Well-built doors and windows are the bones of security in a house. Never skimp on them.
—HAMMER GIRL BLOG
The sound of the bedside clock ticking seemed unusually loud. Ellie stirred and threw off the covers, then wiped her damp forehead. She’d been having a nightmare where she ran through a maze with a black Taurus following her. Crazy. Probably from that car she’d seen a few times.
She glanced at the clock and saw it was just after two. She had only been asleep a few minutes, but she was wide awake. Maybe she should get up and make some chamomile tea, do some research while she waited to get drowsy again. Her tummy rumbled too, so there was no going back to sleep for now.
A soft sound she couldn’t identify at first set her nerves jangling. She sat up and swung her legs to the side of the bed and listened, hardly daring to breathe. The hair rose on the back of her neck, and she clutched her hands together. Surely her panic was a remnant of the nightmare. Then the noise came again, a scraping, sinister sound right outside her window.
She willed her muscles to move. She’d always assumed she would take charge in any situation, and the reality of how fear froze her in place was unwelcome. She swallowed hard and glanced around the room to see what she could use as a weapon.
The heavy brass lamp might work.
She slowed her breathing until the pressure eased in her chest. She could do this. She vaulted to her feet and reached for the table lamp, one her grandmother had given her when she got her own place. She followed the cord down to the outlet and unplugged it, then hefted the base in her hand and made a test arc with it. The balance of it felt good, and the head of it was heavy enough to do some damage.
Was that a knife cutting through the screen? She needed to call for help, but her phone was charging in the kitchen, and she would have to pass the windows in the living room. Moonlight was likely streaming into the space and she’d be seen, but what were her choices? She couldn’t stay cowering in her bedroom.
She tiptoed to the door and eased it open, then slid along the hallway wall to the living room. As she suspected, moonlight poked silvery beams into her great room. From her vantage point she could see the blinking light on her phone. She could race for it and have 911 on the line in moments.
A squeak sounded behind her, and was that a breeze? He must have the window open. She ran back to her bedroom door to see the curtains blowing.
“I’ve already called 911! They’ll be here any minute.”
As if on cue the distant wail of a siren floated in the air followed by the sound of running and the slamming of a car door. She ran back down the hall to the entry and peeked out the door window in time to see a dark car speeding away with no lights.
The black Taurus? Maybe not. It could have been any dark color. Her heart was still in her throat when she went back to her bedroom to examine the window. The screen was sliced open, and the window was up about four inches. She tugged on it, but it refused to budge up or down, which was probably why he hadn’t come on in.
Her phone. She could retrieve it now. She rushed into the kitchen and grabbed it. Her hands shook as she dialed 911 and reported the attempted break-in. The dispatcher had her stay on the line until the deputies arrived, and she was thankful for the connection to a sympathetic person.
While she waited, she checked the locks on the front and back doors, then examined the rest of the windows. Her bedroom window seemed to be the only one that had been disturbed.
The bubble light from the deputy’s car strobed through her front window, and she hurried to unlock the door and step out onto the porch as two officers came up the walk. The kitten wound between her feet, and she scooped her up.
“You had a break-in?” The female deputy was Mac’s good friend Rosa Seymour. In her early thirties, she wore her black hair nearly as short as a man’s, but it suited her high cheekbones and dark-brown eyes. Few women looked good in law enforcement uniforms, but the tucked-in shirt accentuated Rosa’s slim curves. She’d been married several years to one of Jason’s buddies, and they had no children, which was probably a good thing with all her odd hours.
“Oh, Rosa, thank goodness you’re here. I didn’t see the intruder—well, would-be intruder—but he slit the screen and had the window partway up.” Still carrying the kitten, Ellie led Rosa and her partner through the house to her bedroom to show them the damaged window.
Rosa turned to her partner, a blond young man in his early twenties. “Check outside.” He hurried out and Rosa looked around. “Did the intruder awaken you?”
“I think so.” Ellie told her about the nightmare and waking up in a sweat. “I saw a car without its lights on pull away. It looked like it might have been black or some other dark color.”
“So it might have been the driver of the black Taurus?”
“I’m not sure. I can’t tell car models very well, and it was dark. It could have been the black Taurus that ran me off the road this morning.”
Rosa jotted something in her notebook. “I can check on black Tauruses in the area.”
Her partner shouted through the window. “Better see this, Rosa. Footprints out here. Big ones. A man for sure.”
Ellie’s gut clenched. Could it be Mac’s attacker? But even if it was, why would he be targeting her now?
Grayson had woken up at six, wide awake and ready to see Trafford. By the time he worked out with an exercise band, showered, and grabbed coffee and an egg sandwich on the way, it was eight. The Coast Guard boat cruised toward the dock where he waited, inhaling the familiar scent of seawater and diesel fuel. He’d familiarized himself with Trafford’s appearance and stood off to one side as the crewmen took care of final docking and disembarked.
There he was. Trafford was whistling as he walked jauntily down the pier. According to his records his mother had been born in Turkey. Trafford had been born in the US. There were no flags on his record about radicalization, either online or from a visit to the Middle East. As far as Grayson could tell, he’d never been out of the country. His parents lived in Ohio after his father retired from the navy. A good military family didn’t mean this guy was lily white, though.
As Trafford started past him, Grayson stepped out of the shadows. “Lieutenant Trafford, I’m an investigator with the CGIS. Grayson Bradshaw. I’d like to speak with you.”
Trafford stopped and looked him over with dark eyes. His olive complexion looked yellow in the glare of lights overhead. “Intelligence officer? What’s this about?”
Grayson didn’t like the lack of respect in the guy’s tone. “It’s just routine.” He jerked his head toward the parking lot. “I’d suggest we take this discussion to a private location.”
Trafford glanced around and saw they had the attention of several other crewmen. He muttered to himself as he followed Grayson, but Grayson couldn’t make out anything except the man was irritated at the interruption. They reached Grayson’s SUV in the parking lot, and he unlocked it with the key fob, then slid behind the wheel while Trafford went around the front of the vehicle and climbed into the passenger seat.
“I’ve been out all night, Bradshaw, and I’d like to get to bed, sir. Can this wait until I’ve had some sleep?”
At least he’d thrown in a sir. “I’m afraid it can’t, Lieutenant, but it won’t take long.” Grayson eyed him.
About six feet tall, he obviously worked out and prided himself on the biceps bulging under his blue uniform. His insolent manner rankled Grayson, and he could see why the guy had racked up some disciplinary action.
The man’s overpowering cologne reeked and gave Grayson a sudden headache. He opened his iPad. “You were on the boat that seized a large stash of cocaine about a month ago.”
Trafford straightened and smiled. “Sure was. In fact, I spotted it trying to evade us. It darted into a small inlet, and I just knew there was something illegal on it. Not that my superiors noticed my initiative.”
Grayson jotted down Trafford’s answer. “Where was the seizure the last time you saw it?”
Trafford frowned. “What are you talking about? It’s in the secure hangar where it’s always been.”
Grayson had a hard time believing Trafford wouldn’t have heard of the cocaine’s disappearance, but maybe scuttlebutt didn’t travel here as fast as it did at other stations, and he had been out to sea. “It’s missing.”
“All of it?”
“Yep. A pallet of Styrofoam blocks was left in its place. Someone knew what it looked like and planned it well.”
Trafford snorted. “And you think I’m involved somehow?”
“Just gathering information. Did you hear anyone talking about how easy it would be to take it?”
“If I had, I would have turned him in.”
The guy was saying all the right things, but Grayson sniffed something else under his denials. “A man could do a lot with that kind of money.”
“I wouldn’t know.” Trafford yawned. “Look, is that all, sir? I want to get some sleep.”
“Did Mackenzie Blackmore question you about the seizure?”
Trafford blinked and pushed his cap back off his forehead. “What’s Mackenzie got to do with this?”
“We have information she may have been involved in the cocaine’s disappearance.”
He scowled. “Look, that’s total garbage. What kind of information? She wouldn’t even begin to know how to do something like that. Just go talk to her.”
So he hadn’t heard that news either. “Her sister arrived to go to dinner for Ms. Blackmore’s birthday and found a large amount of blood on her ship. There was no sign of a body.”
The color leached out of his face. “I-I don’t know what to say. She’s a nice girl.”
“What happened between you two?”
“That’s none of your business. Sir.”
Poor guy had been caught off guard. Grayson’s initial dislike softened a bit. “It is when it might affect property seized by the Coast Guard.”
Trafford’s dark eyes flashed, but he shrugged. “She broke up with me about a couple of weeks ago.”
“Why?”
Trafford shrugged. “Jealousy, I guess. Every time I so much as talked to another woman, she got all bent out of shape.”
“Did you try to talk her out of it?”
“Heck no. If a woman doesn’t want to be with me, I don’t want her.”
“Did you ever talk about the cocaine seizure with her?”
Trafford chewed on a thumb hangnail. “Well, yeah, just general stuff. Like the weight and likely street value. We were all pretty elated, you know?”
Grayson did know. Victory was meant to be shared. “Did she know where it was stored?”
Trafford fell silent as he looked out the window for a moment before meeting Grayson’s gaze. “I sneaked her in one night and showed it to her.”
Grayson curled his left hand into a fist. Just great. “Did she say anything to you about EMP bombs?”
“Good grief, that’s a random question. No, she didn’t mention bombs of any kind. I can’t see her having any interest in that kind of thing.” Trafford yawned again. “I’m beat, sir.”
“You can go.”
He didn’t want to tell Ellie her sister’s guilt was looking more and more likely.