Cut and Run (Lucy Kincaid #16) - Allison Brennan Page 0,64
was grateful he changed the subject.
“I met with Grant this morning and he lied to me.”
“About?”
“A lie of omission. He knows more than he’s saying. Maybe it’s just that he’s had six weeks in jail thinking about how to get out of the hole he dug for himself.” She told Ryan about the alleged threat against his sister and the subsequent car accident. “His fear appeared real, but I don’t like flying halfway cross-country and having someone attempt to play me. Yet someone tried to kill him, which has me thinking he does know something and whoever ‘they’ are that he mentioned want him silent. He gave me a small lead and Rogan is pursuing it.”
“Where are you?”
“Fredericksburg. I just arrived at the Mills ranch.”
“Alone?”
“Yes,” she said, knowing where he was going.
“If the shooter knew when Grant was leaving the courthouse, they could know that you met with him. They might think you know something.”
“And his attorney? You think they’ll kill both of us?”
“Don’t say that.”
“I promise, if there was a threat then I would have asked David to return from California. Rogan’s helping me.”
“But he’s not with you now.”
“They wanted Stanley Grant dead. Maybe because he reneged on his agreement. Maybe because he knows something about the bad guys that they don’t want the police to know. The detectives were going to have to look at Victoria’s murder again to prepare for trial, and maybe their case would fall apart. They didn’t need a solid case when he pled. And I’ve been thinking about this on the drive up to Fredericksburg—Grant must have known enough details about the murder to be convincing. Which makes me think either he was there during or after the fact or the killer gave him specific information.”
“Or he killed her. Consider that someone close to the victim might not have been happy with his plea change.”
She had, especially after seeing Simon in the court this morning. “I’ve been leaning against his guilt ever since Sean learned that funds he allegedly embezzled weren’t stolen until four days after Victoria’s murder, yet that was his claimed motive—that Victoria found out about the embezzlement and he killed her in the heat of an argument.”
“Are you sure?” Ryan sounded surprised.
“Sean is, and he’s pretty good at deciphering these things.”
“It should be fairly easy to trace.”
“Maybe for a federal agent who has a warrant, but Sean is a private investigator without complete access.”
“Hmm.”
“What are you thinking?”
“Nothing. This is a local case, and my ASAC would have my hide if I got involved. But—unofficially, if Sean wants to talk, he can call me anytime. I know some legal ways to get around some of the legal roadblocks, so to speak. And I worked out of the Dallas office years ago. I might still have some friends there.”
Ryan was the SSA of a white collar crimes unit in New York, promoted last spring after he solved a decade-old art theft and recovered a priceless painting.
“I need to go, I’m already late for my meeting with Grover Mills.”
“Call me when you get back to the hotel.”
“It might be late.”
“Call me.”
“Okay.”
“I love you, Ms. Revere. Be safe.”
“I promise, Agent Maguire.”
She ended the call and smiled at nothing in particular. Her headache had slowly dissipated during her conversation with Ryan. What did that mean? Maybe just hearing his voice … she hadn’t thought much about home, Ryan, or Eve today, but last night they were on her mind … and she suspected they’d be on her mind as she lay awake in her hotel bed tonight.
She walked up to the house. Grover was already on the porch, watching her.
“As beautiful as ever, Maxine,” he said with a sad smile.
She gave him a hug. “It is good to see you, Grover. I wish it was under better circumstances.”
He led her into their spacious yet simply designed home. Like many homes in rural Texas, the rooms were large and the ceilings tall, but the Millses had focused on making their home comfortable and inviting, with many places to sit, built-in bookshelves in virtually every room, and picture windows looking out at wide-open spaces. A picturesque barn stood in the distance, and just from the ring and the setup she suspected there were a dozen horses, now in stalls for the night. A bunkhouse was barely visible beyond the barn. To manage a property of this size they probably had several full-time ranch hands.
“You’ll have to excuse Judith,” Grover said. “She’s resting. These two months have weighed