Cut and Run (Lucy Kincaid #16) - Allison Brennan Page 0,63
kids away because she thought there was some sort of threat to her family. Had she considered going to the police? Maybe she agreed to embezzle the money for someone else … and got cold feet. Sent the kids away with her husband so she could go to the police without fear of them being in danger.
“I want to talk to that bank manager again,” Lucy said. “If he knew Denise Albright, why didn’t he notice that something was amiss?”
“She was a good actress. Or he didn’t want to see anything wrong.” Laura shrugged. “Would he even remember three years later?”
“It doesn’t hurt to talk to him,” Lucy said. “I’m going to take these files home. I don’t understand the financial and accounting stuff as well as you, but I want to look at the Albrights’ personal information and study these pictures in more detail.”
“I’ll review all the client information tomorrow while I’m at the courthouse,” Laura said. “I may have missed something.”
“I doubt it,” Lucy said, “but we’re looking at this in a completely different way now. Is there anyone who has a business that might have been used for criminal activity? Think outside the box.”
“I hate that expression,” Nate said.
Laura laughed. “I know what you’re looking for.”
“We appreciate it.”
“It’s my job. And I hope you’re right and that little boy is alive.”
So did Lucy.
Chapter Sixteen
Max arrived at the Mills home in Fredericksburg that evening, later than planned because of the shooting and her subsequent follow-up with the detective. Stanley Grant was in critical condition and the odds didn’t look good. He hadn’t regained consciousness.
The police had no suspects, but Sean was pretty certain that the shooter had been caught on tape outside the archive building. Maybe the police had already ID’d a suspect and weren’t announcing it. Max hadn’t gotten anything out of Reed today, but she would try again tomorrow. Or she’d go up the ladder. She found that in some jurisdictions she could parlay the media card into information if she talked to the right person. Cops didn’t generally like reporters, but she had a few friends.
Unfortunately, none in San Antonio PD.
Max had a headache, but she couldn’t cancel on the Mills family. Earlier, she’d been looking forward to it—she’d spoken to Grover many times over the last two months. She liked him and appreciated that he’d been close to her grandfather, whom she still missed even though he’d passed away more than a decade ago. Yet, after talking to Simon this morning, she wasn’t sure what to expect.
Grover and Judith Mills lived on a working ranch, over twenty thousand acres and two thousand head of cattle. He was self-made, starting with a dozen head of cattle and two hundred acres he’d bought with a loan from Max’s grandfather. Times were different then, she remembered her grandfather saying. Character mattered. Grover had no collateral, no college education, but he’d had a solid business plan and the skills to achieve it. Fifty years later he was semi-retired, but in Max’s experience true self-made men or women rarely retired.
Her phone rang as she stepped out of the car. Ryan. She winced. She should have called him earlier about the shooting.
“Hello, darling,” she answered.
“Don’t darling me, Maxine.”
She bristled. Yes, she should have called him, but he didn’t have to be short with her.
“It’s been a busy day.”
“Let me explain relationships to you.”
“Do not condescend to me.”
“I just needed to know that you were breathing. Is that difficult?”
“I’m learning to be less independent, Ryan. But this is who I am.”
“You think I want you to be less independent?” He laughed, and she was about to hang up. She didn’t need personal strife during an investigation. “Max, I love you because of who you are. But because I love you, I want to know you’re safe when I hear the man you flew to San Antonio to interview was shot outside the courthouse.”
He was right. “I’m sorry, Ryan.”
“Accepted. Only because I know you don’t say ‘sorry’ if you don’t mean it.”
That was true. She could count on one hand the times she’d told someone she was sorry, and each time she’d been in the wrong and they deserved an apology.
“I am getting used to this. I appreciate your patience.”
“How formal. You’re getting used to being in love, just say it.”
She squirmed. Not because she didn’t love him, but because she wasn’t as comfortable talking about it. She preferred showing her feelings rather than sweet-talking.