“I am, sir.” Silently he prayed no questions came that required him to disclose Madison’s jaunt into the Nest’s perimeter woods last night.
Dayton, lean and compact with thick muscles, stood up. “Need I remind you that every single individual in that agency is, shall we say, disenchanted with the military?”
“No, sir. I haven’t forgotten,” Grant said. “They are disenchanted—for just cause.”
“In your opinion.” Talbot’s eyes narrowed. “Doesn’t that send up a red flag in your mind that any of them could have breached security, and leaked word of the Nest to the media? Or maybe even to Crawford?”
“Yes, sir. But after a thorough investigation, in my opinion, none did. There’s no connection between any of them and Crawford, or to the Nest, beyond their assignments to it during their active-duty days. Crawford, working for Homeland Security, had direct access. He didn’t require a leak to know about the Nest. He was briefed on it regularly and personally visited the facility a dozen times.”
Worry creased the commander’s skin between his eyebrows. “What if I told you that Crawford’s access was even more restricted than your own?”
“That changes nothing, sir. He’s proven resourceful in the killings we’ve verified he’s done. I’ve no doubt he could be equally resourceful in gaining access to restricted areas, particularly from the inside.” Grant didn’t want a long conversation diversion into Gary Crawford. He’d claimed responsibility for the security breach and for the murders. That was that. “I’m convinced that Madison and her staff are innocent, sir.”
“Including Renée Renault?”
Grant nodded at the commander.
His eyes narrowed, curious not accusing. “Why?”
Talbot was a widower, and he’d been in love with Mrs. Renault since her husband had died. As far as anyone knew, though, it was one-sided and unspoken. Still, Talbot knew her nature well. This was more Talbot testing Grant’s judgment. “Actually, Mrs. Renault weighs heavily in my assessment. She would never work for anyone who would cross this country. And Madison is just like Mrs. Renault about that.” Grant cleared his throat. “They’re patriots, sir. If either of them felt someone at the agency had jeopardized national security, they’d be the first to knock on your door.”
That clearly pleased the commander.
It didn’t impress Dayton. He stepped closer and stared up into Grant’s face. “You realize you’re staking your life on that assessment, Major.”
Grant lowered his eyes to look at the man. At about five-nine, Dayton had to tilt back his head to meet Grant’s gaze. “Yes, sir.”
“That’s enough for me.” The commander signaled Grant could depart.
“So I can consider the assignment closed?”
“No.” The commander glanced at Dayton, then back at Grant. “I think it’s best if you stay put for now.”
Disappointment hit Grant hard. He was going to lose Madison before he could even win her over. Probably just as well. With secrets and lies between them that he couldn’t disclose and resolve, well, losing her now was probably easier on his heart than losing her later. But, man, he wished he didn’t have to lose her at all. “Yes, sir.” Grant saluted.
“Dismissed,” the commander said, then as Grant reached the door, he added, “Major, I’m sure your investigation is thorough, but do keep your eyes and ears open anyway.” He laced his hands atop his desk. “I am aware of the awkwardness of your current position, but it is necessary.”
Was it? At first, maybe. But now that he’d reported his findings? Grant didn’t see the rationale. Not one valid reason he had to remain at the agency, spying on Madison or her entire staff. But there was something in Talbot’s eyes. Something Grant couldn’t decipher or quite grasp...yet. “Yes, sir.”
Grant took the stairs, too irritated to wait for the elevator. Downstairs, he cleared security, and then departed the building. He had prayed hard, hoping to end this deception today. But Talbot’s refusal to end the assignment proved his prayers had been denied. Decisively.
Indefinitely.
Talbot’s word speared through Grant but it was Dayton’s suspicions, the odd look in his eyes when they spoke about Crawford, that most worried Grant. Was that because something was there? Or because Madison had planted doubts in his mind about Crawford being silenced before he could recant his confessions and her relating that to Talbot and Dayton?
Unsure, Grant pulled his keys from his pocket, and made his way across the parking lot.
Indefinitely.
Infiltrating Lost, Inc., had made sense—at one point. But why keep a plant in place on a closed case where everyone had been cleared? That didn’t make sense...unless Talbot or Dayton doubted Crawford’s guilt. But why would they? And why not just tell Grant they had doubts? He was Talbot’s hand-chosen investigator, after all.
Grant paused to let a blue truck pass between the rows of parked cars. What had happened in there made no sense, neither their orders nor their conduct. Talbot’s warning to Grant to keep his eyes and ears open...that look in his eye. Was it a warning, too? And the way Talbot had looked at Dayton. What was that all about? The truck passed and Grant walked on. Halfway to his car, he stopped dead in his tracks between a black sedan and a white SUV. His stomach clenched. There was one situation where their orders and conduct made perfect sense.
If Madison was right.
But she couldn’t be right. Talbot and Dayton involved in two murders? That was insane.
Wasn’t it?
Unsure, Grant got into his Jeep and headed off the base. As soon as he cleared the gate, he dialed Madison.
She answered on the second ring. “Hi, Grant.”
He’d never heard Madison McKay sound so...open. Unguarded even. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing at all. Why? Where are you?”
Not quite sure about this shift in her, he reserved judgment. “On my way back to the office. Are you there, or at home?”
“Actually, I just picked up my dress for the ball tonight—it’s totally gorgeous—and now I’m heading home for a nap so I don’t wear a gorgeous gown with dark bags under my eyes.”
Gearing up for the ball, or for more surveillance after it? “I’ve been thinking about our talk this morning and what you said about Crawford.”
“And?”
“It makes sense. Even if he killed Beth Crane, why would he wait so long to take out Pace?”
“Pace wasn’t a threat until later,” she told Grant. “After Beth was killed, Brett Lund, the WKME station manager, dropped the assignment. He didn’t pick it up again for three years.”
“When he assigned the story to Pace.”
“That’s right. Until then, Pace didn’t know a thing about any of it.”
Grant pulled into a drive-through Starbucks and ordered coffee, then asked, “Why did Lund wait? Why would he sit on a huge story for three years?”
“Don’t I wish I knew? Lund died before answering that question, but I’ve thought about it, and the only thing that stands up to scrutiny is that after Beth was killed, Lund was scared stiff. He had a wife and two kids, you know.”
“That only works if Lund connected Beth Crane’s murder to her inquiries about the Nest. He’d have had to know she wasn’t killed in a home invasion like everyone believed until Crawford confessed.” Beth’s husband, Ian Crane, had been a doctor. Everyone in North Bay knew it. But anyone who knew Ian Crane knew he didn’t keep