Under Suspicion. Mallory Kane

asked. Brock had said something else but she hadn’t caught it.

      “Text me his name and the license number of his vehicle.”

      “I don’t have the tag. He parked too far away.” She saw a car pass the kitchen window, then pull over and stop. “Oh, hold on. Maybe I can get it right now. He just pulled up. I can see the tag out the window, if I can just read all the numbers.” She angled her head a bit so she could see the license and read it off to Brock.

      “I’ll see what I can come up with. You get all you can from him and Sandy DuChaud.”

      “Anything from your end? Are you going to be able to get another agent hired onto the rig?”

      “It’s not looking good. We’re trying to see if we can go another way to find out what Tristan overheard and if it’s an immediate threat. We may pull you out, based on what we find.”

      “Oh,” Maddy said as another car pulled up to the house. “I’d like to stay,” she said. “Sandy’s pregnant and alone here.” A third car pulled up. “Here they come.”

      “Who?”

      “Everyone in town. They’re all here to comfort Sandy and eat the food.”

      “Stay alert.”

      “No problem,” Maddy said, resting her hand on her pocket, where she’d concealed her Sig P229 handgun. “I’m always alert.”

      “Usually,” Brock said wryly.

      “What? What do you mean by that?” she retorted.

      “I thought I was about to lose you twice in this conversation. First with the cups and then again when you described the stranger who is ready for anything.”

      “Give me a break, Brock. I was just reporting what I saw.” She felt her face grow warm. “It’s been a long day.”

      “Maddy, we don’t know yet what we’re dealing with. But you know that you have to assume that—”

      “Everyone is a potential threat. I know. Don’t worry. I’ve got this under control.” She did. She was confident and alert. As confident as she could be. Tristan’s death was unexplained. It could easily have been an accident, as the drilling company said. Accidents were unfortunately not unknown on oil rigs. But there was another possibility. A very real, very ominous possibility.

      Two months before, Tristan had told his handler that the captain was becoming suspicious of him. That’s when he’d asked for backup and protection for his newly pregnant wife.

      “Brock? I know we have very little to go on, but what if Tristan was pushed or knocked out and thrown overboard? He was sure that the captain had found out he was listening in on his phone calls.”

      “The director is having that looked into, but it’s a pretty touchy subject right now, with elections coming up. No congressperson is going to be excited about the possibility of corruption going on in the offshore drilling industry.”

      “But a DHS agent died,” Maddy said.

      “No. An oil rig worker died. We’re not disclosing his connection to DHS. Not yet. The director is insisting on moving slowly. He’s got experts reviewing all of DuChaud’s communications for any clues.”

      “Clues? He told his handler he needed backup and protection for his wife. Isn’t that a clue?”

      “Agent Tierney, I have told you what the director’s position is,” Brock said coldly. Then he went on in a kinder voice. “Listen to me, Maddy. The director is concerned. He’ll be speaking with the top officials of Lee Drilling, the company that owns the Pleiades Seagull, very soon. In the meantime, we need you to take care of Mrs. DuChaud.”

      “What about getting onto the rig?”

      “No. That’s no longer your assignment. We’re trying out some new technology, advanced listening devices, to pick up communications on the Pleiades Seagull. So you don’t worry about the platform.”

      “New technology? Why didn’t you use those before, instead of putting Tristan in danger?” she asked.

      “Carry on with your revised instructions, Agent. I’ve got a meeting.”

      “Brock?” she said, but the phone was dead. He had hung up. She picked up another cup and straightened, wincing at the disapproval in Brock’s voice. He’d been in military environments throughout his entire career and he felt that interactions between officers and agents should be handled with a certain protocol.

      When she looked up, Zach Winter was standing at the French doors. He let himself in. His jacket was slightly damp with sweat and a little wrinkled, as was the white shirt under it, but he wore them as if they were bright as the sun and freshly starched. His broad shoulders stretched the material slightly and the open collar of his shirt revealed a prominent Adam’s apple and long, sinewy neck muscles that hinted at a serious and strenuous fitness routine. Her gaze moved to the perfectly fitted dress pants, under which were long, muscular runner’s legs that complemented his lean torso and long arms. If he’d been a little thinner or taller, he might have looked awkward and rawboned. But he wasn’t thinner or taller. He was just about perfect.

      “Um, mind if I come in?” he said.

      Maddy’s gaze shot back up to his. Her face burned but she ignored it and gave him a haughty look as she walked toward him. Her foot hit a cup she hadn’t seen. “Damn it,” she said, bending down to pick it up.

      At the same time, Zach did the same thing and their hands touched. “What happened here?” he asked. “Who detonated the cups?”

      She suppressed a laugh and glared at him as she grabbed the cup away from him. She moved to rise and found that Zach was already standing, his hand held out in an offer to help her.

      She ignored it.

      “I’m Zach Winter,” he said.

      Maddy realized that as perfect as Zach Winter was, she didn’t like him. Didn’t like his attempts to be charming or his too-familiar demeanor. “Yes, I remember from Sandy’s introduction,” she retorted.

      He nodded. “So are you called Madeleine, Maddy or Ms. Tierney?”

      Sudden, swift anger bubbled up from her chest and tightened her jaw. She started to say that Ms. Tierney would work just fine, when someone else appeared at the door. It was Father Michael. “Hello, Madeleine.”

      Maddy cleared her throat and gave him a faint smile. “Hello, Father. I’m still hoping you’ll call me Maddy.”

      “Well, all right, Maddy.” He clasped her hand warmly as he glanced around the kitchen. “I see Zach and I are the first to arrive. Where is Sandy? Is she resting?”

      Maddy nodded, then looked at the priest assessingly. “So, how do you two know each other?”

      Father Michael raised a brow at Zach then smiled at her. “Let me introduce you to one of the most promising hometown boys ever to leave Bonne Chance. Zachary Winter. Zach, this is Madeleine Tierney.” He smiled sheepishly. “Maddy.”

      Maddy met Zach Winter’s gaze. His name fit him. It was sharp and cool, just like him.

      “Sandy introduced us at the graveside service,” she said. “Hometown boy? Odd that no one seemed to recognize you except the Father and Sandy.”