Boiling Point (Phoenix, Ltd. Book 2) Page 11

  Zoë ignored his direction and rose to follow. She stopped in the kitchen doorway while he opened the door to two uniformed officers. Was it her imagination, or was there something odd about the way he greeted them? Their handshakes seemed a bit too long under the circumstances, and one even clapped him on the back. When he led them toward the kitchen, she slipped back to join the Prescotts at the table.

  Nick approached and introduced the two cops. “Mr. and Mrs. Prescott, this is Kenny…er…Officer Zolnicki and Officer Swanson of the Lake Forest Police Department.”

  After a few initial questions, Officer Kenny went downstairs with Nick and Lyman, while Officer Swanson stayed in the kitchen to question Marian and Zoë. When he requested specifics about the gunman’s voice and appearance, Zoë gave as detailed a description as she could, but Marian merely uttered single-word answers. Her pallor spoke of exhaustion and shock.

  Concerned for her client’s condition, Zoë interrupted the officer’s note-taking. “This has been very disturbing for Mrs. Prescott. Do you have many more questions?”

  He closed his notebook and tucked it back in his pocket. “I think that’s enough for now. A detective will stop by tomorrow to wrap things up.”

  Because Lyman was still in the basement with Nick and Officer Kenny, Zoë accompanied Marian upstairs and helped her change into casual knit pants and a bell-sleeved sweater that fit over her cast. When she came back, the officers had gone, and Nick and Lyman stood in the kitchen as if neither had any idea what to do next.

  She gently took Lyman’s arm and led him into the foyer. “Why don’t you go upstairs with Marian? I know she’d feel better, and I think you would, too.”

  His eyes held a blank, shell-shocked expression. “Yes. I must go to Marian.” He took a couple of steps toward the stairs.

  “I’ll bring you both something to eat in a little while. How about tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches? That’s what my mother always gave us when we needed comforting.”

  He hesitated and turned with a nod. “That sounds nice.”

  She returned to the kitchen to find Nick leaning over with his head stuck in the refrigerator. “Looking for something?”

  At the sound of her voice he jerked up, banging his head on the top shelf. He drew back with a scowl and rubbed the back of his head. “Do that again and I might have to shoot you—accidentally, of course.”

  She gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Not much fun being surprised like that, is it?”

  He ignored her question and glanced back in the fridge. “I’m starving. There’s nothing like a shoot-out to give a man an appetite.”

  “I wouldn’t call one shot a shoot-out.”

  “Close enough.”

  He found a plastic container of carrot sticks and popped the lid to peer inside. He must have been satisfied because he closed the fridge door and bit the end off a carrot with a loud crunch. Munching away, he followed her to the sink where she washed her hands before starting the Prescott’s supper.

  He leaned one hip against the counter in his usual casual stance and chose another slice of carrot. “You didn’t seem too upset by what happened downstairs.”

  Zoë snagged a dry kitchen towel from the front of the stove. “What did you expect me to do—start screaming?”

  “Most girls would.”

  She turned and crossed her arms to keep from smacking him. “I am neither most nor a girl.” Staring directly into his eyes, she dared him to contradict her. Her adrenaline hadn’t crashed yet from the earlier confrontation, and she wouldn’t mind a fight if Nick kept pushing her.

  After a moment, his body relaxed. “No, I guess you’re not. What I meant to say was you really kept your cool down there.”

  She lifted one brow and dropped her arms to her sides. “Good save.”

  “Good enough to buy me a sandwich and a bowl of soup?”

  She almost laughed at his look of hopeful expectation. “Sure, but I have to warn you, the soup’s coming out of a can. I don’t have it in me to do much more tonight.”

  His cocky expression returned. “I think you can be forgiven, under the circumstances.”

  She gave his shoulder a light punch. “Gee, thanks. Now make yourself useful and see if you can find a couple of trays.”

  While he rummaged through cupboards, she dumped two cans of tomato soup in a pot and started making sandwiches. Nick’s apparently chummy relationship with Officer Kenny had piqued her curiosity. There might be a perfectly reasonable explanation, but it felt like one more wrinkle in his story.

  She gave the soup a casual stir. “You seemed pretty friendly with the officers earlier. Have you met them before?”

  He had his head in a cabinet and didn’t look up. “You could say that. Hugh Swanson and I play on the same hockey team, and Kenny Zolnicki is married to my sister Angela.”

  Ah.

  So, Officer Kenny was Nick’s brother-in-law. His ties to the local police were even closer than she’d imagined. He spent his recreational time with at least one and was related to another. She’d always heard cops were a brotherhood. Apparently, those bonds remained tight even if one left the force or changed cities.

  “So you play hockey.”

  “Uh, huh.”

  “That explains a lot.” Like the battered condition of his nose.

  He pulled his head out of the cabinet and straightened. “Oh?”

  She suppressed a smile and nodded. “Too many pucks to the head.”

  Since the elevator was off-limits until the police evidence techs finished with it, Nick helped her carry the Prescotts’ trays upstairs. Afterward they ate together, largely in silence, at the kitchen table. By eight o’clock Zoë was fighting a serious case of the nods. Lyman and Marian spent the remainder of the evening in their room, and Nick seemed to run out of steam as well. He retired to the garage without any further wise-guy comments, leaving her to turn out the lights, set the alarm, and drag herself up to her room.

  After she washed her face and brushed her teeth, she pulled on her pj’s and slipped into bed with her tablet. She’d received an email from Risa that morning with the results of her search for the identity of the man Marian had met in the garden. With all the excitement, she hadn’t had a chance to read it yet. As soon as she’d powered up, she opened the message.

  Bingo!

  As usual, Risa had hit pay dirt. Zoë read the summary of her findings in the body of the email then opened the first attachment. It was a scanned copy of a seven-year-old newspaper article, including photos of two apparent mug shots. The headline read, “Rogue Cops Sentenced to Ten Years in Drug Scandal.” She held the tablet closer, trying to make out the faces in the grainy photos. One was definitely the man she’d seen earlier with Marian. The article identified him as Jimmy Mahoney, a former Chicago P.D. narcotics officer who had been busted selling dope in an Internal Affairs sting operation.

  The second attachment was a short article from June indicating both former cops had been released on probation after serving six years.

  Zoë set the tablet on her lap. Hadn’t Marian said her ex-husband was named Jimmy and that Lyman considered him a threat?

  She would ask Risa to check public records for a marriage license in the names of Jimmy Mahoney and a woman named Marian, but she was confident her suspicion would prove correct.

  Maybe Lyman was wrong about Victor Watanabe and Ichiro Electronics, and the threats had nothing to do with GRAMPA. Maybe Jimmy Mahoney was behind them all.

  Could he have been the armed man in the basement? She tried to picture the wiry, red-haired man she’d seen yesterday. From her vantage point behind Nick’s back she hadn’t been able to get a good look at the intruder. Everything had happened so fast she couldn’t be sure, but the gunman had appeared to have been about the same height and build as the man in the garden. There hadn’t been any unfamiliar cars near the house, but she’d seen Jimmy Mahoney with a motorcycle the day before. He could have stashed it in the woods and escaped the
way he got in.

  Zoë made a mental note to inspect the grounds for tracks in the morning to see if she could find another entrance point to the property. The police would undoubtedly do their own investigation, but she wasn’t willing to share her suspicions until she had more evidence.

  And then there was the added twist that the intruder hadn’t demanded money, only the plans to GRAMPA. What would Mahoney want with a vegetable-chopping robot? Was his motive simple jealousy, and he wanted to ruin Lyman? Or was there something more?

  The whole puzzle made her head hurt. She set the tablet aside with a yawn, turned off the light, and slid down under the covers. Maybe tomorrow would bring a flash of brilliance. If not, it might be time to consult the boss. Madelyn had an uncanny way of examining the facts of a case and ferreting out the players’ motives.

  ****

  After a visit from Sergeant Lewis and a crime scene technician the following morning, the next two days passed quietly. Marian seemed subdued and spent more time than usual in her room. Lyman worked on GRAMPA’s liquid measuring skills in his workshop, and Nick had taken to patrolling the grounds like a sentry. Since the elevator had been released by the police and was back in service, he had no further excuse to be in the house all day. He still wore his black suit, so a stranger might think he was a servant merely taking a smoke break or a casual stroll, but Zoë knew better.

  To her, he seemed more like a prison guard. She couldn’t decide if his presence was reassuring or disturbing, but she found herself looking for him every time she passed a window. She should have been nervous—knowing he was armed—but strangely, she wasn’t. Whatever Nick was doing at Strathmoor, he’d proven he meant the Prescotts no harm.

  Unfortunately, his new pastime meant Zoë was stuck in the house. He was bound to see her if she searched the grounds for motorcycle tracks or a point of exit Jimmy might have used. She didn’t want to explain herself to Nick, and besides, he would probably laugh at her suspicions and theories.

  Friday morning, over blueberry waffles, Marian reminded Lyman of her doctor’s appointment at eleven o’clock. “I can hardly believe it—only four weeks until the baby’s due.” Her eyes sparkled.

  He squeezed her hand. “The months have flown by, haven’t they?”

  “Until I did this.” She lifted her cast with a glum expression. “I have a feeling these last weeks are going to feel like years.” She sighed and rested her left hand on the napkin-covered mound of her belly. “I’m antsy and tired at the same time, and it’s hard to sleep with this in the way. Sometimes I wish I could take it off and set it aside for a few hours.”

  “It won’t be much longer, my dear.” Lyman hesitated before his brows pinched together in a little frown. “I know I should come to your appointment with you, but I’m at a critical juncture in my work. I don’t suppose you could reschedule for later in the afternoon.”

  Marian’s eyes widened. “You’ve got to be kidding. Dr. Moseby is booked solid for weeks. You stay home and work. I’m sure Zoë can drive me. Besides, there’s nothing for you to do at the doctor’s office but sit and wait. This appointment will only take a few minutes. You can come next time.”

  “I’d rather Dominic drove you. Zoë can go along, too.” His gaze met Zoë’s, and a silent message passed between them. He wanted an armed bodyguard with Marian at all times, and two would be even better. After the incident in the workshop, she couldn’t really blame him.

  She nodded. “I’d be glad to. Maybe Nick can find a nearby coffee shop. I doubt he would enjoy twiddling his thumbs in an obstetrician’s waiting room.”

  Nick looked offended. “Hey, I enjoy a dog-eared copy of Parents magazine as much as the next guy.”

  Marian laughed. “Then you’re in for a treat.”

  “How long does it take to get to your doctor’s office?” he asked.

  “About twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll bring the car around at ten-thirty.”

  Zoë rose and gathered the empty breakfast dishes. After depositing them in the sink, she straightened and glanced out the window. A wintry mix of sleet and snow was rapidly turning the lawn white. The roads would be a nightmare, and the Bentley didn’t have a limited-slip differential or anti-lock brakes. It probably even pre-dated the invention of snow tires.

  She pressed her lips together and considered the alternatives. If this were a normal assignment, she would call Risa to bring one of the Phoenix, Ltd. cars, but there was no way she could explain that to Marian.

  She turned to the group at the table. “The weather is horrible. I think we’d better take the Mini. It’s small, but at least it has all-wheel drive. ”

  Lyman shook his head with a worried frown. “It would be better to cancel the appointment.”

  Nick joined Zoë at the sink and craned his neck to peer out the window. “It doesn’t look that bad. We’ll take my truck. It can handle a little ice and snow, no problem.”

  She hadn’t seen any cars around the estate besides Frankie “No Nose’s” Bentley, so Nick must keep his vehicle in the garage.

  At ten twenty-nine, Zoë waited by the front door for Marian. The elevator rattled and hummed before the door slid open.

  Marian pushed back the brass gate and exited with a grin. “I know I should probably take the stairs for exercise, but this thing is so much fun. I love it! Who would have ever guessed that one day Marian O’Shaunessey would live in a house with an elevator?”

  Nick waited at the bottom of the steps next to a late model dark blue SUV with oversized tires. When Zoë stepped out from under the overhang of the porch, tiny pellets of sleet stung her cheeks and had already coated the stone steps with a lumpy layer of ice. She grabbed the wrought iron railing with one hand, and Marian did the same, but before either could take a step Nick bounded up the stairs and slid one arm around each woman.

  “I’ve got you. Hold on tight.” He maneuvered them both down the steps and into the car.

  He drove with caution, but Zoë was grateful there weren’t many vehicles on the road. The defroster and wipers kept the front windshield clear, but ice was forming on the side windows where the sleet melted when it hit the glass and re-froze before it could run off.

  About three miles from Strathmoor, they reached a long stretch of roadway bordering a marsh. It would have been peaceful and picturesque on a nice day, but today steam rose from the unfrozen water, and ducks huddled together among tall clumps of lifeless cattails. As they passed over a corrugated metal drainage culvert, a noise caught Zoë’s attention, and she swiveled to look out the back window. A pair of black motorcycles with riders crouched low was coming up fast from behind.

  “Nick—”

  He met her glance in the rear view mirror. “I see them.”

  “I think I’ve seen them a couple of times before.” The taut thread in her voice tightened further.

  “What is it?” Marian frowned and tried to turn but was hampered by the bulk of her belly.

  “Just a couple of guys on motorcycles driving too fast for the conditions,” Nick replied. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

  The whine grew louder as the cyclists bore down on the car.

  “What’s the matter with them?” Marian’s confusion had given way to panic. “They’re right next to us!”

  “Hang on.” Nick gripped the wheel and pushed the gas pedal. The SUV began to accelerate away from the motorcycles.

  Marian’s knuckles whitened on the arm rest, and Zoë reached for her purse. She had no idea what the men were after, but if Nick couldn’t outdrive them, she wanted her weapon close. The whine increased until only a pane of glass and a couple of feet separated her from the nearest rider. Her palms began to sweat, and her pulse pounded in her throat. She slipped her hand into her purse and wrapped her fingers around the grip of her Glock.

  Suddenly, one cycle pulled ahead of the other until it was even with the front bumper. Nick jerked the wheel, tapping the first rider. He crashed to the pavement and skid
ded to the side of the road, while his bike bounced end-over-end another twenty feet before coming to a stop. Instead of stopping to check his downed companion, the second biker sped past the wreckage and disappeared down the road.

  The SUV’s momentum had carried it across the center line, but when Nick tried to correct, the vehicle lost traction on the icy road despite its heavy tires and four-wheel drive. Zoë instinctively thrust her arm in front of Marian, who screamed as they spun out of control and plowed into a tree. The airbag exploded in Nick’s face, and the impact threw both women hard against their seatbelts.

  A deep, aching pain arced across Zoë’s chest from the seatbelt digging into her breasts. She dragged her eyes open. Dust particles from the airbag floated in the air, and someone moaned. She coughed. In the front seat, Nick stirred, muttered an epithet, and reached for the clasp of his seatbelt.

  “Is everyone okay?” His raspy voice grated on her ears.

  “I think so. What about you?”

  He rubbed his chest and winced. “I’m going have one helluva a bruise from the airbag, but I think that’s all. I’m just glad the windshield held.”

  Beside her, Marian stirred and moaned.

  The baby!

  Marian’s eyes were closed, and her head leaned back against the headrest. Her hands clutched the sides of her belly as if she were preparing to take a free throw shot. Because the shoulder strap of her seat belt crossed her chest between her breasts, and the lap belt lay snug across her thighs, she shouldn’t have been injured, but her sounds of pain sent fear rocketing through Zoë. She quickly released her seat belt, then Marian’s, and covered Marian’s hand with her own.

  “Marian, look at me. Are you hurt?”

  “The baby.” She moaned, and her hand tightened. “I think it’s coming.” Fear and pain mixed in her blue eyes. “It’s too early.”

  Zoë placed her hand directly on Marian’s belly. It was rock hard. Her chest tightened. “Nick—”

  “On it.” He raised his phone, gave the nine-one-one dispatcher clear, succinct details about their situation and location then ended the call. “The ambulance is on its way.”