Yuletide Suspect Read online

  “I haven’t heard anything about it.” Not that he watched the news much. His aerial only got half a dozen channels, and he didn’t listen to the police band all the time on his scanner.

  She kept talking. “It happened in the early hours of this morning. They lost contact right after the pilot sent out a distress call. We don’t know if the plane went down or if they were hijacked. Everyone is out looking for it.”

  “I’m sure I can lend some assistance with the search,” he said. “For old times’ sake.”

  “That isn’t why the Secret Service wants to talk with you.”

  Tate didn’t know what else there would be to say. It didn’t seem like this had anything to do with him. “They’ll have to get in line. I need to make a report with the sheriff about a gunman on my property.”

  Liberty let him change the subject. “Did you see who it was?”

  Tate shook his head, still leaning his forearms on her open car door. Was she ever going to get in and drive away? This was painful enough without her drawing it out.

  Tate sighed. “I didn’t get a good look at his face, but he didn’t seem familiar to me.” And it had definitely been a man. “Joey nearly chased him to the trees.”

  Liberty didn’t smile. He knew she liked dogs, so he figured the problem was him. Tate glanced at the dogs. Joey wasn’t sitting the way Gem was. Instead, the Airedale paced the porch by the front door with his nose to the mat. He pawed at the door and then barked once.

  Tate saw the flash of movement through the living room window.

  He started running toward his cabin. “Someone’s in the house.”

  TWO

  Tate ran to the front door, so Liberty circled the house in case the intruder ran out the back. It was slow going, wading through thick snow, but she was already soaked and there would be time later to thaw out her toes. Liberty pulled out her cell phone and dialed emergency services. She requested the police, and was told the sheriff was on his way. The dispatcher seemed to know exactly where Tate’s house was, but this was a small town. Maybe they knew each other. Maybe she—it had been a woman—was his girlfriend.

  Liberty stuffed her phone back in her jacket pocket and huffed out a breath at the workout she was getting. Okay, not only at the workout. Who cared if there was someone in Tate’s life now? It wasn’t like she had any claim on him. Not since she’d broken it off and severed the tie between them. As much as it had pained her to do it—and the reason for it hurt almost more than the act of doing it—Liberty hadn’t had another choice.

  There was no future for them.

  Still, if she got the chance, then she might tell him she regretted hurting him. But Liberty was never, ever going to tell him why. She could barely even think about it herself.

  She reached the rear corner of the cabin, and the back door slammed. Liberty brought her gun up as the man flew out the door, stumbled and then started to run.

  “Secret Service! Freeze!” Her voice barely carried.

  He didn’t even slow down.

  She ran after him. Tate rushed out the back door and got to the man first, launched himself at the guy and tackled his legs. The two went down in the snow like an ugly version of a snow angel. Tate grunted, and the two men struggled.

  Liberty stopped six feet away and planted her now-numb feet. “Freeze, or I’ll shoot!” Tate would have to get out of the way first, but the man didn’t know.

  Tate shifted and she saw the man’s face. He was probably in his midthirties.

  He gritted his teeth and struggled. Tate jammed his arm up under the man’s chin. “Who are you?”

  The man jerked his head around, trying to get away. “Get off me.” His gaze found hers, and she saw the moment he realized he’d lost this fight to the two of them. His eyes flashed. “Let me go.”

  If he was going to try to get her to shoot him, Liberty wasn’t going to oblige. Suicide by cop might be something the police had to face, but it wasn’t part of her résumé. “Tate.”

  He lifted the man off the snow to his feet. “Who are you?”

  The guy looked like he was about to bolt. He wore jeans, boots and a heavy jacket. The men had both dressed for the weather, while Liberty was dressed for a mild winter in DC. Which was exactly what they’d been having. How was she to know this part of Montana was freezing and buried under four feet of snow?

  When the man didn’t answer, Tate said, “Find me something to secure him with.”

  Liberty went inside and found a dog leash hanging by the front door, beside where a big duffel sat on the floor. He’d always carried a bag to his workouts. The two animals were on dog beds in the living room, making the Christmas picture complete. They watched her move through the cabin, but thankfully didn’t come over expecting her to pet them. Liberty couldn’t handle that, when they would only remind her of her favorite dog. She’d had only cats since Beauregard died.

  Hurrying back to Tate, Liberty held out the leash. He motioned to the guy with a tilt of his head. “You do it.”

  “Put your hands behind your back.” She stowed her weapon and stepped behind him, where she secured his hands with the leash. “The sheriff is on his way.”

  “Good.” Tate tugged on the man’s elbow, took him into the kitchen and deposited the man on a chair. “Don’t move.”

  Liberty shut the back door and took off her gloves, so thin they were pointless. She blew on one hand, then the other, switching off the hand holding her gun as she attempted to impart some warmth back in her stiff fingers. Tate frowned and then hit the power icon on the display of his coffee maker. Fancy. She used a four-cup coffeepot, the cheapest she could find, but he’d always been particular about what brand he drank. Liberty didn’t care, so long as it was thick, hot and strong.

  The man in the chair glanced between them but didn’t say anything. Under the LED kitchen lights his clothes looked worn, his hair matted to the top of his head.

  Liberty disliked silence. She motioned to the man but asked Tate, “Is this the guy from outside the barn?” He could have come back and gotten inside somehow. Though he’d had a gun before.

  Tate shook his head. “This is a different guy.” He pushed off the counter and took a step toward the man. “Come here with your partner. Come here to kill me. Why? Who am I to you?”

  The guy looked away. Liberty had to wonder where the other man had disappeared to. Two assailants at Tate’s house tonight, within minutes of each other? It seemed impossible they weren’t connected.

  Tate slammed both palms on his table. Liberty started and the seated man’s eyes widened. Tate said, “Why did you come here to kill me?”

  “I want my lawyer.”

  Liberty said, “We’re not cops.”

  The minute the words were out of her mouth, Tate glanced at her. What? What had she said? He was being hard on the man. Yes, he had a right to be angry. But it was as though he’d forgotten everything they’d learned about questioning and just gone with what was in his gut: anger.

  The last time she’d seen him, Tate had been so angry it had taken two of their fellow agents to pull him back from punching the director. He hadn’t been fired; it’d been more like a mutual decision between both parties that he should move on from the Secret Service. Liberty’s heart had broken even more than it already was that day, as she’d realized it was all her fault. Those tendencies he’d had as a kid to get mad instead of working through his problems had resurfaced through no fault of his own. Only hers.

  Liberty strode to the intruder, because if she didn’t she’d start crying, thinking about how everything between her and Tate had gone wrong. She didn’t want to contemplate again how it was all her fault.

  She said, “Stand up,” and glanced at Tate. He nodded to indicate he had her back. Liberty stowed her gun, but the man hadn’t moved. She hauled h
im up by his elbow and patted his pockets.

  She found a cell phone, then a knife, and laid both on the table. She kept searching but found nothing else. Liberty grabbed the phone and stepped back. It wasn’t locked, and it had no apps downloaded. There were no contacts listed, and if there were any messages, those had been deleted as well.

  “It’s clean.” She tossed the phone on the table.

  “Our friend here can talk to the sheriff.”

  “And it doesn’t bother you that his friend tried to kill you?” She couldn’t believe he was acting so blasé about this.

  Tate shrugged. Was this his default now, when he’d decided he wasn’t mad? The indifference almost hurt more than the anger.

  One of the dogs started barking. Tate said, “Sheriff’s here.”

  Liberty left him with the intruder and went to the front door.

  * * *

  Tate waited where he was until Liberty walked back in with the sheriff. He lifted his chin at Dane Winters, a good friend since peewee football. “This guy is all yours.” Tate explained what had happened. The more he talked, the wider Dane’s eyes grew.

  “And you have a guest.” Dane smiled. Because, yes, Tate had shared about Liberty. But Dane could fish all he wanted, Tate wasn’t going to spill.

  “She was just leaving.” His only guest except Dane in months.

  He pushed off the counter and didn’t offer anyone a cup of coffee, even though it was done brewing. He could drink it later and stay up all night brooding about the mess his life was now.

  “Don’t you want to know why I’m here?” Liberty asked.

  She might think he should be curious about this missing plane. She likely would be if things were reversed and he’d shown up at her house after so long. They’d been engaged. Tate had honestly figured it meant something, but apparently not. It was a good thing she wasn’t here for a reunion, or she would have been sorely disappointed.

  Liberty looked almost sad. “Like I said, I’m here because a small aircraft, a business jet, went down not far from here. On board was a senator from Oklahoma and two White House staffers. Twelve hours ago we lost contact with them. We think the plane might’ve crashed somewhere close to here, and it’s believed there was foul play involved, possibly with the pilot. At least, as much was indicated from the last radio call before communication was cut off.” She paused. “We need to find those people.”

  “That should be an FBI investigation, shouldn’t it?”

  “They’re on it. But at the top of the list of suspects who might be involved is a certain former Secret Service agent I happen to know personally. So I figured, why not? For old times’ sake I’ll visit this former agent and let him know the Secret Service and the FBI are all on their way here to ask you a whole lot of uncomfortable questions you aren’t going to want to answer.”

  She couldn’t seriously think he might be part of it. “You think I have something to hide? Something to do with this?”

  “Do you?” She lifted her chin, like there was no history between them and she had every right to suspect him of something heinous. “It’s a valid question.”

  “You really think I’ve changed that much?”

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she said, “The FBI and the Secret Service want to know if you’re involved. But they’re betting on the fact that a disgruntled former Secret Service agent—”

  “Disgruntled?” Why would they think he harbored resentment? Tate had moved on. Wasn’t it obvious?

  Liberty shrugged. “Despite the cute cabin all decorated for a family Christmas, there is evidence against you. Seems to me from the blog, at least, that in the last few months your attitude has deteriorated. And it’s the basis of their evidence.”

  “What blog?”

  The sheriff shifted, but Dane couldn’t hide the fact that he was listening to their conversation. They were friends, and Dane was curious. Tate didn’t fault him for it. Even beyond this missing plane, there was a lot to talk about. Too bad there wasn’t time.

  And good thing he didn’t want to talk about it anyway. His life now was none of her business.

  Except the blog thing. What was that about?

  When the sheriff peered at a tattoo on the man’s neck—one Tate hadn’t noticed until now—Tate went over to look as well. They glanced at each other, and Tate said, “Russians.”

  “Like the mob?” Liberty asked. “In backwoods Montana?”

  The sheriff stepped back and shrugged. “It happens. Not often, but all kinds of people travel through this town on the way to somewhere. Some of them even like it and stay, and not all are law-abiding citizens.” He glanced at Tate. “I got an update about this missing plane an hour ago. We should talk about it.”

  Tate didn’t like the look on Dane’s face at all. He’d known, and he stood there and let Liberty give her whole speech about him being a criminal.

  “You want to take my badge for being involved, and keep it until I’m out from under suspicion?” The idea of losing the job as well, when he’d already lost so much, sat like a bad burrito in his stomach.

  Liberty gasped. “His badge?”

  He nearly kicked himself for saying it while she was here.

  Dane said, “Tate is a deputy with the county sheriff’s department. He only works shifts occasionally, and I pay him so much less than he’s worth it’s not even funny. But technically he’s an employee. And as a sounding board, he’s been invaluable.”

  Tate shook his head and pulled the badge from his drawer. “More like it’s your attempt to make sure I’m not cooped up here all the time. Like it’s a bad thing.”

  The sheriff shrugged again, pocketed the badge and then took the now-cuffed intruder out to his car where he’d be secure.

  Liberty nodded. “The FBI doesn’t know you’re a deputy sheriff. It will strengthen our argument.”

  Tate said, “We don’t have an argument, Liberty. We don’t have anything. You took care of that.” He saw the blow the words inflicted, but couldn’t let himself care about it. She’d ripped him to shreds when she’d given his ring back and started the cascading fall of his life into this pit. A pit he tried to pretty up, just so he didn’t dwell on the fact that it was kind of pathetic.

  Now the Secret Service was here investigating a missing plane and three people, and they thought he was involved? He needed to get out in front of this, or he could wind up spending the rest of his life in prison for a crime he didn’t commit.

  If he cared enough, he’d ask her about the blog she’d mentioned. But Tate figured he’d find out soon enough. After she left his house.

  He opened the hall closet and started to put his coat on.

  Liberty had followed. “You’re going out now?”

  He looked at her, trying hard to hide everything he was feeling. “Lock the door before you leave.”

  “Where are you even going? You should stay here, help me convince the FBI you had nothing to do with this.”

  “Or I could go and find the plane and those missing people instead.”

  The sheriff walked back in. “If they think you’re involved with this, it’s going to be messy to unravel. But I’ll do what I can. I’ve got your back, Tate. You know that.”

  He held out his hand, and Tate shook it.

  Liberty didn’t wait long before she asked, “Where are you going to look? Do you have an idea of where it might be?”

  “Maybe.” Tate pulled on a pair of gloves. “I know where I’m going to look first, at least.” He turned away from their huddle toward the door. Yeah, this likely wasn’t turning out the way she’d thought it would, but at least if he was gone looking for the plane, then the Secret Service might be convinced he wasn’t involved.

  Dane followed Tate to the door. Liberty walked over, her hand out for the sheriff
to shake, but Dane didn’t see it. His attention was on a black duffel leaned against the wall. The sheriff stepped toward the bag. “What is this?”

  They worked out together, and Dane had never seen that bag before...because Tate had never seen that bag before. “It’s not mine.”

  The bag was partially unzipped. The sheriff pulled the zipper back all the way as Liberty moved closer to them. Inside the duffel were bundles of cash secured by rubber bands, and an orange box the size of a lockbox like the one he kept his gun in. The sheriff lifted it out of the bag.

  On the side of the box it said, FLIGHT RECORDER. DO NOT OPEN.

  THREE

  “That’s not mine.” Tate said the words before he’d even thought them through.

  The sheriff glanced over his shoulder at Tate, looking like he wanted to kick him. “Of course I know this isn’t yours, dude. Except now what we have are two Russian intruders—one in my car, one who’s fled—and a bag of money, along with what I’m guessing is the voice recorder for the plane that’s currently missing. Which means any search the FBI has going for this thing—if it’s active—is going to lead them right here. To the home of their lead suspect.”

  Liberty paled. “He’s being framed.”

  Tate almost thought she might have cared for him just then as he studied her face and heard the soft tone of her words. Too bad he knew that wasn’t the case. He didn’t believe she’d come here because of any lingering feelings for him. She probably just wanted to save her reputation at work by convincing everyone she was prepared to do her job and arrest Tate—who was about to be labeled a traitor to his country.

  Liberty looked at him, saw he was staring at her and glanced away.

  “You should get your coat on,” he said. Like he was going to hang around here so she could arrest him? She’d said the Secret Service were on their way. “And you should also switch out your shoes for boots.”

  Tate didn’t wait around for her to comply. He strode to the closet and pulled out another set of gloves that would actually keep her hands warm, along with a hat, and turned back to her in time to see her plant one hand on her hip.