Unfortunately, she was his only source of information since everybody else suspected him. He needed to maintain this contact with Sheila. “Did you get that photograph I asked for?”
“Of course.” She opened her car door and leaned inside to retrieve a manila envelope. “This is a recent photo of the FBI undercover agent you shot. Leo Fisher. He’s out of the hospital.”
Mac pulled the photo out of the envelope and studied it. Leo Fisher was an average-looking guy with dark eyes and a square jaw. His long hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Mac thought he’d spotted Leo Fisher last night at the tavern, but he wasn’t one hundred percent sure.
Once again, he tapped into Sheila’s vast collection of gossip. “What have you heard about Leo Fisher?”
“He’s off the case, but…” Her voice trailed off.
“Come on, Sheila. What have you heard?”
“I heard that Fisher was up here in the mountains. Going to Vail, I think.”
“Why?” he asked. Vanessa had also hinted about a trip to Vail.
“I don’t know. God, Mac. I can’t tell you everything.”
Her tone was as whiny as a teenager. He really disliked this woman. Incompetent. Immature.
“I’m thirsty,” she said. “Come with me to get a latte.”
“Can’t,” Mac said. He didn’t want to spend any more time with her than absolutely necessary.
“Where are you staying up here, anyway?”
“I grew up here. In Redding.” No way would he tell Sheila about the safe house. “I have friends up here.”
“Like that cute guy.” She was suddenly alert. “I remember him. He stopped by the station to visit you a couple of times, right? He’s on the Vail ski patrol. I’d love to see him again.”
“Not today.”
“At least come with me for coffee. I drove all the way up here. What are you doing that’s so important?”
He pushed open the wrought iron gate leading into the cemetery. “Visiting my mother’s grave.”
Not even Sheila could be argue with the finality of that statement. She backed toward her car. “Bye, Mac. I’ll stay in touch.”
“You do that,” he muttered.
The information she’d given him hadn’t been completely unexpected. He’d felt the suspicions. Now, he knew why.
In the cemetery, he picked his way along a hard earth path lined with stones to a section where all the Grangers were buried. His grandparents. His great-uncle. And his mother, Kathryn Granger.
Leaning down, he plucked a few weeds that obscured the pink marble marker inscribed with her name. He read the words: Beloved Wife and Mother.
It was true. He had loved her. His name— MacCloud—had been her maiden name, and she’d done as well as she could raising him.
But he couldn’t respect Kathryn Granger. Not after he saw his mother in the arms of a man who wasn’t his father. She’d had an affair. She’d betrayed him and his father, the sheriff. Even after her death, he found it hard to forgive her lies.
Mac doubted he would ever find a woman he could trust.
LEO FISHER limped along the cracked sidewalk on a dark Denver street, not far from the warehouse where he’d been shot in the leg. This was a cruddy part of town, deserted after dark except for the bums and the rats that scattered in fear at his approach.
Leo was alone. Always alone. But he wasn’t bitter. He had a job to do, an important job. And he was the only one who could do it right. By himself. Alone.
Seeing Abby had been weird. He’d barely thought about her since the night she walked out on him. Maybe he’d been hard on her, but she should have understood that he was still in character, still playing the undercover role. The hell with her! He didn’t want or need a wife and family.
He was the best damned undercover agent in the FBI. The best. And there was no way in hell he’d give up on this operation. Not now when he was so close. Why should he let some snot-nosed vice cop like Vince Elliot step in and grab all the glory? This was Leo’s bust.
He stopped on the corner under a streetlamp and lit up a smoke.
A dark form materialized beside him. A snitch.
“Sorry about Dante,” Leo said.
The snitch made the sign of the cross. “He was a good man.”
“What have you got for me?”
“A name.”
Leo scoffed. “I know the name. Nicholas Dirk.”
He was the head honcho in drug distribution throughout the Rocky Mountain west. A wealthy guy who dabbled in all kinds of crime under the cover of being a land developer. He had houses in Denver and in Vail.
“I got evidence,” the snitch said.
“Give.”
“It’s on a computer. Dirk always takes the laptop computer with him. Download that and you’ve got him.”
Leo wasn’t impressed by this overly obvious information. “Big deal. There’s no way for me to get my hands on that evidence.”
“For the right price, I can tell you the password.”
“Now you’re talking.” Leo tossed down his cigarette and crushed it with the tip of his cane. That password was worth paying for.
ON THE SECOND FLOOR in the safe house were six bedrooms of varying sizes. Abby’s was small and squarish, plain but clean, without a telephone, computer hookup or television. Her bedroom opened into a bathroom that she shared with Mac.
For the past ten minutes, she had been standing with her ear to the bathroom door, listening to the thrum of the shower and debating with herself about opening the door a crack to spy on him.
Obviously, she’d be invading his privacy big-time. But her job as an undercover agent was to get close to him, and he couldn’t ignore her if she walked into the bathroom while he was half-naked. Kind of a risky maneuver. But she had to make him talk to her. She had questions. A lot of questions.
This afternoon, she and Julia had followed him to the cemetery. Abby’s surveillance technique was simple. Earlier today, she’d planted a tracking device in the heel of Mac’s boot. All she’d needed to do was activate the device. Julia drove and, together, they’d used GPS technology to locate the signal.
From a hillside near the graveyard, they’d watched while Mac met with his partner, Sheila Hartman. Though Abby hadn’t been close enough to hear what they were saying, the very fact that he’d arranged a clandestine meet was suspicious. Were they both dirty cops? What kind of plans were they making?
Using
