Page 41 of Witness Security Breach

“It’s been useful.” He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed, filling her with warmth.

For the first time in her life, she wasn’t ashamed or embarrassed about growing up in foster care and group homes. Even though Aiden had had a picture-perfect home with a loving mother and devoted father, he had a way of seeing her, accepting her, that made her feel valued and special.

They got out of the car, carrying their overpriced weapons, and crept around the long, narrow home. Red security storm doors were on the front and back, where there was also a small patio.

“Please tell me you learned how to pick a lock, too,” Aiden said.

Charlie shrugged. “I did, but it’s not like I have the right tools on me. We should try a window.”

They did, but they were all locked.

“I’ll have to break a windowpane,” Aiden said.

That was when she noticed the aluminum sill. It was easily breakable. “No. Too risky. Someone could hear the glass breaking. I think I can jimmy it open.”

She shoved the flat edge of the crowbar between the window and the sill. As she leveraged the pane up, Aiden pushed. The sash latch gave way and the window slid open.

He gave her a boost, with her foot on his palms, and she hoisted herself up the frame and climbed inside. Aiden followed behind her and they closed the window.

The houses on the street had historic charm on the outside, but inside, this one had been renovated with high-end finishes and stainless-steel appliances.

It was a straightforward two-bedroom, two-and-a-half-bath home. The living room flowed into the dining room and on to the kitchen.

They split up and searched the place. Aiden took the master bedroom and the other one set up as an office/guest room.

Charlie started in the kitchen. There was nothing hidden in the fridge or freezer. No false backs in the cupboards, no fake tins of coffee, nothing hidden in the jars of flour or sugar. No voids behind the wallboards.

Next, she checked the dining room and living room. No loose boards in the hardwood floor, no hollowed-out books. Nothing in the sofa cushions, either.

She blew out a frustrated breath and spun around to see what she might’ve missed.

On the wall in the dining room hung some pictures. Most of the photos were of one man surrounded by nature. Frank Devlin.

He knew their faces and names and now they knew his, too.

Early to midforties. Six-two. Athletic build. Rugged. A thick head of sandy brown hair. Eyes so intense they were chilling.

In one photo, Devlin held up a huge fish by a lake. Another was of him kneeling beside a dead deer in a meadow covered in mist. Two teenagers stood in front of a cabin in the next one. A boy with his arm around a younger girl’s shoulders. They resembled one another. Brother and sister.

She stared at the last picture. Five men, smiling, standing together behind a bar. A backlit sign read The Merry Men.

Robin Hood’s band of outlaws. Mighty brazen of them.

“I’ve got nothing,” Aiden said, walking out of the office. “Not even a laptop. Any luck?”

“I think this is Devlin.” She pulled out the cell phone and took a picture of the photo with the men. They looked like standard-issue tough guys: hardened, brawny, merciless beneath the smiles. Badges and guns on their hips. Devlin had his right hand on the shoulder of the man in the middle. “There’s five of them here. But we were hit by a team of four. What if one of them stayed behind?”

“Only one way to find out. Are you up for a drink?”

“Always.”

A 411 CALL GOT them the address. The parking lot of The Merry Men was almost full. Only a few spots left at the far end by a wall. The idea of getting blocked in didn’t sit well with Aiden.

He parked across the street. “Stay here and keep it running.”

“Come again?”

“One or more cops own that bar. That’ll make it a cop bar.”