Body Armor Page 5

  “Like what?”

  “A receipt, a key to a safe-deposit box. Or anything that might lead us to the identity of Santa Claus. A name, a photograph, a note. Something tangible.”

  “What about fingerprints? Won’t we contaminate the scene?”

  “Trust me, the people who did this didn’t leave any prints. And yours are probably all over the place anyway. It’s not like you’ve never been here be fore.”

  Anna nodded. That made sense.

  Brody crossed toward the bedroom and stopped in the doorway. “And do yourself a favor and don’t come in here. You won’t like what you see.”

  Anna considered the weight of these words, unwanted images flashing through her mind:

  Owen’s bed.

  Blood on the pillow. The headboard. The wall.

  She didn’t think the truth could be any worse than what she imagined, but she had no desire to see it and she nodded again. “Don’t worry, I’ll stay out here.”

  IT TOOK THEM NEARLY an hour to do the job.

  Brody knew that finding the button or anything useful was a crapshoot, but he worked methodically anyway, scouring the bedroom section by section, going through the clothes scattered on the floor, checking beneath the mattress and under the bed, running his hands along the surfaces of the furniture, looking for indentations or holes or possible hidden compartments.

  It wasn’t until he reached the other side of the room—where Owen kept a desk—that he found two things of interest.

  If Owen had a computer, it was gone. The drawers had all been yanked out, books and papers and office supplies scattered everywhere. But as he worked the grid, Brody found a crumpled sheet of paper and care fully flattened it out.

  A bank receipt dated two weeks before Owen’s death.

  A five-thousand-dollar withdrawal.

  This didn’t necessarily mean anything on its own, but a moment later, Brody found a rectangular pad with cardboard backing lying facedown on the carpet. He flipped it over to discover that it was a desk calendar, Owen’s daily notations scribbled in the numbered squares.

  On the very same day as the bank withdrawal, Owen had written a time and address in blue ink.

  A meeting of some kind?

  Brody’s initial feeling was that the withdrawal was a coincidence and that Owen was merely going in to interview for a new job. But the address was located in an area Brody knew quite well from his days as a patrol deputy—and was notoriously dangerous.

  So what had Owen been up to? Why had he gone there?

  A possible payoff? A purchase of some kind?

  Drugs?

  No, drugs didn’t make any sense. Owen had been something of a health nut since high school, had always eaten right and taken good care of himself. He barely drank alcohol and he’d never picked up a cigarette in his life, so the idea that he’d go to the South Side looking for narcotics, or even a bag of weed, just didn’t compute. So why had he gone there?

  Getting to his feet, Brody crossed to the doorway and stepped into the living room. Anna was sitting on the floor, surrounded by a pile of photographs that had been dumped from a drawer. She had one of the photos in hand and a cell phone to her ear.

  “A couple hours early should do it,” she said into the phone. “Thanks again, Trudy.”

  As she hung up, Brody glanced at the photo in her hands. It was a shot of Owen, Adam and her mother, all wearing broad smiles. Adam couldn’t have been more than a year old in the photograph, and the sight of him touched something in Brody’s heart. He felt it the moment he saw the boy’s smile. Remembered how oddly adultlike Adam had seemed when he’d encountered him in the upstairs hallway.

  Pulling himself from the distraction, Brody looked at Anna, nodding to the phone.

  “What was that about?”

  “Work problems,” she said. “Did you find anything?”

  “Maybe. Can you think of anyone your brother might know on the South Side? Any reason he’d go there?”

  Anna considered the question and shook her head. “No. Why?” He already knew the answer, but he had to ask any way. “What about drugs? Do you know if he started taking them?”

  Anna frowned. “No, of course he didn’t. Owen wouldn’t go near that stuff.”

  “I didn’t think so, but according to his calendar, he had a meeting with someone in a very bad neighborhood. The same day he withdrew five grand from his bank account.”

  “You think it’s significant?”

  “Anything that raises questions right now is significant. Whether it’ll pan out is anyone’s guess, but I think we need to go there.”

  “Now?”

  Brody nodded.

  “Then you might have to go alone. One of my employees called in sick and I have to cover for her at the mall.”

  “You can’t get someone else to do it?”

  Anna shook her head. “Mom’s watching Adam, and my other girl, Trudy, can’t get in until later this afternoon, so it’s either go to work or stay closed, and I can’t afford to do that. I’ll be there most of the day.”

  “Well, I’m not about to leave you alone,” Brody said. “Especially at the mall.”

  “You’ll be bored to death.”

  Brody showed her a smile. “I can tell you’ve never worked as a bodyguard before.”

  Chapter Seven

  There was nothing even remotely boring about bodyguard work. Brody had gotten some training during his days as a sheriff’s cadet, but he’d really honed his skills on the job over the past few years and knew that the nature of the profession didn’t allow you to be bored.

  It was all in the eyes. They were constantly moving, constantly evaluating, always aware, always seeing what others paid little attention to.

  He looked for anomalies. Signs of agitation. Checking faces, hands, unusual bulges in clothing. People wearing sunglasses when the weather or lighting didn’t warrant it. Hiding their eyes.

  Hiding their fear.

  Fear was always a factor in crime, and very few people knew how to disguise it. A bodyguard was trained to recognize that fear, to notice that faint trick le of sweat rolling down a forehead on a winter night. The stiffness of a walk that would normally be fluid. A subtle hesitation in both movement and attitude.

  It was impossible to be bored when both your eyes and your mind were working overtime, taking in everything while focusing on a single objective:

  Protecting your client.

  Trying to practice your trade in a mall, however, wasn’t easy. Especially a mall three days before Christmas, overrun by last-minute shoppers, most of them in a hurry and anxious and irritated.

  Then there were the hundreds of bags and boxes and purses of all sizes. Hands reaching into them, pulling out wallets, keys, cell phones, shopping lists.

  You could never let your guard down.

  Brody sat on a bench outside Anna’s Body Essentials, carefully assessing each new customer who entered, not allowing himself to assume that they were harmless or that they’d be foolish to try to grab Anna in her own store.

  He’d seen a lot of foolishness in his time.

  Another important discipline for a bodyguard was the ability to stay focused while still allowing for the inevitable: a wandering mind. You had to learn to give in to that parallel line of thought that kept you sane while never letting it distract you from the objective.

  As Brody looked around him at all the Christmas decor—the winking lights, the giant tree in the middle of the mall, the red and green bows, the wreaths—he was struck by the stark contrast between Cedarwood Mall and the refugee camp in Chad.

  Last Christmas Eve, he’d been stuck in a tent, sharing a can of peaches by candlelight with a Red Cross worker, an attractive French woman named Sophie.

  Brody was human and had not been a monk after he left Cedarwood. He had shared a bed or two, moments of intimacy that had never really gone anywhere, with women he had cared for, but never fulfilled him the way Anna had.

  After
he learned of her marriage to Frank, he seemed to be on some kind of quest to find her in another woman. And when that woman was ultimately unable to be Anna, he pulled away. Always a gentle release, but not something he was proud of.

  That Christmas Eve, however, was anything but gentle. As he and Sophie made love, he’d gotten lost in the fantasy and called her Anna, putting an abrupt end to the moment.

  The night had quickly gone downhill from there.

  After that, Brody gave up women entirely. A year-long drought that only fueled his desire every time he looked at Anna now. He knew it wasn’t meant to be, but that didn’t keep him from wanting her.

  HE WAS ABOUT FOUR HOURS into his watch when he was approached by two mall security guards. Unlike last night’s duo, they were both big and hard and wore their uniforms well. There was an air of ex-military about them. Not the kind of guys you’d want to get into a scuffle with.

  “Brody Carpenter?” the bigger of the two asked. “That’s right,” Brody said then gestured. “You’re blocking my view.”

  The two guards exchanged a glance then stepped aside slightly so that Brody could see Anna from where he was sitting. She was at the cash register now, ringing up a sale for a teenage girl.

  “We’d like you to come with us.”

  “Am I breaking some kind of law? Have I been sit ting here too long?”

  “Frankly, sir, you could sit here until closing and I wouldn’t really care. I’m just following orders.”

  “Whose orders?”

  Now the second one spoke up, and he didn’t seem amused by all the questions. “Let’s go.”

  “Let me guess. Deputy Frank Matson?”

  “All I know is they had badges. Now are you going to cooperate or do we need to get rough?”

  Brody knew these guys were just doing their job, but he wasn’t about to leave Anna alone. “I’m sure you both heard what happened to Ms. Sanford last night. So if you think I’m going to walk away from her right now, I’m afraid you’re mistaken.”

  “That’s why they sent two of us,” the bigger one said. “Stokes here is gonna take your post.”

  Brody looked at the second guard. “I assume you know what you’re doing?”

  Stokes seemed annoyed. “Don’t you worry, she’ll be safe with me.”

  That was the problem, wasn’t it? Brody couldn’t help but worry. But Stokes looked like a guy who could handle himself, so he reluctantly got to his feet.

  “Do me a favor,” he said, “and take a position inside the shop.”

  The bigger one gestured to Stokes, and Stokes moved across the aisle and stationed himself just inside the entrance.

  Brody turned to the partner. “Lead the way.”

  THEY WENT DOWN SOME stairs and took a long hallway to what looked like an employee break room. There was a refrigerator in the corner, a snack machine next to it, a bulletin board full of government notices and work-related memos, and several table-and-chair sets scattered throughout.

  Frank Matson and Joe Wilson stood near one of the tables, looking exactly like what they were: a couple of plainclothes detectives who had seen it all and done quite a bit of it themselves.

  When Brody entered, Frank gestured to a chair.

  Brody crossed toward them and sat. “What can I do for you, Frank?”

  “That’s a loaded question,” Matson said. He sank into his own chair and leaned forward. “There’re a lot of things you can do for me. The real question is, will you do them?”

  “I’m a reasonable man.”

  “That you are, Carpenter. For all your faults, that’s one thing I can say about you. With a couple of notable exceptions, you’ve always kept a level head.”

  “So I repeat,” Brody said. “What can I do for you?”

  Frank took a moment, as if he were trying to find a way to phrase his next sentence, but Brody already knew what was coming before he spoke. “I’ll keep it simple. I want you out of here. Go back to wherever it is you came from and stay there.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I know what kind of effect you have on Anna. She’s been through enough these past few days. She doesn’t need you dredging up all your ancient history.”

  “This doesn’t have anything to do with history, Frank. It’s all about the here and now.”

  “Who do you think you’re kidding?”

  Brody reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out Owen’s note. “Anna wanted me to show this to you, but I told her it was a waste of time. Let’s see who was right.”

  Frank took the note and unfolded it, reading Owen’s words.

  Then he looked up. “What is this?”

  “A message from Owen.”

  Frank read it again then shrugged and handed it to Wilson. “So it’s proof he committed suicide.”

  “That’s what I told Anna you’d say, but that’s not the way I see it. I think the trouble Owen was in got him killed and the attack on Anna last night confirms it.”

  Now Joe Wilson moved forward, getting into Brody’s face. “What kind of scam are you running, Carpenter?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I think it’s pretty convenient you were in that parking garage when Anna was attacked.”

  “I was just doing what Owen asked me to.”

  Wilson waved the note in Brody’s face. “And we’re supposed to believe this just because you scribbled a few words on a piece of paper?”

  “Not my handwriting, Joe. So don’t even start.”

  “You know what I think?” Wilson said. “Maybe you had something to do with that attack last night. Maybe you been pal’in around with the wrong element. Like the guy in the Santa suit.”

  Brody smiled at him. “You never were much of a critical thinker, were you, Joe?”

  Suddenly Wilson kicked out, knocking the chair out from under Brody. Brody fell back, slamming against the linoleum, and Wilson stepped over him, grabbing him by the shirt. “Tell us who they are, Carpenter.”

  Brody didn’t resist. He knew he was being baited and didn’t want to give them any reason to arrest him and haul him in. He just lay there, not moving.

  “Like I said—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You’re dirty, and we all know it.” Wilson tightened his grip. “You gonna tell me you aren’t part of—”

  “Enough,” Frank said suddenly. “Get off him, Joe.”

  Wilson looked up at his partner in surprise. “Come on, Frank, you know he’s—”

  “I said get off him.”

  Wilson scowled then released the shirt. He reluctantly stepped away as Frank helped Brody to his feet.

  “I didn’t want that to happen,” Frank said. “You okay?”

  Brody knew that this was exactly what Frank had wanted to happen. There was nothing spontaneous about it. The two had rehearsed the moment before Brody had walked into the room.

  Nothing like a little intimidation to get a suspect to cooperate.

  Or to scare him away.

  And Brody knew that’s what he was. A suspect. Not because of any evidence against him, but simply because Frank still cared about Anna and couldn’t bear the thought that Brody was back in her life. But there was nothing Frank could do about that, was there? And he knew it.

  “Joe’s never been the model of restraint,” Brody said, “but I’ll forgive him his transgressions. Are you two done with me now? I need to get back to work.”

  Frank frowned. “Think about what I said, Brody.”

  “About leaving town? Sorry to disappoint you, but Anna needs me right now.”

  “She needed you before and that didn’t stop you.”

  Brody shook his head, smiled. “Now why did I know you’d go there?”

  “She’s my wife, Carpenter.”

  “Ex-wife, Frank. She doesn’t share your name any more and you’ve had a couple of years to get used to that fact. Why prolong your misery?”

  The two men locked gazes, Brody
knowing that Frank’s anger was brimming, his brain working overtime, looking for an excuse to either arrest him or force him to leave town. There was no way Frank could do that, however, without upsetting Anna. And that wasn’t an option for him.

  Brody didn’t really blame the guy. The heart wants what it wants.

  But he had a job to do. “Are we done?”

  Frank finally backed down. “Go on,” he said with a dismissive flick of the hand. “Get out of here.”

  Brody stared at him for a moment then turned and walked out the door.

  Chapter Eight

  “Where did you disappear to?”

  Anna had seen the two security guards approach Brody and watched one of them escort him away. She tried asking the one left behind about it, but the guard simply said, “I’ve been told to keep an eye on you.”

  Now her shift was over and she and Brody rode the elevator to the parking garage.

  “Your ex-husband’s feeling insecure,” he said. “He wants me to leave town.”

  “Frank was here? At the mall?”

  Brody nodded. “He’s afraid I’ll steal you way from him.”

  “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

  “He’s still in love with you, Anna. He and Wilson tried to cover it all by accusing me of being behind the attack last night, but that’s about what it boiled down to. He thinks I’m some kind of threat to your relationship.”

  “Relationship?” Anna felt her hackles rise. She reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone. “I can’t believe this. If anything, Frank should be thanking you for—”

  Brody put a hand over hers. “Don’t. You’ll only aggravate him, and we can’t afford any interference right now.”

  She thought about this then nodded and put the phone away. “I take it you didn’t tell him about the money Owen withdrew? Or the address on his calendar?”

  Brody shook his head. “He’s already made up his mind about your brother.”

  “So instead of trying to do what’s right, he wastes time harassing you.”

  “That pretty much sums it up,” Brody said.

  He looked at her as if he wanted to say something more but couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. Then he plunged forward anyway. “Not that it’s any of my business, but why did you two break up?”