Exposed Page 13

  “Oh. Didn’t sit too well with Little Miss Sassy?”

  “It wasn’t so much that he was gay. It was more how she found out.”

  Castello didn’t say anything, just waited for her to continue.

  “She caught them together at one of her fashion shows in New York. She was new on the scene, and the whole incident made a magazine or two. Kind of humiliated her, and she hasn’t really forgiven him for that, more than his choice of partners.”

  “Aha.”

  What else could he say? Humiliation was probably tougher for most people to get over than anything.

  Once more, he took up his position by the window to watch the street for any movement or traffic. Nothing. Good thing about small towns. They tended to shut down after dark, even on a weekend.

  A few minutes later, Jontae came in carrying a floral-patterned duffle bag. “All set.”

  “Got a mobile phone?” he asked, leaving his post with his hand held out.

  “Doesn’t everyone?” She pulled it out of her back pocket, handing it to him. “Why?”

  “When you get to Glenn’s house, you text this number and leave the message, the hummingbird is caged. We’ll know you made it safe and sound.” He plugged his number into her phone.

  “The hummingbird is caged? I’m the hummingbird, right?”

  “Right.”

  She grinned at Sydney. “I’m kinda liking this spy stuff.”

  “If you need anything, or anyone suspicious approaches you, call this number,” he said, getting her attention once more. “Only call it in an emergency, or if you feel threatened. Say the words Go Blue, nothing else. I’ll know it’s you and get help to your location. Got it?” he asked, before handing her phone back to her.

  “Got it. Go Blue because it’s not something most Ohio residents would say?”

  “No respecting OSU fan would mention a Michigan cheer. Your code for you’re in trouble.”

  “She could just call me,” Sydney said. She’d gathered up her laptop, tote and purse.

  “No, she can’t. Give me yours.” He held out his hand.

  “Why?” she asked, even as she slipped the phone onto his palm.

  He took off the case, flipped it over and opened the back.

  “Wait! What are you doing?” she said, trying to grab it from him.

  He shifted sideways to block her efforts. “Taking out the battery,” he said as he did so.

  “Why?”

  “Because, even if you turn off the GPS and turn off the phone, the authorities can turn the phone back on through your provider, and the GPS as well. They can even listen to what you’re talking about, if the phone is in the room.” He closed the phone and handed it back to her, pocketing the battery in his jacket.

  “That’s scary,” Jontae said, staring at him with big, brown eyes.

  “That the government can use your phone to track you or listen to you covertly?” he asked.

  “That, too, but what’s really scary is that you know all that.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Why are we stopping here?” Sydney asked quietly, as they walked into the drug store. They’d followed Jontae out of her neighborhood, then stayed on the regular roads while her friend headed onto the outer belt. Once she found the interstate heading south, she’d be safe and away from this whole mess. “I thought you said we had to get somewhere safe in case we’re being followed or tracked?”

  “We need something,” Frank said, not waiting for her. A man on a mission.

  “Such as?” She grabbed a little basket and hurried her stride to keep up with his. Damn, the man had long legs.

  “This.”

  He stopped in front of the wall near the photo processing center. Turning, she saw a section of pre-paid cell phones.

  “Thought you might want to try and contact your brother again. A burner phone is the safest way to do that. No one can trace it back to you.”

  Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back. Damn the man. Even though he’d made it perfectly clear that he didn’t like how her brother treated her, he also knew it was important to her to try and find him. Here he was making it possible.

  “Thank you.” She reached for one, then paused. “Which one should I get?”

  “Any of these three,” he said, pointing them out. “Whichever one you want. They’re all about the same in function and price.”

  She leaned closer to him, so no one close by could hear her. Jeez, she was becoming just as paranoid as him. “You’re sure no one can trace my location with it?”

  He moved so he was whispering in her ear, the heat of his breath sending shivers coursing over her skin. “None of these have GPS tracking on them. They just function as phones.”

  For a moment, she stared at her choices, but in the end picked the one that resembled her old phone a little. At least, she’d be looking for the same rectangular black object when she needed to find it.

  Once she made her decision, he selected a car charger made for that phone. Grasping her by the elbow, he steered her away from the front checkout down an aisle of vitamins and over-the-counter meds, instead. This time his stride was slower, with a slight limp, and she no longer felt like she had to run to keep up with him.

  “What are we getting now?” she asked.

  “Ibuprophen.”

  Instinctively, she glanced down at his thigh. “Oh, for your leg. I didn’t even think to get any pain killers from Jontae.” Snatching a hundred-count bottle, she added it to her basket with the phone. Then she saw some antibiotic cream and large bandages at the end of the aisle. “Let’s get some of this, too.”

  “Good idea,” he said, as his gaze went to the ceiling.

  Following his line of sight, she saw the rounded mirror reflecting the aisle behind them. He was checking to see if anyone was stalking them. She leaned in close. “See anyone?”

  “Nothing obvious.” Grasping her free hand, he led her into the next aisle, stopping and looking into the mirror once more.

  She glanced around where they’d stopped and snorted a laugh.

  “What?” he asked, drawing his brows down in complete puzzlement.

  “Really? The senior incontinence aisle?”

  He scanned the products lining both sides of the aisle, shook his head, and grabbed her hand again. “I think it’s safe to go to the checkout,” he said, the corner of his lips lifting slightly and his cheeks a little bit pink.

  As she stood beside him at the counter and waited patiently for the older gentleman to check out their items, she stared out the plate-glass window at the neon sign advertising all the shops in the strip mall. The largest on top was for the pharmacy, but the one two levels down caught her eye. A camera store. Maybe she could replace her darkroom supplies and equipment?

  “Do we have a few minutes before we have to leave?” she asked, leaning close to Castello.

  “Why?”

  She nodded at the sign.

  He glanced up and shook his head. “We don’t have time,” he said, his mouth set in a thin line of determination. “Besides it probably isn’t still open this late.”

  A spark of resentment shot through her. They’d had time to get a phone because he’d dismantled hers, but to let her go in the tiny camera shop for a few minutes was out of the question? She hadn’t let a man tell her what she could or couldn’t do since she dumped her overly-possessive, nerdy boyfriend her sophomore year of college. Usually, she’d just walk over whether he believed she should or not.

  But this isn’t usual. Someone’s trying to kill us.

  She managed to hold her tongue until they were in the Cadillac and back on the road once more, with Castello still driving while checking every few seconds to see if anyone was following them.

  “Why did you want to risk your life to go into the camera store?” he asked, beating her to the punch and deflating a little of her irritation with his question. After all, getting pissy about his refusal for a quick stop when he’d just mentioned t
he words risk your life sounded childish at this point.

  She heaved a sigh. “It was a stupid suggestion considering all that’s happened in the last two days. You’re right.”

  Without breaking his scanning process, he reached over, turned her hand palm upwards and laid his on top, holding it firmly. The warmth of his hand soothed her ire even more than his words had. “It’s not about me being right or you being wrong. I want to understand why you wanted to go there, at this time.”

  How did she explain her love of camera stores, the process of photography—both in the taking of pictures and the creating the images afterwards?

  “When I was about five years old, my dad took me to Kuznicki’s photography, a very quaint camera store in New York that had been in the same building since almost the turn of the twentieth century,” she said, drifting back to the wonder of entering the old brick building. “The shelves were lined with all these fancy thirty-five millimeter cameras and lenses, but what really caught my attention were the antique cameras locked inside these tall glass display cabinets. Behind each camera was a framed image made by that camera. They fascinated me.”

  She searched through her bag and brought out a mint, unwrapped it with nervous fingers, slid it in her mouth, then settled her hand in his once more.

  Frank squeezed her hand, encouraging her to continue her story.

  “While Dad was busy talking with a repairman about the camera he’d brought in to be fixed, Mr. Kuznicki came over and explained to me the different cameras and how they worked. He gave me an entire history lesson of cameras, and how they were used in history.” She smiled at the memory. “Then he opened the case and took out this old Rollieflex. The kind you had to hold at your waist and look at the view finder from the top. He loaded it with film and showed me how to focus and snap a picture. He let me take pictures of the store, the people inside, whatever I wanted. It was magical.”

  “I bet it was,” Frank said, no teasing in his voice, just understanding.

  “When Dad went back to pick up his camera I begged to go along. When we arrived, Mr. Kuznicki was waiting for me with a little package. Inside, were all the black and white pictures I’d made. From that moment on, I was hooked. Not only in photography, but being inside camera equipment stores, the older the better. I know it sounds silly, but there’s something comforting in them for me.”

  “Nope.”

  “Nope, what?”

  “It’s not silly. You sound just like Katie or Abigail when they talk about being inside a bookstore.” He gave her a quick smile, squeezed her hand again then released it to turn the corner. “Why don’t you open up that cell phone?”

  And the cozy, past-life confession period was over.

  Shaking her head, she pulled the phone out of the bag and tried to rip open the plastic packaging. “Crap. I know they’re worried about people stealing these things, but do they have to make them so freaking impossible to open?”

  “Try this,” Frank said, pulling a Leatherman utility knife out of his jeans’ pocket and handing it to her.

  “Thanks.” She found the scissors attachment and cut open the package. Repeating the effort on the charger package, she opened it and handed the tool back to him. Once she had the phone connected to the charger and the charger plugged into the car’s cigarette lighter, she activated it and selected the dial option. Then froze.

  “I don’t know how to call him. I mean, I know how to use the phone. I just don’t know the number.” Damn, she sounded like a ninny. “I should know his number. He’s my only living blood relative. But who memorizes numbers anymore?”

  “Here.” Frank pulled to the side of the road and handed her his phone. “I copied it down earlier.”

  “Thanks.”

  After she tapped the number into her new phone and handed his back, she added the phone number to her contact list, making Ian a profile. Frank’s hand settled on hers once more, keeping her from dialing Ian’s number.

  “What?”

  “If it goes to voice mail, don’t leave a message,” he said, his dark eyes intense even in the dim light from the street post. “If he’s dodging your phone calls, we don’t want him knowing this is you trying to get through to him with this number.”

  She started to protest, to defend her brother, but stopped when Frank squeezed her hand.

  “And if someone is trying to find you, knows Ian’s your brother, we don’t want them getting this new number for you.”

  Huffing out a sigh, she nodded. “You know it was probably easier to hide in plain sight before cell phones were created.”

  “You have no idea,” he said with a derisive laugh, let go of her hand and pulled back onto the road.

  “I’m beginning to understand just how difficult your job protecting witnesses must be,” she said, hitting the dial button.

  It didn’t even dial before Ian’s voice came through.

  “This is Ian. You know what to do. Name and number, I’ll call back…maybe.”

  She hit the disconnect button before the beep. “Straight to voice mail.”

  “He’s either got his phone off, or the battery’s dead.”

  “Which means, either way he doesn’t want to talk to me,” she said, a spark of anger at her brother hitting her hard. Turning her suddenly hot face to lay on the cool glass of the car window, she stared out into the dark night.

  Thankfully, Castello refrained from giving her any kind of comforting platitudes. And why should he? Hadn’t he been negative about Ian from the beginning? Hadn’t he realized her brother’s thoughtlessness after just one day? At least Jontae had years of witnessing Ian’s behavior to make a judgement call. The Marshal had less than twenty-four hours to judge him.

  But apparently, he’d been right.

  They pulled into the drive of the renovated Victorian once more, and parked in back. Grabbing her bags, she was out of the Caddy and on the porch in seconds. A beep sounded from the lock and she jerked open the door. Stopping at the counter, she dropped her bags just as Frank grasped her by the elbow and spun her toward him.

  “Don’t ever do that again.” He practically spit the words at her.

  She blinked, startled at the heat in his voice, trying to pull her arm loose, but he held her tight. “You’re mad? You. Are. Mad? What do you have to be angry about?”

  “You.”

  “Me? What did I do?”

  “Stalked off in a snit without considering your surroundings. You had no idea if someone might’ve followed us, or if someone lay hiding in the bushes, or even inside this house.”

  Oh, hell no. She wasn’t taking this.

  She shoved her finger into his chest. “I wasn’t in a snit like some spoiled debutante. I’m angry. Angry that some mystery person decided to destroy my world, even as far as planning to end my life. I’m angry that my brother is ignoring me, apparently intentionally. And I’m really angry that you were so suspicious of him, you obviously got his number out of my phone without my permission. Probably to have someone in some secret place use special spy technology to find him. Even run background checks on both of us.”

  His lips pressed into a grim line and he eased the grip on her arm slightly.

  I hit a nerve.

  “You did!” She pulled back, and this time he let her go. “You have someone investigating us, invading our privacy. Turning over every little pebble in our lives, don’t you?”

  “Someone blew up your house, Syd.”

  He didn’t even try to deny it.

  She stalked to the other side of the kitchen, putting some space and the island between them. “So you just assumed you had the right to put my life under a microscope? Ian’s, too?”

  “We’d just met. I knew virtually nothing about either of you.” He came around the corner of the counter.

  “So you just assumed we were both criminals?” This time she advanced, narrowing the gap.

  “No,” he said, retreating slightly. “The only thing I assumed was that y
ou were in trouble and needed some help. I also knew I couldn’t protect you from whatever is going on without some information. A starting point.”

  “So you started with my brother?” Taking another step towards him like a lioness hunting prey.

  “Yes. Last night he was the only name I had to work with. He’s a photojournalist who has covered dangerous stories. I needed to know if maybe one of those stories was the trigger for the attack on your home, and now you.”

  Moonlight streaming in through the window beside them showed the anger had left his face. Concern and something else softened his features and deepened his dark eyes as she moved closer. He reached up and stroked the hair from her face, letting his fingers trail down her cheek.

  “You should’ve asked me last night.”

  “You weren’t in any shape to answer questions last night.” He ran his hand up her arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

  “No. I mean you should’ve asked me to go through my phone, my things.”

  A flicker of something shot through his eyes. Guilt?

  “Oh, my God, you went through everything?” Her anger shot back up and she tried to push him away, but this time he held her by both arms. “How could you?”

  “You’re right.”

  His words deflated her anger a little.

  “I’m right?”

  “Yes. I should’ve asked your permission. You weren’t able to give me consent last night and I should’ve waited until you could. I’m so used to dealing with criminals and witnesses who have things to hide that I treated you to the same kind of investigation. You were neither. You were a victim and I stepped over the line.”

  All those words pouring out of a man who usually treated them like something to be hoarded spoke as much to his sincerity as the words themselves.

  “I don’t like being used.”

  “I promise, I wasn’t.”

  “You want to know something about me. Ask. I’ll tell you the truth.” She laid her hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath. Tilting her head up, she stared into those soulful brown eyes. “It’s my life. I want to find out who’s doing this as much, if not more, than you do. Whoever it is, they’re trying to take the control of my life away from me. Don’t you do it, too.”