Free One Wrong Step by Laura Griffin Page B

connection to the Saledo cartel, so Kate had some idea what this was about. But she wanted to hear what Rowe would say.
    “Lots of things,” he replied. “That’s why there’re multiple agencies involved.”
    Okay, so he wanted to be vague. Maybe she should track down Officer Skoal and see if he’d gotten a clue yet.
    Rowe’s cell phone buzzed, and he dug it out of his pocket. “Rowe,” he snapped.
    Kate looked him over as he took the call. He must be sweltering in that navy suit. She wondered if he always dressed like this on weekends, or if he’d specifically worn it for her. He probably thought it made him look official. Intimidating, even. Plus, it gave him plenty of room to hide his holster.
    Kate hated guns. She hated feds, too, but this one had been okay so far.
    And he was in decent shape for a thirty-eight-year-old. His wide shoulders strained the fabric of his jacket, and instead of the predictable middle-aged paunch, his abs looked flat beneath his starched white shirt.
    “When?” He flicked a gaze at her and checked his watch. “Okay, thanks.” He shut his phone, and his eyes were cool again. “I need to go.”
    “I should get going, too.” Kate shoved his business card in her pocket, right next to the list of maintenance recommendations from the lube shop. The ones she’d never use. “If I remember anything else, I’ll get in touch.”
     
    Celie rode in McAllister’s Jeep with the wind whipping around her face.
    “This the one?” he asked, as they neared a roadside storage facility.
    “A few more miles,” she said. “It’ll be on the right.”
    Her voice sounded calm, which was unbelievable considering how rattled she felt. She’d been a bundle of nerves ever since McAllister had shown up at the Bluebonnet House. And that had merely been the first big surprise of the day.
    The second big surprise had been the party’s success. McAllister, it turned out, was better than a bunny cake. The kids loved him, especially after he got a game of basketball together and coached them on their free throws. He even won over Enrique Ramos, a scrawny eleven-year-old who frequented the shelter and carried a boulder-size chip around on his shoulder. Enrique tended to be sullen and belligerent, and didn’t play well with others. But McAllister had overcome his attitude by treating him like an equal and not letting him win at basketball just because he was a kid.
    Enrique would never acknowledge it, but Celie could tell it meant something to him to be treated with respect by a grown man.
    “Thanks for coming,” she said earnestly. “Everyone loved you.”
    McAllister shot her a look. “Not everyone.”
    He was referring to Chantal, who’d pointedly ignored him for three hours.
    “Don’t mind Chantal. She’s like that with everyone.”
    “She’s like that with men, ” he corrected. “It was pretty obvious. She even gave the minister the cold shoulder.”
    It was a fair assessment, so Celie didn’t argue. But Chantal was an excellent advocate for abused women and children, and she ran a quality program, particularly considering that all their funding came from churches and private donations instead of government subsidies.
    “It’s right up here,” Celie said, pointing to an orange Public Storage facility just up the road. They were here to deal with the third surprise of Celie’s day: someone had vandalized her storage unit during the night. The manager had called Celie’s cell phone and asked her to come by to fill out a report, and Celie had had to ask McAllister to take a detour on the way home. First thing tomorrow, Celie needed to talk to her insurance company about a loaner car.
    McAllister pulled off the highway into the minuscule parking lot. He slid into a space beside a police cruiser.
    “So, you talk to Agent Rowe this morning?” he asked.
    Uh-oh. “No. Why?”
    He cleared his throat. “I heard from one of my coworkers. She told me they’re investigating Robert’s death