Page 4 of Lethal Deceit (Hightower Security #2)

I twist my fork idly and shovel in the lasagna Mom made me. It’s good. It always is, but even her cooking and the apple pie she baked isn’t enough to drag my thoughts away from the woman who humiliated me. As my thoughts cloud, my fingers grip the fork tighter, and I don’t realize I’m stabbing the food rather than eating it until I look down and see it’s cut to ribbons.

From my second-floor apartment window, the sky is clear and blue. No wind. Water is dead calm.

I should be at work. Would be if it weren’t for some BS about trauma. They think it’ll impact my judgment or my ability to focus.

It’s an insult.

Focusing on helping people would be better than sitting around replaying every moment I spent with her to the time I woke up with explosives strapped to my chest.

I force the dish of lasagna down, not out of hunger but because I know Mom will call to make sure I’m eating properly. Then Dad will get on the line and ask me if I want to take the boat out. Which really means he’s disappointed I haven’t been to church in a while.

I abandon my lunch and get to my feet, so I can watch the beach instead. Hardly any swell, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be accidental drownings today. I should be out there, not trapped inside.

She’s the one who needs to be locked up. Why am I the one suffering?

A quiet knock at the door jolts me out of my thoughts. I’m not in the habit of arming myself, but since this happened, my trusty SIG Sauer M17 hasn’t left my side.

I palm it, and stand to one side of the door. “Yeah?”

“It’s me,”

a female voice answers.

I unlock the dead bolt and fling the door open, perplexed.

“What are you doing here?”

Brooke’s arms are filled with brown sacks, and she’s carrying her briefcase.

“What do you think I’m doing? You asked me to help, so I’m helping.”

I close the door behind her and lock it again.

“Yeah, but what are you doing in Florida?”

Her reply comes out muffled as I follow her into my tiny kitchen. She dumps the bags on the counter and pushes a strand of her inky hair behind her ear.

“My editor gave me a little rope on a story, so I made it stretch all the way to Tampa. I think I might have found something.”

As she starts pulling groceries out of the bags, my eyes snag on the briefcase.

“What is it?”

“Give me a sec, will you? I’m hungry.”

She sniffs the air, and her eyes widen.

“Is that lasagna?”

I nod.

“Mom’s filled my freezer.”

She groans as she abandons her store-bought junk, opens the cutlery drawer, and hauls out a fork.

“Is there any lasagna left?”

I gesture behind us.

“On the table.”

She lets out a yip then almost skips to the table, sinks in to the seat opposite mine, and pulls the dish toward her.

“Thank you, Lord, for this food!”

As she demolishes my leftovers, I grab her briefcase and put it in front of her.

“What did you find?”

She ignores me, shoveling in mouthfuls of food like she hasn’t eaten in a week.

“Oink, oink, Miss Piggy,” I say.

Her face twists, and she replies in between bites.

“At least I take the time to chew. You swallow food whole.”

I chuckle.

“Yeah, I have to eat on the fly. What’s your excuse?”

She ignores me completely, so I toy with the lock on her briefcase.

“Since when did you start locking this thing?”

Her fork pauses midway to her mouth.

“I’m working on something I need a little extra security on.”

“But you’re being careful?”

She puts her fork down and pushes the dish away.

“I didn’t come here to talk about me. I came because I found something.”

If I wasn’t so curious about what she’s found out, I’d push it a little more. Brooke has a knack for getting herself into trouble.

She might be older than me by eighteen months, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t the one trying to look out for her. I’ve lost count of the number of times she said something, or did something, or found out something that backfired. We got pretty skilled at hiding things from Mom and Dad, but there were times growing up I’d prayed for a less adventurous sister. She’s smart and determined, but sometimes she’s too stubborn for her own good.

But right now, that’s exactly who I need on my side.

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a key then opens the case.

“Before I show you, I want you to promise to visit Mom. She’s worried about you.”

I can feel my forehead creasing in annoyance.

“I saw her a week ago.”

Her mouth tugs down.

“Yes, but that’s like a year in Mom time. You could have died on that plane, .”

“I realize that.”

Her shoulders droop.

“All I’m saying is that she has the right to be concerned. We’re all concerned. You’re… becoming obsessed with this woman.”

I choke out a laugh.

“She strapped a bomb to my chest. Wouldn’t you be looking for her?”

She tilts her head to one side.

“I’m just saying… no one faults you for wanting her to be caught, but it’s changing you. I haven’t heard you rejoice that you survived once. Aren’t you thankful?”

I rub my hand across my mouth. Thankful. My sister wants me to be thankful I was humiliated by a leggy blonde.

“Are you going to show me what you found or not?”

Brooke lets out a sigh.

“You promise to visit Mom?”

I nod.

Her eyes narrow, but she relents.

“I can’t stay long. My flight leaves in two hours, but I was talking to a secretary at the FBI, and he sent me the artist’s impression you worked on with them.”

Every muscle in my body tenses. Even I don’t have a copy of it. Too personally involved.

“That’s it?”

Brooke’s lip catches on her teeth, and she taps her finger on the file.

“The FBI is trialing new facial recognition software. Strictly hush-hush after the last debacle where two people were wrongly arrested, but they have an eighty percent positive match off two CCTV images.”

“Taken where?”

She clears her throat.

“I’m getting to that. What you need to know is that the CCTV images connect her to at least one homicide victim.”

A chill snakes down my spine.

“I’ve been saying all along she’s a killer.”

Brooke’s lips purse.

“It’s not exactly a smoking gun. She could have just been talking to him. The man has been ID’d as a tourist with no prior convictions.”

“Has been? This is recent?”

She nods, pulls out a grainy photo, and points to the date stamp.

“This was taken a month ago.”

As I squint at the photo, realization slams into me like a thunderclap.

“That’s the Bayside Market.”

Brooke blows out a breath.

“Yep. She was in Miami.”

Miami. Four hours’ drive from where I live and work.

“I need to do something.”

“The PD are working with the FBI and trying to locate her.”

I grab the photo and jab my finger into it.

“This was taken a month ago. She could be long gone.”

Brooke nods.

“Right. I know. Which is why they are appealing for members of the public to help locate her.”

I scrunch the paper in disgust.

“Unless there’s a reward, we have no chance.”

She leans back in her chair.

“You’re not thinking. If they offer a reward, they’ll be inundated with false reports.”

In annoyance, I push back from the chair.

“She’s probably in South America by now.”

Brooke rises to her feet.

“I knew I shouldn’t have told you. They’re making progress, but instead of being pleased, you’re angry.”

“No, I’m not pleased. I’m sitting here on my butt while the woman who tried to kill me is picking off her victims.”

She closes her eyes and mutters something under her breath.

“Calm down. You’re going to bust a valve. If you react this way when I bring you good news, I’m not helping anymore.”

I’m so agitated that I’ve started to pace.

“There must be people who know her, know her plans.”

“Sure. Which is why they’re utilizing the news to?—”

I spin around.

“It’s not enough. People are desensitized to death. They want something sensational to entertain them. That’s the only way to get more airtime.”

Brooke’s face twists.

“Never let a tragedy go to waste. Works for politicians too.”

My brain starting to spark, I nod.

“Right? So let’s give them something that will get people’s attention and make them look for her.”

“Such as?”

“Get me on prime time. That reporter you know… the one who wanted an exclusive. I’ll tell the public what kind of a woman she is.”

Brooke’s face falls.

“I don’t think your superiors will approve of that.”

I give her a head shake.

“They think I helped capture a terrorist. May as well take advantage of it.”

Brooke’s eyes shift upward, and she swallows.

“I need some time to think this through. You haven’t been authorized to give an official interview. You could be risking your career or a serious misconduct charge.”

A warning tickles my gut, but I brush it aside.

“Make the call, Brooke. It’s time we showed the world who she is.”