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  That, right there, was enough of an admission to provide a valid reason to arrest and charge both Alexi and her mother with murder. And yet she hated the idea.

  How had they gotten themselves into such a predicament? And how had she found herself holding the only sets of handcuffs?

  “And what was he doing for you, exactly?” Kate asked.

  “As you likely know, he was the engineering director at the company.” Alexi sounded pathetic. “It started out as just a friendship, but he told me things... Things, about the projects we were working on, that others wanted to know.”

  Troy grimaced and motioned to Alexi’s feet. “Spread them.” He did a quick pat of Alexi and stepped back. “Which others wanted to know about your projects?”

  “Well—” Alexi paused “—there were a couple of people. I don’t know who they were with, but they were offering a hell of a lot of money. And...well...I make good change, but I could retire on what they promised. All they wanted were a few schematics. Nothing that could really compromise any sort of government project. It was just parts. You know? No big deal.”

  This was why the government had to use a variety of machining companies to do their work—small leaks like this.

  “How much?” Troy asked.

  “Fourteen million, all paid through Bitcoin,” Alexi said, sounding a bit proud. “They started at five. Seriously, a little more time and I think I could have gotten them higher, but at what point do you just not need any more money, am I right?”

  Kate’s knees grew weaker as she listened to the terrible story unfold. There were so many things wrong that she couldn’t find a silver lining. Her life was imploding around her.

  And whether or not her mother and Alexi realized it, what they were doing was illegal. She’d let a lawyer sort out all the charges, but she could think of several, some with stiff penalties.

  “You are not seriously gloating about how much money you made off Solomon’s death.” Troy’s tone was nearly a growl, and she was grateful for it.

  “Absolutely not. That’s not what I meant.” Alexi put his hands up in surrender. “There was nothing illegal about what I did. I was just trying to make some money. I wanted to start a new life, a life that your mother would love... In a way she had grown accustomed to.” He looked over at her mother, and the gaze her mother gave him nearly made her sick.

  There were many things illegal about what they had done, but she wasn’t about to point it out to them—not when she had them both on the ropes and talking about their crimes. Right now, she needed them to feel safe so they would tell her everything. She needed to pretend to be their friend so she and the FBI could formulate a full case and prosecute them to the fullest extent of the law—mother or not.

  “So, you were going to run away with this man?” She tried to check any emotions from seeping into her tone, but it was a struggle, thanks to all the hate and disgust she was feeling.

  Her mother looked down at the hood of the car.

  “Mom, I get that love happens. I get that you can’t always make sense of the things that you feel, and you sure as hell can make some terrible decisions. But why?”

  Tears ran down her mother’s face. “Why what?” she choked out.

  “Why did you have to have my father killed? Did he learn what you guys were up to? That Sal and Alexi were working together to sell governmental secrets?”

  Her mother sobbed, sitting back down on the car and resting her chin on her chest. “We told you. His death wasn’t planned.”

  “Then why, Mom, why?”

  “It was never supposed to happen this way... When I told him I wanted to leave...he blew up at me. He threatened to take everything.” She took out a handkerchief from her pocket and softly wiped at the tip of her nose. “I was fine with that. I was willing to accept losing it all. Your father was a good man. He helped me through the cancer, through everything. It would be a lie to say that I didn’t still love him. I just was no longer in love with him.”

  Her mother looked to her as if she was asking for her forgiveness and understanding.

  Though she didn’t feel either, she gave her mother a nod, hoping she would keep talking. “Did you pull the trigger?”

  “No,” her mother said, violently shaking her head. “That was Sal. He’d found out what happened. About the divorce. That’s when your father hired your friend there...” She motioned toward Troy. “When I didn’t fight your father for a division of the assets, he started to look into things...wondering why. I think he had started to sniff out Alexi, but he wasn’t entirely sure.”

  “Deborah, you need to stop talking.” Alexi shook his head. “We are innocent in this. That’s all they need to know.”

  Her mother shook her head. “No. Kate is my daughter. Agent or not, she deserves to know that I’m not a murderer. After this breaks in the news, who knows what the public or a jury will say. Right now is the only chance to give her my full side of the story.”

  Kate swallowed back the bile rising in her throat. Her mother was very likely going to go to a federal penitentiary for this, and yet all she wanted to do was keep her daughter’s love...and keep her from thinking the worst of her.

  The world was a screwed-up place. And what made it worse was the fact that she couldn’t stop her mother from talking. It went against her oath as an agent. She was to serve and protect the innocent. And, in this case, she was going to protect her father’s memory over her mother’s future.

  “So, why would Sal pull the trigger and kill Solomon?” Troy asked, taking the lead as though he could tell exactly how hurt Kate was and what kind of turmoil she was in.

  “Sal knew you would uncover the truth, that we had been using code to divert secrets to our mystery contact. He knew all about STEALTH and the power you guys have to get into any place you need. He convinced us it was only a matter of time until we were going to get caught. Our plan was just to take the money we had been stashing away in the Cayman Islands and disappear. But then, one day, out of the blue, Solomon called Sal into his office.” Her mother looked at the car. “Things went south.”

  “And what about me, Mom? Why did you have your guy try to take me out?”

  Her mother’s sobbing intensified, but Kate didn’t feel sorry for her... Instead, oddly, she didn’t feel anything.

  “I told him not to. I told him he could have a bigger share of the money. But he knew you were breathing down our necks. It was only a matter of time. After what happened... I wanted to turn ourselves in... It’s why we were here today. But...”

  “Your mother is taking blame where there is none. We didn’t do anything illegal,” Alexi countered.

  He could believe whatever he wanted; his ass was going to jail.

  “Why didn’t you guys leave after the shooting?” she asked.

  Her mother sobbed. “I couldn’t. It hurt so bad. I had to honor your father’s memory before I could make another move.”

  She shook her head, trying to make sense of everything. “I appreciate what you are saying, Mom. I do.” She drew in a long breath, accepting what she was going to have to do. “And I know this isn’t your fault—at least, not completely... But, unfortunately, I’m going to have to place you under arrest.”

  Slipping the cuffs on her mother’s wrists would be one sensation she would never forget. And yet being true and dedicated to her job and the world that trusted her had to come before protecting a criminal—even one who was family.

  Epilogue

  Six months later, Troy held his hands over Kate’s eyes as he led her up the stairs and to the front door of her house. “No peeking, okay?” he asked, taking out the keys she had given him for her home from his pocket. “Promise?”

  She giggled, nodding. “What are you up to?”

  “Birthday girl, don’t you worry.”

  “Oh yeah, you telling me not to worry
is definitely going to make me feel at ease,” she teased.

  “You know, if you are going to be snarky, I don’t have to give you your birthday present. I could just give it to some poor, hapless bystander. At least they would appreciate it.”

  She did a little hop from foot to foot, revealing her excitement. “Come on. I know I’m going to love whatever you are doing, but you are killing me. Can you open the door any slower?”

  He laughed. She looked so damn cute standing there in her down jacket, bundled up. She had always called him her iceman, but now, looking at her, she was the one who seemed to better fit the part.

  “After everything that happened with your mom, with Alexi’s and her convictions, I wanted to do something special. I know you’ve been through a lot.”

  Her little happy dance stopped and he wished he hadn’t started his speech out like he had, but there was no going back in time.

  “Anyhow, I want you to know how I feel about you. And though we’ve kind of talked about things—we haven’t talked about things.” He could feel her eyelashes batting against his palm as he spoke.

  Reaching up to the door knocker, he tapped out a rhythm of dashes and dots.

  “Is that...?” she said, giggling. “Do it again.”

  “But I thought you knew Morse code,” he teased, doing it again.

  She laughed and she pulled his hand away from her face. “I do... And I knew what you were asking the first time. But...I wanted to hear you ask it again.”

  “Are you going to answer me?” he asked, smiling as he dropped to one knee.

  “Yes.” She clasped her hands to her mouth as he pulled the blue box out of his pocket. He opened it, and inside the box was a princess-cut diamond solitaire. “Oh my... Yes, Grim. Yes.”

  He took the ring out of the box, gently slipping it on her finger. “I love you, Ms. Scot. Or would you prefer Mrs. Spade?”

  She lifted her hand, looking at the ring. “If I’m going to be your wife, I want to be your wife and you’re going to be my husband. A name doesn’t matter to me.” She threw her arms around his neck. “I love you, Grim.”

  A single tear twisted down his cheek. “I love you too, Mrs. Spade.”

  She hugged him tighter, finally letting him go. “Hey, why the big surprise entrance to my house?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.

  “Oh yeah,” he said with a laugh. He hadn’t intended on asking her to marry him right there, right now...and he had nearly forgotten the rest of his plan. Everything was all screwed up, but at the same time, this proposal was just like them...imperfectly perfect, and he’d have it no other way. “Close your eyes.”

  She did as instructed, and he opened the door.

  “You can look.”

  She gasped.

  Inside, hanging from line after line, were a thousand white cranes—the first of which he had folded for her while waiting for her in the coffee shop. Here was hoping the one thing he wished for above all others, the wish he had wished with every fold of the paper, would come true...the wish that they would be each other’s forever.

  * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Cold Case Colorado by Cassie Miles.

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  Cold Case Colorado

  by Cassie Miles

  Chapter One

  Clouds shifted across the moonlit sky, creating ghostly shadows. Vanessa Whitman faced the graveyard, unafraid. She welcomed the spirits from her past, including her father who had been cremated only six days ago. When it came to sorting out her family heritage, she’d take all the help she could get, be it messages from the dead or a lawyer’s brief.

  She slipped through a narrow break in the border hedge at the far side of the 165-acre cemetery on the west side of Denver. The tall wrought iron gates at the front entrance had been locked an hour ago. After dark, visitors were supposed to check in, but that was a rule she had to break.

  Frozen in place, she scanned the irregular rows of tombstones, grave markers and statues of guardian angels. Nobody else was here. Spring lilacs in full bloom scented the crisp night air. A breeze rustled the new leaves on poplars and aspens.

  Clouds parted, and a shaft of moonlight pointed the way. She trod carefully across the carpet of grass. In her hands, she carried a Mason jar half-filled with a portion of her father’s ashes that she’d taken from his urn. Her intention was to scatter Dad at the side-by-side plots he’d purchased when Mom passed away fifteen years ago.

  The cemetery caretakers would most certainly not approve of her plan, but Vanessa couldn’t afford to follow protocol. There was an internment fee, and she didn’t have enough ready cash to pay right now. Sure, she could wait or make other arrangements or borrow the money, but she wanted to honor Dad’s last request. And she wanted to do it now, right now.

  For the past four years, he’d been dying from colon cancer and the many agonizing complications that went along with the disease, which meant that he and Vanessa had had plenty of time to discuss the final question: What to do with his remains? He’d wanted to leave a trace of himself in the far-flung corners of the Earth from the peak of Mount Everest to the lowest depth of the Mariana Trench. She’d convinced him to accept a more doable plan, scattering some of his ashes in the mountains where he grew up, some in the ocean to symbolize his many journeys and another portion here at the gravesite of his soul mate.

  She halted in front of her mother’s marker—a bronze plaque planted flat in the earth. A memory of her mother filled her mind. Vanessa always wished she looked more like Mom, with her delicate features and dark hair. Instead, she took after Dad, with his unruly honey-colored hair, his broad smile and freckles.

  Her mother’s plaque read Margaret Whitman, beloved wife and mother, followed by her birth date and the date—fifteen years ago—when she passed away. When Vanessa had the money, she’d have her father’s matching plaque inscribed John Joseph Whitman, husband, father, traveler and poet, followed by the dates.

  A car door slammed.

  Startled, she shot a glance toward the entrance and saw no one coming through. Nor did she see vehicles on the narrow roads that meandered through the cemetery. The car must have stopped beyond the hedge. Nobody here. And yet a shudder rattled down her spine. Not scared but apprehensive, she sensed the presence of a watcher. Could it be the creep who had been following her for days? She waited for him to show himself. Nothing. He wasn’t here.

  She knelt in the grass before Mom’s marker. Earlier today at a small memorial in the university chapel, she’d recited Dad’s favorite Dylan Thomas poem. He would have been proud of the way she’d maintained her composure. That was then. And now? Tears sloshed behind her eyelids and spilled down her cheeks.

  She set the Mason jar on the ground, kissed her fingertips and touched the bronze plaque as though she could reassure Mom. These tears were about more than sadness. She was also glad that her father’s suffering was over. Sorrow, anger and... tension. She wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Her future was as bleak as a moonscape. She’d quit her job teaching high school English to care for Dad and had made no plans for future employment. Every penny of her savings and Dad’s as well was spent. The flood of medical bills had wiped out everything. Their properties were repossessed. All their assets were gone. Mom would have said it was impossible for her to be broke because the Whitmans had always been a superrich family.

  A thread of anger wove through her fears. Her charming father had been wildly irresponsible. To finance his travels, he’d sold off artwork and property. She should have monitored his spending, grounded him, refused to pay for one las
t trip to Bali to watch the purple sunset behind the tiered pagodas and swaying palm trees. But she couldn’t deny him.

  John Joseph Whitman had died with a smile on his face and that meant the world to her. She unscrewed the lid on the Mason jar and poured a few ounces of Dad’s remains into her palm. The ashes and tiny fragments of bone seemed to burn. Quickly, she sprinkled them around her mother’s grave.

  When she heard what sounded like someone walking on gravel, her gaze swiveled. This part of the cemetery was relatively new with more plaques in the ground than upright tombstones. For thirty feet in all directions, her view was uninterrupted. She saw nobody but felt her stalker was near. Anticipating the worst, she’d come prepared. In the pocket of her sweatshirt was a container of pepper spray.

  The first time she’d seen her stalker was a couple of months ago, late at night. He’d been on the street outside the hospice, wearing a black cap and ski mask. He’d called her name, then raised his arm and pointed at her. The creep didn’t come close enough for her to get a good look, just a general impression that he was average height and weight. She’d leaped into her car and driven home.

  Now and again, she’d caught other glimpses but was too exhausted to do anything. When her apartment was broken into, she called the police. After a cursory look around, they’d found no evidence. Nothing had been stolen. They suggested that she stay with friends or family for a few days. That was when she’d contacted her wealthy Uncle Simon Markham who lived near Aspen. Vanessa had swallowed her pride and asked for money. To her surprise, Simon had stepped up and paid for a private suite in a nursing facility for her and her father.

  Still kneeling at Mom’s marker, she emptied the ashes from the Mason jar into the grass. Now Mom and Dad would be together forever. Vanessa flashed on a wishful vision of them holding hands in a rose garden, surrounded by love and beauty.

  Their ordeal was over. And hers had just begun.