As Good as Dead Page 2

  Her gaze moved on to Tim’s two daughters. Heidi, six, and Abby, four, stood in front of Tim’s wife, Susan, looking like princesses in their new spring dresses and shiny white shoes.

  Surrounding the family were scores of friends and acquaintances, many of them in uniform—members of the Sunset Cove police department, the sheriff’s office, the Oregon State Police; even two law enforcement officers from Canada stood at attention. All had come here to pay tribute to her father.

  Her gaze drifted over the crowd as she picked out people she knew. Men like Joe Brady, the chief of police in Sunset Cove and her former boss. Bo Williams, sheriff’s deputy, and Nick Caldwell, police officer and neighbor, who was more family than friend. A reporter from the local paper, Faith Carlson, moved quietly from one place to another, snapping photos at random. Angel wasn’t a fan of reporters, but at the moment she was glad Faith had come. Glad that her father was being given the honor he deserved for his years of service.

  Only one person was missing from this gathering of mourners: Luke, the brother who had disappeared six years ago and broken her parents’ hearts. And hers. Hardly a day went by that she didn’t think of him. Not surprising since he’d bestowed his Corvette on her and every time she got behind the wheel she wondered where he’d gone. Oh, Luke, couldn’t you have at least come for the funeral? What happened to you? Are you on the run? Do we mean so little to you?

  She had hoped he would come after Frank’s heart attack, but he hadn’t. Some part of her believed he’d at least show up for the funeral, but again, no-show.

  Maybe he’s here and you just don’t know it. The thought gave way to another perusal of the cemetery. He could be here incognito, standing along the perimeter. Get real. You’ve been playing cops and robbers too long. Luke isn’t here. If he was, you’d know.

  She lifted her gaze to scan the rest of the cemetery. Standing alone beside a tree some forty feet away was a stocky man with a beard and glasses. Her heart did a somersault. Could that be Luke?

  Of course not, Angel chided herself. The guy didn’t look anything like her brother. But then who was he? A reporter maybe? Well, if he was, he wasn’t holding a notepad or camera.

  Continuing her perusal, Angel spotted a thin, dark-haired man in blue coveralls tending to a series of border plants that surrounded a large grouping of rhododendrons not twenty yards away. The rhodies were in full bloom, a brilliant shade of pink.

  The man caught her gaze and quickly turned back to digging in the dirt. Angel frowned, wondering why a groundskeeper would be working so close to the gravesite. If he is a groundskeeper. He had the shifty look of someone she’d want to question if she were still on active duty with the police force. He in no way resembled Luke, but Angel made a mental note to find out who he was and why he was there.

  Angel reined in her curiosity and her imagination. Frank Delaney’s death had been a tragedy, but certainly not an incident worthy of spies or undercover agents.

  She leaned into Callen, letting his strength seep into her. His arm went around her shoulders. Callen’s tender gaze touched hers for a moment, then shifted back to Tim, who was into the final farewell. As much as she loved her father, Angel wanted this day to be over. Wanted to go home and sleep off the grief, sleep away the sandpaper grittiness in her tear-worn eyes.

  “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. We now commit our beloved Frank Delaney into your hands.”

  After the payers and internment, the mourners drifted away. As they reached their cars, Angel glanced around the cemetery again for some sign of Luke. She wanted to be angry with him for leaving and with her father for dying, but a dulling numbness softened the edges of her resentment, and propriety held her in check. She barely felt the biting wind coming in off the ocean, turning their pleasant spring day into winter again.

  The gardener, she noticed, was still there on one knee, watching them. Faith Carlson came up to them, pulling Angel’s attention away from the man. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said to Anna and the rest of the family. “I’ll be doing a feature on your husband for the paper.”

  “Thank you, Faith. You’re coming to the church too, aren’t you?” Anna asked.

  “Sure.” The reporter glanced at Angel, looking as if she’d rather not attend.

  “It’s at St. Matthews.” Anna ducked into one of the long, black limousines the family was sharing.

  “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” Angel assured Faith.

  The reporter smiled then. “I’ll be there. It’ll give me a chance to talk to some of the people Frank knew.”

  Angel nodded. “Thanks.”

  The reporter turned and headed for her car. Angel scanned the cemetery one last time. The gardener had moved to another spot. The bearded, stocky man she’d seen earlier began to walk down the hill and toward the street, with his head down and collar up against the chilling wind.

  Nick had left the crowd and now jogged toward the stranger. What are you doing, Nick? she wondered. Nick had been Luke’s best friend. Suddenly her heartbeat quickened. Could the bearded man be... Angel brushed the notion aside. The man wasn’t Luke. Maybe Nick knew him from somewhere else.

  You’re making too much out of this, Angel. Luke isn’t coming. And there are no bad guys hiding in the shrubbery either. She pulled her coat more tightly around her and climbed into the limo beside her mother.

  Angel managed to keep her social graces intact as they entered St. Matthews and the reception hall to eat the meal the church women had prepared for them. Several times, between talking with well-wishers and those who wanted to reminisce, Angel glanced around, wondering what had happened to Nick. He’d been in uniform, so maybe he’d gone back to work. He hadn’t said he was going to do that, though. Or maybe he had. She couldn’t remember.

  At around 2:00, the family drifted toward home. Angel moved in robotic form along with the others. The limousines were gone, and she climbed into Callen’s SUV when he opened the door. Her mother rode with Tim and Susan and the girls. They’d congregate at the Delaney house, walk on the beach, talk of old times, maybe play some volleyball, and eventually eat again—all avoiding the moment that would take them each to their own beds, to solitude and their own suffering.

  Once they had been a family of seven. Luke left, and there were six. Pop died, and there were five. Angel couldn’t bear to think about it.

  THREE

  Thomas Sinclair, once known as Luke Delaney, stood on the side of the hill, apart from the throng that hovered around the casket and his brother Tim, who was conducting the funeral service for their father.

  Luke wanted more than anything to close the distance separating them. He longed to hold his family in his arms and comfort them. And be comforted. He swallowed back the painful emotions that clogged his throat.

  It had been six years since he’d been forced to change his identity. Luke had lost himself and carved out a new life, eventually becoming Thomas Sinclair. At the time he felt he’d had no choice but to run. He wondered where the killer was now. Was he still watching? Would he know if Luke Delaney came home just for a short while?

  He warily eyed the gardener, who seemed out of place. The guy had to be for real, though; no tail would be that obvious. The gardener looked nothing like the hit man who’d killed the witness and the bodyguard in that hotel room in Fort Myers—the man who had allowed Luke to live. Still, a lot could change in six years, and at the time the killer had undoubtedly been wearing a disguise.

  Luke shivered as droplets of rain found their way down his neck and into his collar. He couldn’t take the chance—couldn’t even talk to them. The killer had known far too much about him and his family. Suppose the hit man had planted someone here in Sunset Cove to keep watch. That gardener? Someone else?

  How long do I need to hide? I love my family. My father’s gone, and I should be there for them.

  Luke often wished he’d been stronger back then. That he’d gone directly to the DA’s office and told them what ha
d happened. But how could he chance it? If he had, how many of his family members would be dead now? If he had gone to the DA, would they have arrested him on the spot and charged him with the murders?

  The Penghetti brothers should he rotting in jail, maybe even facing execution, but thanks to their hit man and to Luke’s fears, they were still free to operate as though they were a mafia organization out of prohibition days. Only now it was drugs, not alcohol. Luke had heard nothing about the brothers since their case had been dismissed for lack of evidence. He blamed himself for that.

  Luke couldn’t count the number of times he’d thought about going back and setting the record straight, even if it meant his own arrest or death, but there were more complications now than ever. Surfacing as Luke Delaney would not only endanger Angel and the rest of his family, but also his wife and child. Kinsey and Marie. He didn’t know if refusing to disappear would’ve changed things and he never would, because he had no intention of turning himself in now or ever.

  Luke watched the crowd disperse. They’d be going to St. Matthews for food and fellowship. When his mother and sister reached the limos, he turned up his collar and turned his back on the grave and toward the cutting wind coming off the ocean. It was time to go back to what he now called home.

  “Luke?”

  Luke stopped, panic tearing through him. He turned slightly, and his breath came out in a rush as he recognized his best friend. “Nick.” Luke jammed his hands in his pocket and glanced around. They were alone except for the gardener, who was still digging around the plants.

  “I wasn’t sure,” Nick said. “I saw you standing out here by yourself and... I kept telling myself it couldn’t be you, but something told me you’d be here. I knew you couldn’t stay away.”

  Luke closed his eyes, wondering who else had seen through his guise. “Did you tell anyone?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Then forget you’ve seen me. And don’t say anything to anyone.”

  “I can’t do that.” Nick frowned, his eyes full of questions. “Not without some kind of explanation.”

  Luke hesitated and glanced around again. This was a mistake, but he couldn’t put Nick off. “All right. Follow me to my hotel, and we’ll talk.”

  Luke had checked into an older hotel in Lincoln City. He went there now, relieved in a way, but worried too. When he’d first gone into hiding, Nick had been his one confidant. Like the best friend he’d always been, Nick wired him money, paving the way for him to start his new life. Luke had told him only that his life was in danger, nothing else. And he’d cut off all contact with Nick after that. Now he had to weigh carefully how much he could tell his friend and hope Nick wouldn’t feel legally or morally compelled to tell his secret—or worse, arrest him for the shootings in Florida.

  The watcher knelt at the far side of the cemetery, not thirty yards from where the service had been held, digging weeds and letting the moist earth seep into his blue coveralls. The mourners had all left except for the two men by the tree. He knew the cop and strongly suspected the guy with the beard was Luke Delaney. Who else could it be, keeping to himself like that—like some kind of criminal.

  Both men made their way down the hill and got into their respective cars. The watcher brushed the dirt from his knee and hurried to his own vehicle, a rented gray Honda. Following at a safe distance, he pulled a cell phone from his pocket. It rang twice before someone answered.

  “Hello,” came the familiar voice at the other end.

  “He’s here. Just like you said he’d be.”

  “Did he contact anyone?”

  “A cop.”

  “Then you’ll have to kill them both.”

  “That wasn’t part of the deal.” He hauled in a ragged breath. He’d been hired to watch and report, nothing else.

  “There’ll be a bonus in it,” his boss told him.

  “What kind of bonus?” The watcher swallowed hard. He didn’t much like the idea of killing a cop, but if the money was right...

  “Ten thousand.”

  “For two men and one of them a cop? No way.”

  “Fifteen thousand.”

  “Twenty.”

  “All right, but that’s it.”

  “Good,” he said, not wanting to sound too anxious. “How do I get the money?”

  “I’ll Express Mail it as soon as I see the pictures.”

  “I have to take pictures?” He rubbed a hand through his damp hair.

  “Is this too much for you to handle?” The voice came with a warning. “If it is, tell me now, and I’ll do the job myself.”

  “N-no. I’ll handle it.” He hung up, his heart beating so hard he thought it would explode in his chest. He’d never killed anyone before—hadn’t ever intended to. For twenty grand, though, he’d do it. It shouldn’t be too hard.

  He slowed his vehicle as Delaney and the cop pulled into the parking lot at the Sea Captain Motel north of town and almost into Lincoln City.

  To avoid detection the watcher drove past, then made a U-turn and went back. He pulled into the lot and parked at the far end near the second exit and across from the covered pool area. The men had gotten out of their cars and were climbing the outside stairs. Delaney stopped at room 229 and inserted a key.

  Once both men had stepped inside, the watcher grabbed his bag and hurried to the pool building. Pleased to find the door ajar, he went into the men’s restroom to change. The musty smell of mold and chlorine made it hard to breathe. Unzipping the coveralls, he stepped out of them and straightened the shirt and jeans he’d worn underneath. The jeans were still damp at the knees. He stuffed the coveralls into his bag and, after using the facilities, went back to his car. While he waited, he took his .45 out of the glove box and thought about how he’d pull off his assignment. He wouldn’t try to kill both men at once. That would be suicide. He’d have to wait until they separated. As soon as the cop left, he’d follow and take him out first. Then he’d come back for Delaney. With the semiautomatic, he’d get the job done and be out of town in minutes. He’d ditch the rental car after wiping away his prints. It would be a cinch.

  Photos. The boss wants photos. Where was he going to get a camera?

  He remembered seeing a drugstore about a block away. He should have time to go there and get back before the two old friends finished yakking. Much as he hated leaving even for a minute, without a picture of the dead guys the shooting would be pointless. The boss had told him there’d be no money unless he had proof.

  FOUR

  The following Friday, Angel Delaney pulled the last box of clothes from her trunk and headed up the walk to her new home. It wasn’t new exactly; she’d grown up here. But according to the real estate contract sitting on the front seat of her Corvette, it was hers. Yes, she was moving in with her mother, but only because it seemed the thing to do. Besides, with the house now belonging to Angel, it was more like Ma moving in with her.

  “Need some help?” Callen appeared in the doorway, looking more like a carpenter than a cop.

  “Thanks.” Angel handed over the heavy box and kissed his stubbly cheek. He was wearing a white T-shirt and khaki cargo shorts. A leather tool belt hung around his waist. Angel thought he’d make a great model—especially with the sheen of moisture on his muscular arms and legs and the Sheetrock dust in his dark hair.

  Callen had recently remodeled his own home and had offered to make some minor changes that would give Angel and her mother more space and more privacy.

  Angel followed him down the hall to what was now her master bedroom suite, or would be as soon as the remodeling was done. She pulled aside the hanging plastic drop cloths meant to protect the rest of the house from dust. Not that it did anything of the sort.

  Callen set the box next to the others on the newly carpeted floor. She thanked him again and walked over to where a portion of the old house had been removed. “It’s coming along. I can hardly remember what it used to look like.”

  “Like three sma
ll bedrooms coming off the hallway.” Callen chuckled. “Your brothers are mourning the loss of their rooms, but they’ll get over it.”

  “They’ll have to. Besides, I don’t feel too sorry for them. It was their idea.”

  Callen came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Well, I had a little input. After all, one of these days you’ll marry me. We’ll probably live here and...” He paused to kiss her neck. “I thought it should be the kind of place we’d both enjoy.”

  “Ulterior motives, huh?” She leaned back against him.

  “You’d better believe it.” He rested his chin on her head, and they both looked out at the ocean. “This place has a great view. Almost as good as mine.”

  “Hmm. Pretty soon I’ll be able to lie on my bed and watch the waves. Have I thanked you yet?”

  “A few times.”

  Angel thought back to when her mother had asked Angel to move in with her, the day after Frank had died. Her brothers and Callen had huddled with her and Anna, talking about what they planned to do with the place and how they would handle the finances. Angel had been surprised to learn that her father’s will stipulated she be given full ownership of the house and that Anna would continue to live there. It had been a manipulative ploy on his part. Before his death, he’d asked Angel to take care of her mother, and this was his way of making sure it happened. Angel could have refused and actually did object, saying her brothers should have a share. Tim, Peter, and Paul argued that they didn’t want or need anything. They finally agreed that if and when they ever decided to sell the house, Angel could share the profits with them. They also agreed to let Angel pay them back for the money they put into remodeling, if and when she had the money to do so.

  Normally, Angel would have balked at being so blatantly manipulated by the men in her life. But she really did love the house and felt good about being there for her mother. The arrangement seemed the perfect solution, since Angel could no longer afford to live in her ocean view apartment. She’d been a police officer with Sunset Cove and on a regular salary when she’d moved in. That had changed, hopefully for the better. She’d taken a forced leave and needed more time, so now she was on leave without pay. Recently, she’d begun working as a private detective for Rachael Rastovski, her favorite attorney and friend. So far the PI business had been less than lucrative. But she had finished up an investigation this past week and felt pretty good about it and the money she’d earned. Angel had solved the crime and ended up with a gunshot wound to the arm.