Page 29 of Sheltering Lily

“Yep.” Steve tapped buttons on his laptop and angled the screen so I could see an image of the agent. He was dressed in a baseball jersey and hat. “His name’s Greg Newhart, and he’s DEA, as you said. He played in a baseball game a couple evenings ago. It was a fundraiser for a group that helps the families of fallen officers. Local cops versus feds.”

“So he’s an active agent?”

“I confirmed it in the database. Also checked his current caseload. There’s no suggestion that he’s working undercover currently.” Steve flipped to another picture, one of the images I had taken outside the diner. “This guy is a low-to medium-level dealer.” Steve pointed to the man I knew as John Stout. “Not usually someone the feds would bother with. He might be an informant. I didn’t find a listing for him in the system, but I can’t be sure John Stout is his real name, and he might have been in there under a different alias.”

“But you don’t think so?” I had picked up on a doubtful tone in Steve’s voice.

“DEA guys are too savvy to meet informants alone. It smells fishy to me, especially when you told me how anxious Newhart was about the meeting. DEA guys are usually cool cucumbers. Something’s got this one on edge.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too. I hate when good guys turn dirty.” My gut had told me the truth about Newhart days ago, but I was glad to have Steve’s input. The question was what to do with the suspicion. “I’m going to have to plan my next move carefully.”

“I’ve been thinking about that. The tricky part is figuring out who else is compromised. Maybe nobody, maybe the cancer spreads several levels above Newhart. I was thinking we might call James Rich.” Steve named a federal agent we both knew, one I had worked with and felt sure I could trust.

“Good idea,” I said. “I’ll contact him later today.” Since it was Saturday, I shouldn’t bother Rich until Monday, but I didn’t feel comfortable with a delay.

“This could get dicey,” Steve pointed out. “You need to protect the people you care about.” One of Steve’s techs came to the office door and gestured for him. “I’ll be right back.”

Left alone, I considered what Steve had said. It was nothing I hadn’t already thought of myself. Sofia was safely with my brother’s family for now. Zach wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Lily was at her art class. And after that, who knew? She no longer shared her plans with me, leaving me no good way to watch over her unless we were both at my house.

I needed her to be someplace safe. New York would be safe. I doubted Stout would pursue her there or that he would be able to locate her in the huge city even if he did. Maybe the best thing for Lily would be to take the position and leave me. It seemed that she wanted to. She’d used the words “opportunity” and “dream” during our conversation. She wanted this internship, and I should want her to have it, even be happy for her.

I gripped the coffee mug tighter. Wasn’t that what love meant? Hoping the one you loved got what she wanted in life? Which would be great if what she wanted didn’t take her away. I wished I’d listened to her news with a modicum of enthusiasm, but I’d been too stunned, too knocked back by how the thought of her leaving slammed into me.

But this wasn’t about me. It was about her finding her passion, and I had no choice but to let her go. All I could do for her was keep her safe until she left. I contemplated how I was going to do that, realizing that there was only one answer. I had to keep Lily close to me, even if it made my heart ache to be near her and not be able to have her. Stout’s connection to Newhart had me worried. The DEA agent might have a long reach locally, and Stout was scum. You could never trust scum.

What the hell was I doing sitting there? I got to my feet and strode through the room, calling out to Steve that I’d talk with him later. Outside, I yanked out my phone and dialed Lily’s number, wanting to know where she was. No answer. Not a big deal, I told myself. She was in class or having coffee afterward with a friend. She was probably fine—but I couldn’t really be sure of that until I had eyes on her myself.

I jogged to my truck and drove the few blocks to the art studio. No cars in the lot, no sign of her yellow subcompact. I went to the door: locked. I scanned the street, searching for any sign of her. Some instinct in me screamed that I had to find her, and now. Since I’d learned to trust that internal voice, I forced myself to analyze the situation and remove my emotions from it. In theory, she could be anywhere—but the most likely scenario was that she was already at home.

Wasting no time, I took the shortest route to my house. Relief washed over me when I saw her sun-colored car parked on the street near the butterfly markers. As I swung into my driveway, I spotted a gray Camry parked two houses down and my worry instantly returned. A second look confirmed it was the car that had been haunting us, the car driven by John Stout.

I swore as I got out of my truck, knowing the sound of my engine had already blown any chance I had of sneaking up on Stout. I slammed the vehicle door, making it more obvious that someone was home. Let the creep know I was around, let Lily know, too, so if she was in danger, she’d know that help was on the way. Since I didn’t see any sign of Stout out front, I circled the garage and approached her apartment, immediately spotting the shadow of someone moving around through the open basement door.

“Lily, are you home?” I called, wanting to hear her voice, to know she was unhurt.

No answer came. As I advanced, Stout emerged from the basement and another guy, a man with greasy long hair tied in a ponytail, stepped from behind the storage shed. Both men had guns trained on me. They had me trapped between them, but that didn’t bother me. From the way they held themselves, I could tell that they didn’t have even a fraction of my training. If this were just about me, I’d go into action, taking them both down. But caution stopped me. I didn’t know where Lily was or whether she was safe. If they shot and incapacitated me, it wouldn’t do Lily any good. I hoped she was in the main part of the house, safely behind a locked door, but I needed to know that before I tried to neutralize these guys.

Against all my instincts, I raised my hands in the air, loosened my stance, and put on a meek expression in an attempt to de-escalate the situation. When they gestured for me to enter the basement door, I willingly did, hoping Lily wasn’t inside, hurt or worse.

15

COLIN

Ikept my head bent down, simulating a weak stance as I let the two men lead me into the basement apartment. It looked like a windstorm had been through the small space. Objects were turned over. Containers with art supplies and other odds and ends were emptied all over the carpet, leaving me to wonder if they were looking for something. Had Lily inadvertently taken something of theirs?

I froze, staring at the mess, and had to ask. “Uh, are you looking for something in particular?”

Stout came up behind me and told ponytail guy to bring over a chair. The guy rushed around me and dragged a straight-backed chair into the middle of the room. Giving me a shove in the back, Stout said, “None of your business. Sit down. Now.”

I pretended to stumble forward. “All right, I’m going. You didn’t need to push.” In answer, Stout gave me another shove, and I plodded over and collapsed into the chair. I shifted in the seat and kept my head down while I took in the room. I saw no real damage, and the mess was random, making me think it was probably more malicious than anything.

Ponytail guy began to pace in front of me, sniffling and rubbing at his nose. It was obvious to me that the guy was nervous—and that he was a junkie in need of a fix. I risked a peek at Stout, who was stomping around the room and talking to himself. He kept picking up random items as he walked, then tossing them on the floor in apparent frustration.

"Come on, man. You know we shouldn’t have come here. We were told?—”

Before ponytail guy could finish his sentence, Stout screamed at him, “Shut up! I let her slip away once. It won’t happen again.”

“If you just let me go,” I pleaded, keeping my eyes on the floor, “you can walk away, and I won’t tell anyone about this.”

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