Eyes in the Sky: Tawny Lindholm Thrillers, #3

By Debbie Burke

Investigator Tawny Lindholm loves her boss, renowned criminal attorney Tillman Rosenbaum, but his troubled teenage children scare her. Her resolve to keep her distance goes out the window when his honor student daughter overdoses. Now Tawny can't turn away from the girl whose life she saved. Meanwhile, treacherous enemies are determined to destroy Tillman by targeting his family. Will Tawny pay the ultimate price to protect him and the children she cherishes?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Media Management LLC
• Release date: Jan 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393372752

Debbie Burke

Debbie Burke is an award-winning journalist who writes Tawny Lindholm Thrillers with a Heart, set in the rugged mountains of Montana. She is a regular blogger at The Kill Zone, a popular crime-writing website. 

Book preview

Chapter 1 – The Watcher

FRANK GRAND STOOD ON a wind-swept bluff overlooking the bleak Montana prairie and maneuvered his drone to zoom in on two figures standing in the parking area of the Interstate 90 rest stop. He focused the control console on his primary target—attorney Tillman Rosenbaum.

At six-seven, Rosenbaum owned any courtroom he entered. Frank had seen him in action, felt the boom of his James Earl Jones voice, and watched as opposing counsel and even some judges shriveled under the fierce obsidian stare.

The other figure was Tawny Lindholm, a tall, slender woman about 50 who worked for him. Her braided hair shone in the sun like a bright copper penny. She was obviously more than his employee. As Rosenbaum stroked her cheek, his long, angular face looked like a stick of butter melting in a microwave.

The bigger they are, Frank thought, the harder they fall.

The original plan was to kidnap his children. From the way Rosenbaum gazed at this woman, adding her into the equation would drive the stakes even higher.

Frank panned the camera to admire the attorney’s Mercedes G-Wagon SUV. Hundred and twenty grand minimum. With his cut of the ransom, Frank might buy one for himself.

The couple got in the Mercedes and merged onto the interstate, eastbound toward Billings.

Frank retrieved the drone, secured it in the hard-sided case, and set it on the passenger seat of his Crown Vic Police Interceptor. He drove down the hill and followed Rosenbaum’s SUV.

TAWNY LINDHOLM STUDIED the dark curly hair, long profile, and jutting chin of Tillman Rosenbaum, her boss and, as of recently, her lover. I thought we were going to Yellowstone.

Tillman’s wrist steered easy on the wheel. We are.

You missed the turnoff to Highway Eighty-nine.

Yeah. The Mercedes continued east on I-90, smooth, steady, its destination evidently predetermined.

A wave of uneasiness crested over Tawny. She shifted in the leather seat, facing him. Are we going to Billings?

Where he lived on a sprawling estate with his ex-wife in one wing, him in the other, and three teenage children stuck in the middle. 

Do you mind?

What are you pulling, Tillman? Although Tawny adored the brilliant lawyer, she didn’t always trust him.

Tomorrow’s Judah’s bar mitzvah.

Damn him. He’d manipulated her again. You lead me to believe we’re going on vacation, except now you spring a little detour to shove me down your family’s throat.

Tillman faced her, a sheepish grin tugging one side of his mouth. Judah likes you. He wants you to come.

Crap, Tillman, he’s only met me once. Tawny recalled the awkward dinner at his home almost a year before when he’d introduced her as his new investigator.

You made a big impression, he said. That’s three generations of Rosenbaum men you’ve bewitched.

She hugged herself, again regretting that she’d crossed the line with her boss. Number one, I don’t believe you. Number two, you’re an asshole to deceive me. Number three, I am not going to intrude on a sacred family event. Your kids have enough problems without introducing Dad’s new girlfriend into the mix.

I’ve told them we’re together, Tawny. It’s not a secret.

Hearing about someone who lives four hundred and fifty miles away in Kalispell is a whole lot different than coming face to face with the other woman who’s the reason their parents won’t get back together.

He let out an exasperated huff. Number one, you were never the other woman. Number two, you already know I’m an asshole. Number three, you’re not the reason. They know Chell and I will never reconcile.

Hope is hard to kill in kids. Tawny stared out the window at the rolling hills, new green growth reawakening from winter. The scent of sagebrush wafted through the air vents. "I don’t understand you, Tillman. Why am I more concerned about disrupting their lives than you are? They’re your family." 

You could be my family too...someday.

His sideways proposal made her mushy inside but she held strong to her resolve. No chance of that, at least not until the kids are grown. I’m not making it harder for them than it already is.

"I want you there."

Newsflash, Tillman. She threw back the taunt he’d often used on her, especially when he thought she was being naive. You’re the daddy. That means you have to give up what you want for your kids’ sake. 

His cell rang through the radio. He punched the Bluetooth. Judah, my man!

Hey, Dad, when are you getting here? High squeaks alternated with low, gruff tones.

Poor kid, Tawny thought. How well she remembered the changing voice of her own son, Neal, when he was thirteen. And the embarrassment that came with it.

Tillman answered, Couple more hours.

Well, hurry up. Mimi and Arielle are fighting World War Three. Mom may kill both of them if you don’t get here soon.

As fast as I can without getting a ticket.

Hey, Dad, y’know that hot redhead that works for you? Is she coming?

Tillman slid a sideways glance at Tawny, not bothering to hide his smug smile. Hang on a sec, got another call coming in. He tapped Judah’s call to hold. Are you going to disappoint him?

Tawny glared at him. You’re rotten to manipulate me.

Never pretended to be otherwise. He lifted one shoulder. Well?

She stared out the window, irritated, but stuck in a box.

He tapped the speaker. Yo, Judah. Yeah, that hot redhead’s sitting beside me. She can’t wait to give you a big, sloppy, congratulatory kiss for becoming a man.

Not in this lifetime, Tawny fumed.

Da-ad, did you put me on speaker? Lots of cracks. "Can she hear what I’m saying?"

No worries, son, she’s taking a nap. He disconnected.

Tawny didn’t know whether to slug Tillman or kiss him for saving the boy from being mortified. How could the man be such a jerk on one hand, yet so sweet on the other?

He settled back in the driver’s seat, still steering with his wrist, a smirk pulling the side of his mouth.

But it was her own fault. She’d broken rule number one: don’t sleep with the guy who signs your paycheck.

Silence pulsed between them. She spotted a corral of sheep, new lambs skipping over mud puddles. On the far side of the highway, black cows grazed on a hillside, wobbly-legged calves sticking close to their mothers. Everywhere, new life, new growth surrounded them, yet their new relationship was souring faster than milk left out in the midday sun.

After several moments, his deep voice filled the car. Bet you didn’t bring anything to wear except jeans and hiking boots, right?

Silly me, I thought we were going hiking and horseback riding and camping. Why would I pack nice clothes?

Don’t worry, we’ll stop at the mall and I’ll buy you something sexy and expensive. Least I can do to make up for misleading you. He reached across the console and fingered the tail of her french braid. His voice lowered. I suspected you’d refuse to come. Guessed right. But, Tawny, it’s important for you to be involved.

She squared herself in the seat. Your closing arguments are striking out with this jury of one. She spread her hands in a can’t-you-understand gesture. I’m not kidding, Tillman. Just drop me at a motel and go take care of your family obligations. When you’re done, you can pick me up and we’ll go to Yellowstone like we planned.

Have you ever been to a bar mitzvah?

No.

You’ll find it interesting. A lot of tradition and history.

I’d love to go to a bar mitzvah...just not your son’s. How could the brilliant lawyer, who read juries flawlessly, be so dense when it came to the feelings of children he loved?

Look, we’ll just drop by the house, you can say hi to Judah then I’ll take you to a hotel.

No!

Without warning, Tillman swerved across the center divider of the interstate, jaw clenched. The SUV rollicked and bumped over the rough ground, tires kicking up mud, as he made a radical, illegal U-turn. Seconds later, the vehicle regained the pavement, now headed west, the direction they’d just come from.

Tawny clutched the armrest. What are you doing?

He said nothing, pushed the speed to eighty. At the US 89 junction, he turned south, slowing only slightly through the outskirts of Livingston. Ahead, a green highway sign listed the roads and campsites that were open in Yellowstone.

Dammit, Tillman. Stop the car. This is childish. You’re not missing your son’s bar mitzvah and you’re not shoving me into any more corners.

His jaw jutted, as if daring her to take a swing at him. What the hell do you want, Tawny? I’ll do anything you want. You just have to tell me what it is.

Sadness stirred in the angry confusion burning inside her. "It’s not what I want. It’s not what you want. It’s what’s the right thing for your kids. Can’t you see that?"

He let up on the accelerator and turned into a shaded pull-out where remaining patches of snow had turned into slush-mud. The SUV stopped.

His penetrating, dark stare always unsettled her, half sexy, half scary. "You’d be good for my kids. That’s why I want you around them. His cool hand caressed her cheek. I wish you’d been their mother instead of Rochelle. Maybe if you’d raised them, loved them, given them what they needed, they wouldn’t be so screwed up now."

His words irked her because he’d insulted his ex, who’d no doubt tried hard to be a good mother. At the same time, his compliment touched Tawny. Her own kids weren’t perfect, particularly Emma, but they’d grown up into good, decent adults. But she could never be the mother of his children—they already had one. That’s not fair to Rochelle. Teenage years are awful, no matter how you raise them. You just have to hunker down and slog through.

A trace of smile lifted the side of his mouth. Someone as wise as you normally has a long gray beard.

The tease in his dark eyes diffused her frustration. I do have one. I keep it in a drawer in my dresser.

You’ll have to model it for me sometime. His boyish grin melted her resistance.

She leaned over and kissed him. OK, when we get to Billings, take me to a motel. You scope out the mood at your house then we’ll see.

OK, but you’re staying in a suite at the Northern.

Motel Six is fine.

The hell it is.

I can’t afford the Northern.

He stared down his nose at her. You aren’t paying.

I feel like a kept woman.

"And I plan to keep you as long as you’ll have me." His lips brushed hers before he jockeyed out of the slippery slush and headed back to the interstate.

Tawny settled in the seat beside the infuriating, arrogant man who’d saved her from prison and had given her a better job than she could ever hope to have without an education.

A man who would do anything for her.

And who had tossed her once-quiet life into unrelenting chaos.

THE GRAY MERCEDES SUV’S wild U-turn across the center divider had surprised Frank Grand. He dropped his speed and pulled to the shoulder. If he followed, Rosenbaum would surely pick up the tail.

He waited five minutes until the SUV was out of sight, then made the same illegal U-turn and headed westbound, pushing the Crown Vic to ninety-five. The growl of the Interceptor engine was always a rush, the reason he’d bought the former police cruiser. Plus, other drivers mistook him for a cop and pulled out of his way. Nice perk.

As he approached the US 89 cutoff, he spotted the Mercedes, now back on the eastbound side of the interstate, heading toward him. Why did Rosenbaum circle around? Did he suspect the tail? Unlikely, because Frank had been careful.

He took the off-ramp, crossed under the interstate, then reentered the eastbound on-ramp. A few minutes later, he fell in behind a semi-truck that blocked him from Rosenbaum’s view. A mile ahead, Rosenbaum’s Mercedes maintained eighty. Sparsely-traveled Montana roads required patience and sharp eyes to follow someone without being detected.

Billings was the likely destination. Surveillance would become much easier with Rosenbaum in his home territory.

Chapter 2 – Staying Alive

THREE HOURS LATER, in a tenth-floor suite at the historic Northern Hotel, Tawny gazed out as late afternoon sun glinted off the windows of downtown buildings below. She slipped into the peacock-green, lace-tiered dress and matching jacket that Tillman had insisted on buying for her.

At the shop, the saleslady had described the style as a Santa Fe wedding dress, which almost made Tawny choke. But Tillman just grinned, whipped out his credit card, and paid before she had a chance to change her mind.

She adjusted the neckline, checked herself in the mirror, then caught his reflection.

He sat in a barrel chair across the suite, long legs crossed, ankle over knee, typing on his tablet. How could a man with readers halfway down his nose look so sexy?

She’d known the workaholic lawyer couldn’t really take a vacation, no matter his promises to her. She looked forward to being out of wi-fi and cell range once they reached Yellowstone but, for now, in downtown Billings, he couldn’t help himself.

You look sensational. The rumble of his deep baritone interrupted her thoughts. I may have to take you back to bed again for round two.

She smiled. After their fight in the car, the make-up sex in the tall, pillowy bed had been delicious. But she still worried about intruding on the family celebration. Dinner tonight at the Rosenbaum house was a reluctant compromise that he’d talked her into shortly after he’d brought her to a climax that left her trembling helplessly. Tillman didn’t play fair.

How many people are coming to the bar mitzvah? she asked.

He rolled his eyes. No fewer than four hundred of our closest friends. Chell has to turn it into the Billings social event of the century. Not that it’s hard to do, considering the miniscule Jewish population in Montana. He rose. Ready to go?

Hell no, she thought, but said, I guess.

He bent low to kiss her. For all the hard words that came out of his mouth, the softness of his lips always surprised her. Don’t be nervous.

"Tillman, I can’t help it. I’ve never been the other woman. I don’t know how to act."

Be your sweet, wide-eyed, innocent self. He took her hand as they left the suite and rode the elevator down.

She still couldn’t get used to the constant coolness of his touch. His long fingers always felt cold, even when they made love. Sometimes it was exciting, like an ice cube on her nipple, but other times, she wondered.

Even though she was fifty-one years old, Tillman was only the third man she’d ever slept with. Thirty-two good years with Dwight, as solid, dependable, and steady as gravity, until cancer shriveled him.

Then a brief, ill-fated affair with a man who had filled the aching loneliness following Dwight’s death. But his warm, loving façade had been a masquerade to hide his plot of betrayal.

After she’d killed him in self-defense, Tillman had saved her from prison.

And now, she was trying to hammer out a relationship with this volatile lawyer, so different from the easygoing, comfortable trust she’d had with Dwight. Since she and Dwight rarely fought, they hardly ever had make-up sex. With Tillman, it felt like the only variety.

But, more than any other problem between them, she worried about his three troubled teenage children. Would they hate the new woman in their dad’s life? What if she made mistakes that damaged their already-rocky relationship with him?

While they waited for the valet to bring the SUV, Tillman said, I need to make a quick stop at my office.

Tawny sighed with relief. Anything to postpone the meeting with his family, even if only for a few minutes.

The office of Rosenbaum, Withers, and Zepruder was several blocks away, convenient to the courthouse and the Yellowstone County Sheriff’s Department. He pulled into the alley and through the rolling chain-link gate that secured the small parking area behind the historic, brick, two-story structure.

Tillman jerked his chin at his partner’s black Jaguar parked in the lot. Why’s Zepruder still here? He never stays this late on a Friday. He unlocked the rear door of the building. In the hallway, scarred wood planks squeaked under their steps. He hollered up the steep staircase, Hey, Steve.

Steve Zepruder emerged from his second-floor office. At five-seven, standing at the top of the stairs was the only opportunity he’d ever have to look down on Tillman. His handsome face twisted in a scowl. What the hell are you doing here? Then he spotted Tawny behind Tillman and his expression transformed to a wide grin, full of teeth. Hi, Tawny, great to see you again. His voice took on the silky timbre of an easy-listening radio announcer.

She smiled and nodded. Sometimes she wished she worked for genial, blond, blue-eyed Steve instead of Tillman. Although, she had to admit, lately his temper flared less. Even his office manager, Esther, made the observation that Atillman the Hun had mellowed under Tawny’s influence. 

Tillman ignored Steve’s question and strode into his office on the first floor at the front of the building.

Thought you’d be at home, Steve called after him, getting ready for the bar mitzvah.

Since Tillman didn’t reply, Tawny answered for him. We’re on our way there.

Steve beckoned to her. Come on up, Tawny. Got something cool to show you.

She climbed the steep staircase to his door.

He swept his arm like an orchestra conductor toward his mahogany credenza. On it stood a bronze statue about two feet tall, mounted on a marble base. Just bought this at an estate auction.

She moved closer. The statue was of a bucking horse, rear hooves high in the air. Beneath the horse, a cowboy sprawled on the ground, trying to avoid being trampled. The horse’s head was low and the cowboy desperately grasped its ear in a futile gesture to save himself.

She breathed out a soft whistle. Is that a real Frederic Remington?

Steve’s chest puffed like a new father. "The Wicked Pony. One of only eight original castings. Rarer than a Republican in the Trial Lawyers Association."

Wow. Tawny had long admired Remington reproductions but had never seen an original up close.

Steve went on: The story behind this is that Fred witnessed a cowboy getting fatally kicked and based this piece on that incident. Evidently made quite an impression on him.

Her stomach contracted as she studied the detail. The artist had captured the man’s hopeless desperation in the seconds before his death, frozen forever in time. Scary but beautiful. This must be worth a fortune.  Shouldn’t you have it locked up?

Steve made an effort to lift it. Weighs a ton. If a thief can grab this and run, I’m not getting in his way. He grinned at her.

Tawny, let’s go. Tillman’s baritone echoed up the staircase.

Steve nodded toward the call. His master’s voice. Sarcasm soured his tone. I’ll see you tomorrow at the bar mitzvah, right?

Tawny swallowed. Uh, I’m not sure.

Steve’s blue eyes registered her hesitation. He leaned close. Everything OK?

Dammit, why couldn’t she ever keep a poker face? Yes, fine. Steve seemed like an understanding man but she wouldn’t confide her problems with Tillman to his partner.

She skipped down the stairs and joined Tillman.

They drove out of downtown into residential streets, the evening air fragrant with flowering crabapple trees, yellow forsythia, and lilacs. To the north, the Rimrocks jutted almost straight up, a long wall of sheer sandstone cliffs studded with massive boulders. Tillman turned at Zimmerman Trail and began the steep, winding climb from the valley floor up to the Rims.

At the top, a broad table of land stretched flat, forming a plateau. She spotted the tower for Logan Airport, where she’d flown into for previous work trips.

As they drove west on Highway 3, drawing closer to Tillman’s house, Tawny’s anxiety twisted her insides. How could he live in the same house with his ex?

Several months before, she’d finally worked up the courage to ask him about his bizarre living situation. He’d shrugged and explained that he’d inherited the house when his mother died and didn’t want to uproot his children from the only home they knew. He’d added, More convenient than playing kid hockey on alternating days. Besides, the place is big enough, Chell and I can usually avoid running into each other.

But, Tawny had countered, it seems so...awkward.

Hell, yes, it’s awkward. But it’s my sole and separate property. She can’t afford to buy me out and, on her own, she can’t afford a place that’s up to her lofty standards.  She doesn’t want to give up the prestige among her colleagues at the college.

Tawny kept learning more details about Tillman that she couldn’t understand but just had to accept because she’d fallen for him.

Ahead, she spotted the cul-de-sac street where his property sprawled over several acres along the edge of the Rimrocks. Stainless steel gates guarded his driveway. Boulders the size of baby elephants formed a berm across the front, masking the mansion from the street.

He pressed a button on the visor and the gates rolled open, while he tapped a code to unlock the hammered steel mailbox. It was empty. Dammit, he muttered. I told Chell not to snoop in my mail.

The driveway meandered a quarter of a mile, past a paved area the size of a small used car lot. White canopy tents had been set up, sheltering tables, chairs, and a portable wood dance floor. The tents could easily accommodate the 400 closest friends Tillman had mentioned.

Tawny wondered how much the bar mitzvah celebration was costing him. She was used to being blue-collar broke and still struggled to wrap her head around Tillman’s casual attitude toward wealth.

The mansion came into view, a long, low-slung building with clean lines, stone accents, and thick horizontal wood beams that gave it a vintage Frank Lloyd Wright look. Tillman pressed a different visor button and a double garage door opened on the right end of the house, giving access to his wing. Another double garage balanced the left end, Rochelle’s wing. Apparently, Tawny thought, they couldn’t even bear to park their cars next to each other. How could anyone live like this?

She climbed down from the SUV and walked outside to stretch her legs. The front door of the house opened and Rochelle Rosenbaum appeared.

Tawny smiled and lifted her hand to wave.

The woman’s expression quickly changed. Rage contorted her lovely, but gaunt, features. She whirled on high heels, enhanced breasts thrust forward, a cloud of dark curls swinging, and stormed back inside. The door slammed, making Tawny jump even from fifty feet away.

Crap, I knew I should’ve stayed at the hotel.

Tillman had already started down a wide staircase to his wing.

Tawny sprinted to catch up with him. Did you tell Rochelle I was coming?

He shot a quick glance over his