“Are you going to stop me?” Bridgette swiveled her hips. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”
“No,” Elizabeth said. “He’s not. He’s not going to do anything.”
Patrick turned on her, and fury flashed across his eyes. “Elizabeth?”
She opened her hand so only he could see what she held there.
Whatever protest he’d been about to make died on his lips—worry replacing the anger.
“You’re going to let her go.”
Chapter Nineteen
Finley cleared the kitchen, taking everyone back to the library to wait while he got things up and going again. Patrick kept his gaze locked on her with his hands in his pockets until the last person left the room. She said nothing and studiously kept her gaze anywhere but him. The last thing to catch her eye before the kitchen was cleared was the crude message written on the floor—barely distinguishable in the dark. She didn’t bother shining her light on it. He’d set this up. All of it.
“Elizabeth?” Patrick moved closer to her.
She put her hand against his chest to stop him before taking a step away. “Don’t.” Nausea started to creep up on her. She’d known he was desperate, but she’d never thought him capable of this. Some shenanigans, some craziness, sure. But he’d trapped people in his home, drugged them, and terrified them into thinking they’d be killed. Of course Finley had been aware of some of it. How must he feel now, knowing that Patrick had used him?
“Talk to me,” Patrick whispered.
She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to alleviate some building pressure in her head.
He clenched his hands at his sides, then stretched his fingers wide. “Scream at me, if it’ll help. Punch me in the nose. Do something. Anything.”
“You drugged people.”
He sighed. “I didn’t want you to be involved, to know—”
She looked up. “Because what I don’t know won’t hurt me?”
“Yes.” He at least had the decency to look ashamed. “I had to do this. Katelyn deserved justice—”
“And you deserve revenge?”
He lifted his chin. “Yes.”
He’d told her he wanted revenge. He’d told her, and she hadn’t listened. “How long have you known Bridgette killed Katelyn?”
“I’ve suspected for a few months—have been all but sure for weeks. But now I know,” Patrick said.
“Do you have a shred of evidence?” Not that it mattered. If Bridgette suspected she’d been drugged, her entire case could be thrown out in court. He’d basically given her a get-out-of-jail-free card. And not just her, but the testimonies of everyone who’d confessed tonight.
“She all but admitted it.” He waved a hand toward the door where the woman had exited.
Elizabeth tried to keep her voice calm; she really did. “She admitted nothing. We can’t arrest her for what she said tonight. We couldn’t even get a warrant to search her belongings or home.”
“My plan was never for her to go to jail.”
She froze, a sense of dread shimmying its way up her spine. “What were you going to do to her?”
The muscles in his jaw tightened. “Whatever I had to. I need to know who hired her.” The hint of regret in his tone did nothing to soften the blow.
She felt winded, shocked, angry … heartbroken. She sucked in a gasp—half horror, half sob.
He moved forward so quickly, she didn’t see it coming, and he took her shoulders firmly in his hands. “Look at me,” he demanded.
She blinked away tears.
“Look at me!” He shook her once.
She peeked up at him through her lashes.
“These people killed my wife or were complicit.” His grip tightened until it was almost painful. “I did what I had to, but I don’t want to lose you.”
“You broke the law,” she said, barely managing to control her anguish.
“I told you I’d get my revenge.”
She couldn’t argue that. In fact, she’d been worried about it.
“I couldn’t have this hanging over me forever.” He stepped forward. “This was how I got my closure. This was the only way we could be together.”
“You think we can be together now?” She blinked back tears. “You’ll go to jail for this.”
“I love you. Since the moment you caught me out of that tree, I haven’t wanted to leave your side. You know this. You know me. I want to be with you. Please—”
The desperation in his voice and the look in his eye weren’t from fear of going to jail. She didn’t believe that he’d ever cared about that. She believed him when he’d told her he wanted to end this so he could be with her. But he hadn’t thought things through, hadn’t considered how his old plan might affect his new life.
Now he was here face-to-face with her, facing the consequences of his actions and the possibility of losing her. That’s what he feared: losing another woman he loved. She did know him, and she knew this like she knew the sun rises in the east. But he’d broken the law, and it was her job to enforce it.
“I would know.” She shoved his arms down and stepped back. “I’m a cop, Daley. A cop. A fact that you have been well aware of for some time. How did you think this was going to end?”
“Daley again?” The lights flickered on. His blue-green gaze bore into her, shimmering from unshed tears under the light from the chandelier. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“It’s too late.” She handed him her flashlight and choked down the lump in her throat. “You already have.” She turned from him, no longer able to bear the look in his eyes.
“Please,” he pleaded. “How can I fix this?”
She took a deep breath. “Turn back time.”
“Elizabeth—”
She turned from him. “Don’t follow me.”
* * *
Finley stood at the front door, giving instructions to the group with two men in suits situated behind him. She’d never seen the men before, but they had a very official look to them. He raised a brow at her when she stopped behind the group. She glanced down at her feet. The way she felt, any prolonged eye contact was sure to make her burst into tears.
“From this point,” Fin said, “all of you who had confessions to make tonight will have to go with Agents Harris and Jacobs, the gentlemen you see behind me, for further questioning.”
“And the rest of us?” Bridgette asked as she shrugged into her coat.
Finley cleared his throat. “You’re free to go.”
Bridgette walked up beside him and turned her head to face him. “I hope I get to see you again, big boy.” She winked and brushed past him and the other two Feds. “Someone get my car!”
Finley visibly clenched his jaw. Daley was right about her—the woman was just asking for it. She absolutely had done it. They all knew it, she liked that they did, and there was nothing they could do about it. She was practically gloating.
Elizabeth made her way through the suddenly very quiet group. Phil was clutching at Susan, and to Elizabeth’s surprise, Susan seemed happy about it. She’d been so dismissive of him in Debbie’s store. She glanced around the rest of the group at the somber faces, some in shock. She knew how they felt. Even for the people who’d done nothing wrong, this wouldn’t be an evening they’d soon forget.
Helen and Alice were noticeably absent—not that she could blame them. She wanted nothing more than to forget everything and run away. And she would, as soon as Finley gave her the go-ahead.
Finley stepped forward to greet her. “How’d it go?”
“The man invited people to his house under the pretense of a party only to trap them, drug them, and scare them into confessing.” She crossed her arms. “How do you think it went?”
Finley nodded. “Yeah, I’m going to have a butt load of paperwork. I just wish we could do something about Bridgette. If only we knew why she went to see Dr. Newlin.”
Elizabeth froze. She’d forgotten about him in all the hustle and bustle of the even
ing, but she suddenly had a really good guess as to why she’d gone to see him. “He’s a plastic surgeon.”
“He was.” Finley nodded seconds before his brow pinched together. “Wait, what?”
Elizabeth wanted to face-palm. It was so obvious. The woman in the video had injured her arm—badly. Newlin was a plastic surgeon. And Bridgette, even in hundred-degree weather, always wore long sleeves. Elizabeth grabbed Finley’s wrist, tugging him after her, only letting go once they were out the door.
The valet pulled up in a little white convertible. Just as he was about to hand Bridgette her keys, Elizabeth grabbed her right hand and pushed the sleeve up. Running from the inside of her elbow down to the middle of her arm was a curved scar, about the same size as the nail would’ve been. Most of the scar had faded to a white line against her tan skin, with only a few little bumps here and there. But for a scar that thick and long, it looked pretty dang good.
Elizabeth remembered a time when the oldest of her three little brothers, Kyle, had fallen out of a tree as a child. He’d hit several branches on his way down and tore a huge gash in his thigh. His skin tore in a U shape. Now, fifteen years later, he still had an ugly scar to show for his fall. But all he’d gotten was stitches. Elizabeth was willing to bet that Bridgette had had the benefit of a plastic surgeon.
Bridgette tried to yank her arm away, but Elizabeth held sure. “What do you think you’re doing?” Bridgette snarled.
Elizabeth pushed Bridgette’s arm forward for Fin to see. “Think a nail could’ve done this?”
Fin furrowed his brow, but nodded. “Yeah, I do.”
Elizabeth stared up at Bridgette. “How tall are you?”
Bridgette whipped her arm away and yanked her sleeve down. “Have you lost your mind?”
Finley jumped in, cool and collected as though he knew exactly what Elizabeth was doing. “I’d say five-six, five-seven without her heels.”
“I’m five-six,” Bridgette said.
Elizabeth nodded. “My partner back at the 35th Precinct had an officer who used to be a hacker look at the video surveillance on the night of the murder, and she found a frame of a woman leaving the property about your height with a severe wound to her right arm. A wound that could have easily been caused by a protruding nail in the frame of the gate out in the orchard while she was fleeing a murder she’d just committed.”
Bridgette’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second. Barely noticeable. She was good, just not good enough.
Elizabeth felt her lips tug up at the corner as she turned to Finley. “Would you say that two years ago, Ms. Stevens’s scar would’ve been severe?”
Finley crossed his arms. “Yes, I would.”
“She was here the day after Katelyn was killed, Fin. Which meant she went to see the good doctor after killing Katelyn. She killed Dr. Newlin because he knew too much. I bet if we dig hard enough, we could find evidence of her visit.”
“I think you’re right, Agent Shea,” Finley said. “There could be patient records, surveillance footage, eyewitnesses who saw her come in bleeding.”
“I don’t even know who this Dr. Newlin is.” Bridgette still held the bottom of her sleeve; her knuckles were starting to whiten against the dark fabric.
Finley stepped forward. “If you do, I’ll find out. I’m very persistent when I want to be.” He raised his voice. “Agent Harris, take this woman into custody. I think Agent Rafferty will have some questions for her.”
Harris came out and took Bridgette’s arm.
“You might want to cuff her,” Elizabeth said. She walked back into the house, her gaze wandering down the hall that led to the kitchen. Daley should know what’d just happened, but she didn’t want to be the one to tell him. She couldn’t stand the idea of seeing him again. He’d done some terribly illegal things tonight, but also morally bankrupt things. How could she ever look at him the same again?
“You aren’t really mad about what he did tonight, are you?” Finley came to her side.
She faced him, her brow knitting together. “You’re not?”
He shook his head. “These people aren’t innocents.”
She scoffed. “So they deserve to be poisoned?”
He held his hands up in front of him. “That’s not what I’m saying. If I’d known, I’d never have allowed it.”
“That’s a relief.” She couldn’t help the bitterness in her tone.
“And we’d all still be where we were at the beginning of the night.” He lifted his brow and stared down at her as she processed what he said. “Was what he did wrong? Sure, but compared to what happened to his wife, and Dr. Newlin? As far as I’m concerned, it’s not even a blip on the radar. No one was hurt tonight, and we have the killer and all her lackeys in custody. Personally, I don’t like the guy, but he did us a favor, and a favor to whoever Bridgette would’ve killed next.” He signaled to the group. “And honestly, I have no sympathy for any of them.”
Elizabeth frowned. She wouldn’t call what Debbie did high criminal activity. Sure, she’d lied, but she’d been convinced she was helping. Elizabeth had sympathy for her, but none for Phil or Noah Calhoun. They’d known what they were doing was wrong; they’d known Katelyn’s killer would get away, and they’d done it anyway. And ex-Chief Shaw—she’d be happy to see him do jail time.
“What about Police Chief Marshall and his wife? Did they deserve to be drugged?” she asked.
“It was in the champagne, right? Only the people drinking the champagne were seeing things,” he said.
That’s what she’d thought too, especially after Daley had whipped her drink out her hand the moment she’d gone to take a sip.
“Frank and Ellen don’t drink for religious reasons,” Finley continued.
Okay, so out of luck they were spared? “What about the Bakers? All they did was see the homeless man counting money. Did they deserve to be drugged?”
Fin furrowed his brow for a moment in thought, then smiled. “Linda’s pregnant, three and a half months, and Steve didn’t drink in solidarity. They shared a couple bottles of sparkling cider with the Marshalls over dinner. If the belladonna was in the champagne, they would’ve been fine.”
For someone who claimed not to like Patrick, he was sure going to bat for him.
He ran a hand from the nape of his neck over the top of his head, messing with his dark blond locks. “I hope I’m not shooting myself in the foot here—I probably am—but maybe you should give the guy a break. He’s been through hell and back; I can’t even imagine what it would’ve been like for him to come home and find his wife …”
Elizabeth could imagine it. She had the moment she’d seen Phil sobbing over Susan—the moment she’d seen Patrick’s face while all that was happening. It’d broken her heart.
“If I’d been in his shoes, I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same or worse.” Fin looked down.
A knot twisted in her throat. She cleared it. No matter Patrick’s reason, what he’d done was wrong. She was a cop, and she respected that. For years she’d lived for it. She changed the subject. “What did you mean, you hoped you weren’t shooting yourself in the foot?”
His cheeks reddened. “It’s not obvious?”
Oh. Oh!
“Listen. When things calm down—when you’ve thought through it all and decided if you’re interested—I’d like to take you out.” He made eye contact, and his pretty brown eyes sparkled down at her.
Her entire body heated. She was so embarrassed.
He gave her an awkward smile and cleared his throat. “Until then, you’re free to leave. There’s nothing more for you to do here.” He went to leave.
“Fin—”
He turned back. “I love it when you call me that.”
She blinked rapidly and shook her head. This was so awkward. “Are they going to arrest him?”
“Daley? You mean are the Feds going to?”
She nodded.
“I doubt it. FBI Supervisory Agent Rafferty won’t let
that happen.”
“Why?”
Finley pressed his lips tight, but it looked like he was trying to stop a smile. Irritated and amused at the same time. She knew the feeling well. “He’s helpful, and … Rafferty likes him.”
Chapter Twenty
Elizabeth packed her things in record time, worried the whole time that Patrick would appear at her door and try to stop her. And worried he wouldn’t. Finley was right about one thing—she did need time to clear her head and think this over. She was so muddled with anger, and pity, and betrayal, and longing, she felt tied in knots.
By the time she got downstairs, Finley, the other agents, and the group were all gone. Down the hall toward the ball room, Alice and Helen’s voices echoed toward her. Helen’s words came out clipped and irate.
She could join the club. Daley had stepped on all sorts of toes tonight, and Helen had been terrified. She’d seen it in her eyes. She wanted to say goodbye to the women, but she didn’t want to interrupt them and get pulled into the middle of anything. She just wanted to leave. She gripped the strap of her bag a little tighter.
Elizabeth was about to head toward the back door where her car was parked, but curiosity got the better of her. She needed to know for sure that the Marshalls and the Bakers had been spared the poisoning, and the only person other than Patrick who would know that for sure was Alice. Daley was smart, but Alice was the one who used the belladonna to help ease her joints on a frequent basis.
So, she changed course and made for the dining hall.
“How could you do this to me?” Helen bawled.
“I swear,” Alice said, “if I’d known everything, I wouldn’t have done it. It was clearly a mistake, Helen.”
Elizabeth stopped in the entrance to the room. Helen had her back to Alice and her arms crossed over her chest. Alice tried to come around to face her, but Helen jerked away. She saw Elizabeth and stopped.
“This is all your fault!” Helen rushed forward and slapped Elizabeth across the face, a ring on her hand connecting with Elizabeth’s cheekbone.
The Heir of Thornfield Manor Page 15
