Intentional Acts by Melissa F. Miller

Author:Melissa F. Miller [Miller, Melissa F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

22

Leo rang Hank’s doorbell then yawned, a wide open-mouthed yawn he made no effort to cover. He was bone-tired. The flight from Houston had been delayed and then delayed again. By the time he landed in Pittsburgh and retrieved his car, the early edge of rush hour was underway. So he’d inched his way along the clogged roads until he finally reached Hank’s place.

He’d turned off his phone so that if Sasha tried to reach him, the call would go straight to voicemail. The coward’s way, maybe. But he preferred to think of it as the survivor’s way. The better course was to fight his way through snarled traffic, pick up the twins, grab takeout from her favorite Thai restaurant, and face the music in person.

Hank’s middle boy opened the door.

“Hi,” Mark said, before shouting over his shoulder into the interior of the house, “Dad, it’s not Mrs. Connelly. It’s Mr. Connelly.”

Hank appeared in the hallway, and his mouth fell open when he spotted Leo. He smoothed his expression in a heartbeat.

“Thanks, pal. Why don’t you help Finn and Fiona gather up their toys and pack their bag for me.”

He waited for the boy to walk away. Then he said, “You got here fast.”

Leo glanced down at his watch. “Not really.”

“Sure you did. I only got word about an hour ago that Wheaton had been neutralized.”

“Wait—what?”

“Someone working on Storm Chaser must be monitoring emergency and law enforcement communications. Ingrid called to say well done when the status on your assignment was updated to show that a coroner was dispatched to Essiah Wheaton’s home. He was dead at that scene.”

“Wheaton’s dead?” Leo repeated. The words sounded dull and far away to his own ears.

Hank frowned. “Well, yeah. That was the idea. Remember?”

Leo spoke slowly. “I didn’t kill him.”

Hank stepped out onto his porch and pulled the door shut behind him. He stared hard at Leo.

“What do you mean you didn’t kill him?”

“I mean I came straight here from the airport.”

“Your assignment was to take care of Wheaton.”

He locked eyes with his friend and boss. “I know. I came here to tell you to find somebody else to do it. But I guess you don’t need to now.”

They stared at one another for a long, tense moment.

Hank broke eye contact first when he passed his wide palm over his forehead. “I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I.”

“If you didn’t kill him, who did?”

“Probably whoever was crashing around in the woods last night. The question isn’t who, though. It’s why.”

“This is bad,” Hank muttered, more to himself than to Leo.

“So what now?”

“I have to ask—you really didn’t kill him?”

“No. Look, my flight was delayed. I spent the time on the tarmac fighting for elbow room and wrestling with my conscience. Essiah Wheaton may have been a no-good piece of trash. But I’m a federal agent, not his executioner, judge, and jury. That’s not how the system works—or, at least, that’s not how it should work. I tried to imagine sitting down for dinner across from

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