The Export by J.K. Kelly (read along books txt) 📕

hands, switching the ring would alert Matt if she had the time and the strength to do it. Calls for help might put her beloved nephew’s life at risk, and that was one thing she would never have allowed to happen.

If this was an inside job, that means there’s a killer downstairs, he thought. Maybe an accomplice. Matt shook his head. Could all of this be a mistake? he wondered. Could she have moved the ring for some other reason?

He continued to hold her hand and then slowly removed the ring from her finger, placing her hand back beneath the blanket.

He had just stood up when the sheriff knocked at the doorway. “Is there anything you want us to do, Matt?” he asked in a respectful, subdued tone.

Sam Horton had been a family friend as far back as Matt could remember. They were the same age, had spent summers together climbing the hills, spotting big game at dusk, chasing the two-legged locals into the night, and using the Tetons and nearby Yellowstone as theirs to conquer. Horton was a cowboy through and through, raised on a horse ranch just over the hills in Idaho. He loved to hunt, fly fish, hike, ride horses, and Helene Coleman. She, too, had provided the mothering figure both young men had been without growing up. Matt and Sam had been like brothers but their time apart had made them more like acquaintances as the years went by. Matt hadn’t turned to face Sam yet. He needed to formulate a plan and fast. He wasn’t sure he could trust him.

Matt turned. “Come on in, Sam,” he suggested, and the sheriff slowly walked toward them. They stood over her body, quiet in their thoughts, until Matt decided it was time to make the first move and roll the dice.

“Sam,” he asked, “can I trust you with something important?” Matt watched every inch of the man, looking for tells. Watching for anything and everything.

“Whatever you need, Matt, whatever you need.”

Matt’s instincts and his extensive training and experience were fully put to the test. Did Sam shift his weight, gesture with his arms, change his breathing? Did the focus of his eyes change in any way? Did he look away? What he saw and felt was nothing but affection for Coleman and a very sincere expression through an offer to help.

That’s good.

“I can’t tell you why I need this, or how I know. And you can’t tell anyone else,” Matt said quietly. “This is a matter of national security, Sam, and I’m not kidding.” He paused. “But I need toxicology run on her.”

Sam’s surprise showed with the tilt of his head and the curious expression on his face. “Matt, she–”

Matt cut him off with an abrupt wave of his hand. A knock at the doorway let both men know the implied need for secrecy was being blown with every passing moment. It was the coroner. He wanted to know if there was anything else or if he could leave. Having known Coleman for years and of the heart disease she had kept from everyone but a few in the medical community there and in Washington, he had ruled her death came as a result of an apparent heart attack. No need for an autopsy, he said he wanted to leave his friend at peace.

“No, we’re good here, Lou,” the sheriff said. “I’ll call the funeral home and get them headed this way.”

The coroner looked to Matt, expressed his condolences once more, and then excused himself. Matt walked to the window and watched the man head for his black SUV, parked on the gray stones in the driveway below. As the coroner drove away, the ambulance crew walked out of the house, climbed into their rig, and followed his lead.

Damn it!

Matt walked to the doorway and listened. He could hear the security team and the late DNI’s staff discussing next steps and how much longer they would need to remain here. Matt turned to Sam and asked him to come downstairs with him and the others, where they asked everyone to gather in the great room of the home. His aunt had loved spending time before the fire there. Even without a flame and despite the size of the room, capped by the arched roof and treated logs, the space was warm and inviting, much different from the modern condo she kept in Georgetown back east.

“As most of you know,” Matt began, “my aunt was a very private person. She wanted to be cremated without any fanfare and I intend to follow her wishes.”

Most of his audience nodded in agreement, but no doubt had thought this day would come much later, way into her retirement.

“The sheriff and I are going to wait here for the funeral director to show up, so I’d like to ask that you all wrap up whatever you need to, remove anything that is intelligence related, and then leave her and this place in peace.”

He studied the dozen faces around him as he spoke, watching for a sign, anything to indicate something sinister, suspicious, or perhaps guilt. He saw nothing, he read nothing out of the ordinary, and to his dismay, was disappointed.

Something’s not right here, Matt told himself, but he couldn’t put his finger on what. He was exhausted. It had been one hell of a week, but he was missing something and he knew it – and that pissed him off more than anything.

It only took a half-hour for both teams to pack up, collect what was in the protocol, say their good-byes, and then drive off in their SUVs. The government jet that had brought them out west would fly them back to Washington straight away.

Matt watched as the dust from the last vehicle began to settle. Then he heard another vehicle approaching, the gravel road grinding beneath it.

It was the silver hearse from funeral home. Too fast, Matt thought, I need more time!

Without waiting to greet the arriving car, Matt walked