Chapter Four

They waited in the church parking lot for fifteen minutes, but there was no sign of the Toyota. Was the vehicle parked somewhere on the street, waiting for them to exit? "Should we call 911 or something?" Zach asked.

"We could," she said. And then what? Would the local cops even believe they were being followed? She wasn't sure Zach believed it. "Pull out and see if anyone follows," she said.

Zach blew out a breath. "I feel ridiculous," he said. He started the engine and pulled out of the lot onto the street. No one followed. There was little traffic on the highway, and the vehicles she did see behaved normally, passing them or turning off or receding into the distance.

Neither of them spoke. Was Zach annoyed with her? No, he was probably simply processing his grief and the terrible way this day had turned out.

He parked in front of his townhouse, but didn't get out right away. She waited, sure he would eventually say whatever was on his mind. "Do you really think someone was following us tonight?" he asked.

"I do."

He turned to look at her. The parking lot security light cast a harsh glow across one side of his face, turning it into a macabre mask, all dark, hollowed eyes and downturned mouth. "Why?"

"You may be the only one who can answer that," she said. "What do you know that the Chalk brothers would kill to keep quiet?"

"Nothing!"

The word rang loud in the nighttime stillness. Was he telling the truth? "Maybe it's something you've forgotten about," she said, her voice softer. "Or something you don't think is important. Whatever it is, you need to tell me, so that I can help you."

He shook his head. "I don't think anyone can help me. Camille is dead." He blew out a breath. "And the worst thing is, she died for nothing. All she wanted was to make a difference. To bring the Chalk brothers to justice. But that didn't happen. She's dead, and they're still walking free."

"She didn't die for nothing," Shelby said.

He looked at her, the trick of light exaggerating the dark hollowness of his eyes. But she felt that same hollowness in her chest. Like him, she wanted the sacrifice Camille had made to matter. But that depended on her now. She needed to prove Camille hadn't died in vain. But she didn't know if she was up to the task.

She opened the truck door and slid out. "Good night, Zach," she said. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

He didn't answer. She walked to her rental car and got in, but she waited until he climbed out of his truck and went inside his townhouse before she started the engine and left the lot. No sign of a white Toyota. No sign of any threat to him, but she couldn't shake the feeling one was there.

I NSIDE THE TOWNHOUSE , Zach lay back on the sofa and closed his eyes, battered by warring emotions. After four years, he had thought he was mostly done grieving for his sister, only to learn she had been alive all that time, only to be snatched away from him again when she had been almost in reach. The cruelty of that reality burned in his chest, along with anger that he and his parents, and all of Camille's friends, had been duped.

Yet he knew Camille wasn't cruel. If anything, she was too compassionate, going out of her way to make other people comfortable, even at her own expense. At her funeral, those who had attended had spoken over and over about how generous and considerate she was. Knowing this, Zach could believe she would do anything to protect her family, even if it meant letting them think she was dead and never seeing them again.

And then she had come back here. Maybe she had only wanted to check on him, to make sure he was okay, but he didn't think so. Agent Dryden had been right when she said Camille had come to warn him.

The idea made him sick with guilt, and he forced his mind to think about something else. Agent Shelby Dryden. She was pretty—not beautiful, but with a rounded face and full cheeks and blue eyes that looked right into him, as if she was searching for all his secrets. She looked younger than she probably was. She looked delicate and gentle, but didn't back down from a difficult task. She had to be tough to face down the kind of criminals the FBI investigated, not to mention her fellow agents, who, from what Zach had experienced, were a hard bunch.

So Agent Dryden could be hard, too. But she had also been gentle with his parents. She had told them everything they wanted to hear about Camille—all the good things to make them believe she had been happy. But how could she have been happy without her family, when they had always meant so much to her?

Zach thought of the car Shelby Dryden had said was following them tonight. A white Toyota. He didn't know anyone with a white Toyota, but there must be hundreds of them in the county. And it seemed odd that someone would follow his truck but never do anything. They hadn't tried to run him off the road or fire any shots or anything.

The idea that someone had been following him, that the Chalk brothers might want to kill him, ought to terrify him. But he didn't feel fear. All he felt was numb. That was pretty much all he had felt for the past four years. Call it a coping mechanism or the aftereffects of grief. Zach couldn't seem to feel the things he told himself he ought to feel.

Five years ago

"G OOD NIGHT , B ENNIE ! Have a great time this weekend, Amy! Thanks for everything, Oliver!" Camille waved to the last of the night shift at Britannia Pub as they left the restaurant. Parked across the street, Zach watched the trio of friends pass in and out of the glow of the security lights as they walked to their vehicles at the back of the parking lot. Camille turned the keys in the trio of locks on the back door to the restaurant, then slipped the key ring into her purse and headed down the sidewalk, toward the bus stop.

He started the truck and drove until he was even with Camille. She glanced over and a smile lit her face. "Hey!" He stopped and she pulled open the passenger door. "What are you doing here?"

"I didn't like the idea of you taking the bus while your car is in the shop, so I came to give you a ride home."

"You didn't have to do that," she said, even as she settled into the passenger seat. "But I'm glad you did. Devon says he'll have my car ready Friday. The new ignition module is supposed to be in tomorrow."

"No problem," Zach said. He turned the key in the ignition and checked the mirrors. Unlike during daylight hours, when the downtown Houston streets hummed with pedestrian and vehicle traffic, this time of night—almost three o'clock—he had no trouble pulling into the street. Traffic still eased down the streets, but the cars were spaced farther apart, and the only other people on the sidewalk were a couple of men leaning against the wall outside the Salvation Army mission and a man in a chef's checkered pants and clogs hurrying toward the transit station.

They were scarcely a block away from the restaurant when Camille swore. "What is it?" Zach asked, surprised at the outburst from his normally easygoing sister.

"I left my wallet at the restaurant," she said. "I got it out of my locker on my break to pay Bennie the ten dollars he loaned me to cover lunch the other day, and instead of putting it away afterward I tucked it into the little cubby under the hostess stand." She looked up at him, expression pleading. "I know it's late, but I really need to go back and get it."

"It's okay." He turned left at the next street, went around the block and coasted back to his previous parking spot across the street. "Do you want me to go with you?" he asked.

"No. I'll just run in and get it. It won't take me a second." She unfastened her seat belt and slid out of the truck, then jogged across the street. She stood for a moment opening the locks, then disappeared inside.

Zach rested his wrists on top of the steering wheel and looked toward the corner of the restaurant, which was also the corner of the street. Britannia's front entrance opened onto the cross street, and the red neon of its sign on the side of the building cast a reflection onto the street. The traffic light turned green. By the time it turned red again, he was wondering what was taking Camille so long. He looked toward the alley and the back door of the restaurant, but all was still. He jumped as a loud report echoed down the empty street. Like a car backfiring or firecrackers, maybe over on the next block.

Or a gunshot? Downtown was pretty safe these days, but there was always crime in a city this size. He glanced back toward the corner, and a man ran into the intersection. The solitary figure froze for a moment, lit by the streetlight—a young man in dark pants and a white shirt, his face very pale. He had a prominent nose and chin, his eyes dark hollows in the bright light, his expression one of terror. The young man turned toward him, and instinct sent Zach diving under the dash.

Then the door of the truck wrenched open, and Camille shoved inside. "Go!" she shouted. "We have to get out of here."

Zach straightened. The man in the intersection was gone, and the light was green again. He put the truck in gear and lurched into the street. He drove wildly, in the middle of the street, running at least one red light, but there was no one around to see him do it.

"There! Turn right there!" Camille pointed and Zach wrenched the steering wheel to the right. He sped past a line of parked cars, then slammed on his brakes as he met a concrete barrier. "It's okay." Camille put a hand on his arm. "We'll be okay now. This is a police station."

Zach blinked. Now he saw that the line of cars he had passed were Houston Police cruisers. He looked up and saw the lit sign Police. "What happened?" he asked.

Camille was pale, but she looked so much calmer than he felt. "Someone was in the restaurant when I went inside," she said. "They must have come in after I left the first time."

"How did they get in?" he asked. "I saw you lock the door."

"They must have come in the front door," she said. "They had a key."

"What do you mean they had a key?"

She wet her lips. "If I tell you, you can't say anything to anyone," she said. "Not even the police. Especially not the police. Whatever they ask you, you weren't there, all right?"

"Why can't I tell the police? Cammie, what is going on?"

She leaned closer and gripped his arm. "Charlie and Christopher Chalk own the Britannia Pub," she said. "You know who the Chalk brothers are, right?"

"Of course." Anyone who lived in Houston and watched the news or read a newspaper knew the Chalk brothers. They owned a lot of real estate. Restaurants and bars, apartment buildings, strip clubs, convenience stores. They were rumored to have connections to the mob or to drug cartels or to illegal gambling and prostitution. Maybe they had spent time in prison. Maybe they had murdered people. How much was truth and how much sensationalism, Zach didn't know or care.

"Christopher and Charlie were in the pub when I got there. With another man. Do you know Judge Hennessey?"

"No. How do you know him?"

"Don't you watch the news?" she asked. "He's the judge who got in trouble for not recusing himself from that money laundering trial that ended last week."

"What money laundering trial? And I don't have time to watch the news. I have a life."

"I was having a drink with Diane last week, and they had the TV on over the bar and I saw the story," she said. "Judge Hennessey was accused of taking a bribe, and word was he was going to confess who had paid him."

"Did the Chalk brothers pay him?" Zach asked.

"I don't know," Camille said. "But one of them killed him."

"What?"

"I had retrieved my wallet from the hostess stand and was getting ready to leave when I heard a gunshot. I turned to look, and there was the judge, lying on the floor bleeding, with Charlie and Christopher standing over him. I ran as fast as I could and got back to you. I don't think they know I was there."

"I heard the shot," Zach said. "I thought it was a car backfiring. And there was a guy..."

"What guy?" She grabbed his arm again. "What are you talking about?"

"Just a guy in the street. He ran from the direction of the restaurant. A guy about my age. Dark hair, dark pants, white shirt. Big nose and chin."

She stared at him, eyes wide. "That doesn't sound like Charlie or Christopher. They're both pretty big guys. Charlie must be at least forty. Christopher is a little younger, but he's fat."

"This guy wasn't fat. But he was terrified."

"Did he see you?"

"I don't think so. When he turned toward me, I ducked down."

She gripped his arm tighter, fingers digging in. "You can't tell anyone about this, Zach."

"Why not?"

"The Chalk brothers are terrible people. If they think you saw anything, they will kill you."

"So you're saying we both just keep this a secret?"

"Not both of us," she said. "I'll tell the police what I saw. They don't even have to know you were there."

"Wait a minute—you're saying I should keep quiet because the Chalk brothers will kill me, but it's okay for you to talk? In what world does that make sense?"

"I was in the building when Judge Hennessey was killed," she said. "I was practically in the same room. All you saw was some guy run down the street. He could have come from anywhere. You would risk your life for nothing. And our parents! It's going to be bad enough for them, having me involved in this mess. If you're in it, too, it could be too much for them. You need to be able to focus on taking care of them."

"Who's going to take care of you?" he asked.

"I'll ask for police protection, and I'll get it. I was an eyewitness to murder, and I can help law enforcement convict criminals they've been after for years." Her color returned as she spoke, and her eyes lit with excitement.

"Camille—" He tried to interrupt her, but she rushed on.

"This will work, Zach. You don't have to get involved." She opened the truck door. "Let me out here and drive straight home. I'll tell the cops I ran here from the restaurant. It's not that far."

"I can't just leave you here."

"You have to, Zach. Now go." She slid out of the truck and slammed the door behind her. Then she took off across the parking lot. Within seconds, she had disappeared into the building.

He sat for a long while, gripping the steering wheel, waiting for Camille to return then thinking he should go inside after her. He thought about the man in the street. Zach had seen him for such a brief moment. Was Camille right? Would he be opening himself up to danger for no reason? It could have been someone walking home after a late night, or a street person, terrified by the sound of gunfire nearby.

He texted Camille half a dozen times, but she never answered. Finally, at four in the morning, he headed home. He woke several hours later to a phone call from Camille. "Turn on the TV!" she said. "It's really happening!"

Still groggy, he turned on the television and scrolled through the channels until he came to footage of two men in suits being led away in handcuffs, flanked by half a dozen police officers. He turned up the sound. "...eyewitness statement led to the arrest of the Chalk brothers for the murder of Judge Andrew Hennessey."

"Where are you now?" Zach asked.

"I'm in a safe house. Trust me—I'm being taken very good care of. And so are you and Mom and Dad. If you see more cops that usual, it's because they've promised to keep an eye on you. Just in case the Chalks decide to go after one of you to get to me."

"Mom and Dad are in danger?"

"No. I don't think so. You're all going to be fine."

"What about you? Can they really keep you safe?"

"Don't worry about me. I'll have to lie low for a few months, until the Chalks are safely behind bars, but it will be so worth it. You can't imagine how I feel right now. I've gone from being a server to a crime-fighting hero. I'm thinking I want to go into law enforcement after this is all over. This could be the best thing that ever happened to me!"

"I should tell the cops what I saw," he said.

"No! Don't you dare. You'll just confuse things and put yourself in danger. Promise me you won't do it, Zach. Promise!"

He rubbed his temples, which throbbed from stress and lack of sleep. "You don't think they need to know?"

"They don't. I've told them everything they need. You look after Mom and Dad and root for me from the sidelines. It's all going to be great. You'll see."