“Supervisory Special Agent Elliott thinks otherwise,” he said.
Elliott. Right. The blonde. Claire’s memory was fuzzy. “What time is it?”
He glanced at his watch. “Oh two hundred hours.”
It was after midnight. She didn’t want to be here all night!
She swung her legs over the bed. “I need my clothes.”
“You’re not supposed to leave until the doctor okays it, then I’ll take you home.”
“Then call the doctor. I want to leave now.” She felt like shit, her head pounded, but she was thinking clearly. She couldn’t remember exactly what had happened, though thoughts and images popped in and out of her mind. The river. Mitch. Nelia.
Agent Warren was almost out the door. “Wait,” she said. “My dad.”
“He’s in surgery.”
“How long has it been?”
Warren checked his notepad. “Meg said he went in at about twenty hundred hours last night.”
“Six hours ago? Is that normal? Is something wrong?”
“I’ll call for the nurse. I can’t leave your door. Sit tight, I’ll get someone to answer your questions.”
When he left, Claire rose and paced the room. Her body felt beat up and bruised. The more she moved, the better she felt. She did some stretches, felt dizzy, and sat down on the edge of her bed until it passed.
Steve Donovan had been shot. Claire hadn’t liked him, mostly because he’d hounded her about her father, but she didn’t want him dead. And Frank Lowe-dammit. Wouldn’t the fact that someone had killed Frank Lowe at least give credence to her father’s claim of innocence?
Claire wished that Mitch hadn’t told her about his own father, or why he’d lied to her. She particularly didn’t want to hear about how Mitch thought her father was innocent. How would she know if he lied to her again?
Agent Meg Elliott came into her room. “Cliff told me you were up. How are you feeling?”
“I want to go home.”
“I know. As soon as the doctor clears you, Cliff will take you home and stay with you until we figure out what’s going on.”
The agent was distracted and kept looking at her cell phone and typing messages to someone.
Claire asked, “How’s my father?”
Meg looked up with sympathy. “He’s still in surgery. So far, he’s holding his own.”
“I found out earlier that the coroner’s reports are missing. From fifteen years ago. I have a friend at the morgue who tracked down the pathologist who worked on the bodies. He left right after sentencing, and he has to have been the one to mess with the records. I know who he is, and-”
Meg held up a finger, typed another message, then said, “You’re going to have to leave this investigation to us, Ms. O’Brien.”
“I’m sorry, but you don’t care as much as I do about what happens to my father! With Frank Lowe dead, this might be the only way to prove someone else killed my mother. I have to follow up!”
“Someone tried to kill you tonight. Doesn’t that mean something to you?”
“Someone tried to kill Steve Donovan tonight. Do you think he’d just give up if he were physically able to investigate?”
“He’s a trained federal agent.”
“I’m a trained private investigator.”
“Who was interfering with a federal investigation.”
“It’s not a federal investigation, at least it wasn’t
“I have no one to spare right now. We’ll get to it, Claire, but it’s not our first priority. Finding who shot Steve is my number one concern.”
“What about my dad? He’s facing death.”
“I’m not going to let him out of our custody until we know exactly what’s been going on these last couple days.”
“A lot of good your custody did for Frank Lowe!”
Meg tightened her lips. Claire had crossed a line. “You are not to interfere with my investigation, or I’ll bring you into custody. Do we have an understanding?”
The door opened while Meg was speaking. Claire stared when J.T. Caruso walked in.
J.T. Caruso was one of the three principals who ran Rogan-Caruso Protective Services. Tall, dark, and dangerous in every sense of the word. Claire had only seen him a few times in the office. He worked in the field, usually outside the country. His specialty was rescuing rich kidnap victims from Mexico and other countries south of the border.
“Mr. Caruso,” Claire said, straightening.
“How are you, Claire?”
“I’m fine.”
Meg extended her hand. “J.T. Always a surprise.”
J.T. gave a half smile to Meg, took her hand in both of his. “Megan Elliott. It’s been awhile. If the Bureau has to be involved, I’m glad at least you’re on it. Of course, you weren’t serious about taking one of my employees into custody.”
“If she crosses the line, damn straight I am.”
J.T. raised an eyebrow. “What is the problem?”
Claire spoke. “We’ve tracked down the pathologist who deleted the coroner’s reports on my mother and Chase Taverton. There has to be something odd in the reports if someone went to all the trouble to make them disappear.”
“Jayne told me about Mr. Willis.” J.T. leaned against the wall. “Megan. Allow me to follow up on the pathologist.”
“Dammit, J.T., your ways are not the Bureau’s ways.”
“I’m not a thug.”
“You forget I’ve known you a long time.”
“I forget nothing, Megan.”
Claire would have been more interested in her boss’s past if she wasn’t so worried about what had gone on while she was drugged and sleeping. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll be ready to go first thing in the morning-”
J.T. turned to her. “You’re on leave.”
Claire’s stomach fell. She felt ill. She was going to lose her job.
J.T. turned to Meg. “I heard about Donovan. What else happened? Is the homicide in Isleton related to this?”
Meg shook her head. “I’m always shocked at how you seem to know confidential information as if it’s idle party chatter.”
“What?” Claire said. “What homicide?”
“The police chief’s daughter was stabbed in her living room. No witnesses, nothing to indicate a struggle, but there were some odd findings. Her closet shelves were completely empty, for one. However, our evidence response team found drugs hidden in her bathroom. They couldn’t identify them on-site, so they’ve been sent to the lab for priority testing.”
“Since when do the Feds have jurisdiction over a local homicide?” J.T. asked.
“Since it’s connected to this case. Do you realize that there’ve been no homicides in Isleton-aside from the possibility of Oliver Maddox-in more than a decade? Then tonight Ms. Lane was in the same bar where Frank Lowe most likely drugged Claire, Lowe was killed, and now Ms. Lane? It’s connected somehow, and while the sheriff has technical jurisdiction, one of my men was shot and that makes this my case.”
“I am sorry about Donovan.”
“I know.”
“Lane?” Claire asked. There were only two women in the bar when she was there, an older woman and Lora.
