“You’re just in time. Dinner is ready,” Cassidy announced.

“See anything unusual?” Taylor asked as Cassidy set the table.

“Nope. So far, so good.” Flynn rubbed his hands together to warm them up. “Should have gotten gloves and a hat too.”

“Let’s eat.” Cassidy waved a hand to the table. “Flynn, you can say grace.”

It felt strange to sit down to a home-cooked meal. Once they’d all taken their seats, Flynn bowed his head. “Dear Lord, we thank You for this food and for the many ways You have kept us safe in Your care. Amen.”

“Amen,” she and Cassidy echoed.

“Dig in.” Flynn reached for the bowl of rice with enthusiasm, making her wonder if he’d ever even tried to cook a meal for himself. Based on the plethora of fast-food wrappers in his car, she suspected not.

They ate in silence for several minutes. Flynn appeared lost in thought again, no doubt dwelling on the case. Then he glanced at her. “You and Cassidy pick which rooms you want to use. I plan on sleeping on the couch.”

“That’s fine.” Just mentioning sleep made her yawn. Her brain was wired, but her body craved slumber.

When they finished eating, Flynn insisted on cleaning up. She and Cassidy picked their rooms, with Cassidy insisting she take the main bedroom. When she returned to the living room, she’d noticed Flynn was stretched out on the sofa with pillows and blankets he’d found in a closet somewhere and had fallen asleep.

She watched him for a moment, then turned to shut off the lights. She double-checked the door was locked, then went to bed.

But sleep didn’t come easily, despite her fatigue.

Her thoughts whirled around Steve and Robin Miller, their son Max, and her cousin Roman. So much death and destruction over simple greed.

And when she finally drifted off an image flashed in her mind—dollar bills floating down onto their dead bodies like snowflakes falling from the sky.

Flynn slept like a rock for five hours before sitting upright with a jolt. He reached for his gun, glancing around to see what had awoken him.

Then he realized a log had fallen in the fire. Breathing out a sigh of relief, he rose and stretched, feeling better than he had before he’d gotten some sleep. He made the rounds, moving from one window to the next with no additional light other than that from the fire.

The snow was a blessing, as a layer of fresh powder covered everything in sight. The ground outside appeared undisturbed, and he could just barely make out the slight indents from his earlier footprints.

For the first time in what seemed like eons, he felt they were safe. Using Doug Bridge’s sister’s name to secure the rental seemed to have done the trick.

He crossed over to add more wood to the fire, then sank back down on the sofa. After setting his weapon aside, he scrubbed his hands over his face, wishing he could talk with Rhy about the recent information Gabe had provided. And to have his boss check in with Detectives Klem and Irving to see what if anything they’d uncovered.

There was likely a BOLO out on Lyle and Jake Paulson. He hoped the two men would be found alive and not murdered like their older brother.

If this was about laundering dirty money, then why had the brothers’ apartment been ransacked? What could the shooter have been searching for?

Maybe it was as simple as needing personal information on Taylor. So the gunman could find and silence her forever.

The hour was three in the morning, twenty-four hours since he’d rushed to the Miller residence to find Taylor. Twenty-four measly hours, and there had been so many attempts against her that he’d lost count.

He rose and paced, trying to come at the case from other angles. Money laundering was most often the result of illegal activities. Cash from selling drugs, gambling, and the like. But what had caused the guy in charge to have Steve and Robin murdered?

It was possible Steve hadn’t realized his bank was being used to launder money. And that once he’d discovered what was going on, the guy in charge had eliminated Steve and his wife as threats.

But that didn’t explain Roman Paulson’s murder. And the more he thought about that, the more he felt like he was missing something. That there was some key to the case that he was overlooking.

He caught a flash of light through the window. A car? Or someone walking by?

Sweeping his gun off the end table, he moved swiftly toward the window overlooking the street. There were no houses directly across from there, only the wooded area of the park. He’d gone through that portion of Greenland Park earlier so that he knew what the terrain was like.

The snow covering the trees was still intact. Whatever he’d seen hadn’t come from the woods. Most likely he’d caught a glimpse of a car passing by. They were in a regular neighborhood, and there were tire tracks in the snow on the street. More than one vehicle had been past in the time he’d slept.

Relaxing a bit, he watched for several more minutes to convince himself they were fine.

He stretched back out on the sofa, hoping to get a few more hours of sleep. No such luck. After changing cars so many times, they didn’t have the laptop anymore. Maybe he could ask Rhy to send one over later that morning.

Just as he dozed off, he heard a thumping sound that had him jackknifing off the sofa. The sound had been too close for comfort.

Then he saw Taylor walking into the kitchen. She didn’t seem to realize he was awake, as she grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water.

He waited until she was finished to make his presence known. “Hey, are you okay?”

She whirled to face him, her eyes wide. A moment later, she relaxed and nodded. “Sort of. I had a bad dream.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

She shook her head. “No. The dream itself didn’t make any sense. I’m sure the stress of the day brought it on.”

He stayed in the living room, hoping she’d head back to her room. She set her water glass aside, then walked toward him.

He almost took a hasty step back but caught himself. “Have a seat by the fire.”

“Thanks.” She didn’t sit but stood holding her palms toward the flames. “It’s hard to sleep not knowing what the day will bring.”

“The good news is that we’re safe here.” He dropped back onto the sofa. “You still have time to get a few more hours of rest in.”

“Yeah.” She didn’t look away from the fire for a full minute. Then she turned to face him. “Okay, maybe I do want to talk about part of my dream.”

“Let’s hear it.” He was more than willing to be her sounding board.

“Don’t laugh.” She sat in the chair next to the couch. “I saw money raining down on the dead bodies of Steve, Robin, and Roman. I thought Max was dead, too, and ran toward him, but he wasn’t. As I turned away, money still floating down on us from the sky, I saw Detective Irving standing off in the corner of the room, laughing. When I demanded she do something, that she try to help them, she just looked at me like I was pathetic and turned away, her shoulders still shaking with laughter.”

He winced. “I know Irving is a hard case, but I’m sure she wouldn’t really do that.”

Taylor sighed. “Maybe not, but I just had the distinct impression that she couldn’t have cared less about the dead people in the room.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that. Detective Irving wasn’t his favorite person, but he couldn’t use Taylor’s dream as a reason to accuse the woman of being dirty.

“I guess my subconscious knew I didn’t like her and featured her in my dream as a bad guy,” Taylor said. “Although that interview seems like weeks ago.”

“I know.” He smiled at her through the darkness. It wasn’t easy to read her expression, but she looked wistful as she watched the fire. “Try not to worry. We have a lot of people working this case. I’m sure we’ll learn something soon.”

She nodded without saying anything more.

Strangely, the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was almost as if he and Taylor had known each other for months rather than weeks.

She was still too beautiful for the likes of him, but he enjoyed watching her. As long as he didn’t allow himself to get too close.

Close enough to be hurt when she left him once this nightmare was over.

When it appeared as if Taylor wasn’t heading back to her room, he stood and moved to the window. He hadn’t been able to get a full view of the entire yard since he hadn’t gone into the two occupied bedrooms.

But now that Taylor was up and about, he could check the yard outside her windows.

“Did you do this all night?” she asked as he began what he’d started to think of as his window rounds.

“No, I managed to get some sleep.” He flashed her a smile as he moved from the living room to the kitchen. “Just sit tight. This won’t take long.”

She shrugged and turned to continue watching the flames licking at the logs in the fire. He was glad he’d started it, even though he’d put a significant dent in the stack of wood that had been left inside. As he headed down the hall, he made a mental note to bring more wood in later.

Taylor’s room smelled like her, but he forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand. The first window overlooked the neighbor’s home, the one Rhy had mentioned belonged to an elderly couple. He watched for a moment but didn’t catch any movement inside.

Moving to the next window, he could see a broader portion of the backyard. The woodpile was tucked in the left corner of the property.

Seeing nothing alarming, he turned away. Before he could take a step, he paused and looked back out the window. Something was off.

It took him a minute to notice that the dusting of snow on the woodpile was disturbed, as if someone had brushed it off. Frowning, he scanned the ground around the area but didn’t see any footprints.

But this window and the other one from the kitchen only faced the front of the woodpile. Not the back.

Was someone hiding back there?

There was only one way to find out. He quickly turned and headed back to the kitchen to find his coat.

“What’s wrong?” Taylor frowned when he shrugged into his coat and then reached for his gun. “Did you see something?”

He hesitated. “Probably nothing, but where’s your phone? You should keep it handy.”

“It’s charging in my room.” She stood and hurried to grab it.

He waited for her to return before reaching for the door handle.

“I don’t think you’re heading outside for nothing,” she said in a low voice. “At least tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong. I just noticed the snow was missing along the top of the woodpile. Likely animals, like squirrels or raccoons.” He wasn’t sure what sort of wildlife roamed the area, but with the park across the street, he had to assume there were plenty of small game. “I just want to be sure.”

“Okay.” Taylor didn’t look convinced. “If you’re not back in ten minutes, I’m calling 911.”

“Good. But you might want to wake up Cass first. She’s armed and probably would want to back me up to keep you safe.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She waved him off. “Ten minutes.”

He flashed a quick reassuring smile, then stepped out into the chilly night. It was cold enough to see his breath making puffs of steam in the air, and he stood for a moment to listen.

Silence.

Knowing he was making a big deal out of nothing, Flynn carefully crossed the lawn toward the woodpile. As he grew closer, he could see dozens of tiny paw prints in the snow from various animals.

But he could also see how a swath of snow along the top of the pile had been shoved to the side.

And not by a squirrel.

In his mind, he imagined a gloved hand making the movement. The hand slipping across the top of the pile as the person standing there lost his balance.

A chill that had nothing to do with the temperature washed over him. Bringing his weapon up in a ready stance, he crept closer. When he reached the woodpile, he used it for cover as he carefully looked behind it.

No one was there now, but they had been. The ground behind the neatly stacked wood was full of messy prints. Nothing clear enough to see, but several boot prints crossing each other as if the perp had stomped his feet to stay warm.

Someone had been there. And recently. It wasn’t snowing now, and it was obvious there wasn’t any fresh snow covering the messy prints.

Flynn slowly turned, sweeping his gaze across the ground. Whoever had been out there hadn’t crossed the lawn to get closer to the house.

So where was he?

A flash of movement from behind the garage caught his eye. He quickly turned in that direction in time to see a dark shape lift what appeared to be a gun.

“Stop! Police!” He hoped the guy would drop the gun, but he didn’t. Even worse, the tip of the muzzle turned toward him. He was about to shout no when the guy fired at him.

Flynn dove to the ground, rolled over, and returned fire. He sent three rounds toward the perp; at least two of them appeared to strike the guy center mass.

The dark shape fell back against the garage, then slid to the ground. Flynn quickly raced forward, silently praying he hadn’t killed him.

Partially because he’d never been forced to take a life, but even more so because they needed answers. He desperately wanted to know who had hired him to kill Taylor and why!

As he approached the fallen man, he noticed the guy was larger than he’d anticipated. Thicker around the middle than the stats he’d read on the mug shot of Nickoli Yurgis.

Kicking the gun away from the man’s outstretched hand, Flynn lowered himself to a crouch beside the victim. With caution, in case the guy was going to make a move for the gun, he felt for a pulse.

To his surprise, he clearly felt the beat of the perp’s heart beneath his fingertips. He was alive!

He was about to reach for his phone when Cassidy ran toward him, her weapon in hand. “What happened?”

“He shot at me, so I returned fire.” He glanced up at her. “Did you tell Taylor to call 911?”

“Yes.” Cassidy’s attention was focused on the victim. “You have a pulse?”

“Yeah.” He holstered his weapon and pulled off his coat. He balled it up and pressed it against the guy’s chest where the bullets had struck him. “I’ll hold pressure; you take his mask off.”

“I don’t see any blood,” Cassidy said as she crouched beside him. “Are you sure you hit him? Maybe he was just grazed enough to be rendered unconscious.”

“Positive.” Although now that she mentioned it, he didn’t see any blood either. The man groaned. “Hey, wake up! Are you hit? Wake up?”

The guy didn’t respond.

Flynn felt along the front of the man’s coat until his fingers found the holes in the coat made by the bullets he’d fired. But he also felt something else.

A thick layer of Kevlar.

“He’s wearing a vest!” A sinking feeling hit hard as Flynn grabbed the lower edge of the man’s black face mask, pulling it up and off in one smooth movement.

His jaw went slack when he recognized the shooter’s face. Taylor’s dream was half right , he thought grimly.

The bad guy wasn’t Detective Irving, but the larger and more affable Detective Klem.

He’d shot a fellow cop.