Crime Scene Cover-Up

by Julie Miller

  “What do you have here?” He picked it up before she could snatch it away from him. “This looks like one of mine.” He turned it over to inspect where she’d rubbed the soot off the remnants of the O’Brien Construction Company logo. “You stealing from me?”

  She should have been moving toward the window, not trying to retrieve the box. Because now she was close enough to smell O’Brien’s coffee breath and stale sweat. And there was no mistaking that he meant to corner her in this room.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Amy sassed, as though fear wasn’t pounding through her veins. If that box was his, then that fire-starting kit and those pictures must be his sick obsession, too. She stepped back toward the window.

  But suddenly he was right in front of her. The backs of her knees bumped against the mattress. “I’ve had a couple of them go missing over the past few weeks.”

  “First you accuse me of arson, and now you accuse me of stealing?” Amy pulled up to her full height, even though she was shaking inside. “Are you sure you want to claim that box? I found it hidden under those floorboards. I think Richie might have been looking for it.” She pointed to the hole in the floor, hoping he’d at least turn, if not move, toward it. But the big blob didn’t budge. Amy tilted her chin. “Question is, was he searching on his own accord? Or was he doing a job for you? Is that why you wanted them to meet you early this morning?”

  He tucked the box under his arm. “My property, my business.”

  “So, you admit you know what’s inside,” she accused.

  “You have been nothing but trouble from the first time I met you. If it was just your grandmother, this whole farm would be mine by now. I’d own every inch of Copper Lake.”

  “It’s a good thing I’m around, then, isn’t it?”

  “That’s a matter of opinion.” He was close enough to share his unwanted body heat now. Another centimeter closer and she’d be falling onto the mattress where the dead woman had lain. “You want me to tell the police or KCFD that you were in here poking around—”

  “You’re trespassing, O’Brien.” Mark Taylor’s deep voice uttered a succinct warning from the open doorway.

  O’Brien grinned at Amy’s gasp of relief before turning. “Well, if it isn’t the boyfriend.”

  Mark flashed his KCFD ID badge in his wallet and waved Amy over to stand beside him. She hurried around O’Brien as fast as her bruised ankle allowed. Mark caught her by the arm and pushed her behind him without taking his eyes off the bullying contractor. “Get out of here before I call the cops,” he warned. “I have several of them on speed dial.”

  O’Brien chuckled. “You need to keep a shorter leash on your wild-child girlfriend, Taylor. She’s messin’ with things that don’t belong to her.” He held out the box and rattled the remaining contents. “Neither of you have any legal claim to whatever’s inside this box.”

  Mark’s hands fisted at his sides. “Your other option is for me to lay you out flat. And after the way I’ve seen you talk to my mother and Amy, I would love to.”

  O’Brien’s amusement faded as he considered the validity of Mark’s threat. He wisely decided that Mark could make good on besting him in a fight. He hugged the box to his chest and put one hand up, placating Mark as he sidled past them. “Hold your horses there, Taylor. I don’t want any trouble. I’m going. I’ve retrieved what belongs to me.” He looked past Mark’s shoulder to Amy. “But you may want to investigate who stole it from me in the first place.”

  “I never took anything from you,” Amy argued. She reached around Mark, but his arm straightened across her stomach, keeping her back. She latched on to the sleeve of his T-shirt, instead, pleading with him. “I found it under the floorboards. You can’t let him leave with that. It’s important.”

  “Did you take that from Amy’s property?” Mark demanded.

  O’Brien moved toward the door, keeping his eyes on Mark as he held up the box. “It has my name on it, doesn’t it?”

  “But there’s evidence,” she insisted. Not that it had been legally obtained, but it had to help with the investigation, didn’t it?

  “Evidence of what?” O’Brien taunted. His smarmy smile returned. “Nothing you can prove, darlin’.”

  Mark glanced over the jut of his shoulder at her, silently asking how far she wanted him to push this. At least she still had a handful of photos left in her bag. Plus, the pictures on her phone. It was more than she’d had a few minutes ago. If O’Brien wanted to claim that box and incriminate himself, she’d let KCPD deal with his explanation. Amy squeezed Mark’s arm, thanking him for giving her a choice. “I just want him to leave.”

  “Done.” With a curt nod, Mark pointed to the door. “I’ll show you out.”

  Mark followed at a measured pace as O’Brien clutched the box and hurried his steps. Amy retrieved her boot and sat on the floor to untie it and pull it over her tender ankle. A minute or two later, she heard an engine starting and the crunch of gravel, and assumed O’Brien was driving away.

  When Mark strode back into the room, he was on his phone. “Yeah, Matt. If you and any of the other guys can come out here and keep an eye on things while we’re gone, I’ll owe you a solid. Thanks.” He disconnected the call and knelt in front of her. “My brothers and a couple of my crewmates are going to set up a round-the-clock watch on your place. We won’t leave until I know someone’s here whom I trust.” His hand settled on her knee as he scanned her from head to toe and back. “Should I ask why you’re in the middle of a crime scene that was cordoned off by KCPD and the fire department last night?”

  Jeans and a KCFD T-shirt didn’t make his broad shoulders and stern jaw look any less authoritative than he did in his black uniform or decked out in his full bunker gear. But those smoky blue eyes spoke of caring and concern and a compassion that soothed the edges off her fear. She could talk to those eyes. “I saw someone was in here and came to check it out. Suddenly, it was Grand Central Station. Richie Sterling, Brad Frick, Dale O’Brien. Any one of them, or all of them, could have been looking for that box. Or something else the police missed. I had to see what was going on.”

  “You had to?” He moved his hand to cup the side of her face and then captured the copper braid that fell over her shoulder. “Are you injured?”

  “Turned my ankle when I fell through the floor. Nothing serious.”

  He immediately went into paramedic mode, inspecting her ankle before determining she was probably going to live. When she didn’t protest, he tied her boot for her. “Keep this on. This is the last place you want to be running around in stockinged feet.”

  “Mark, that’s not important. Look what I found.” She pulled up the pictures on her phone. “These were in that strongbox. I had already taken a few of them out. There was a homemade fire-starter kit there, too. Probably not enough to burn down a house, but enough to start something small. Here.” She showed him the images on her phone. “Is that significant?”

  “You’re right. A cotton ball soaked in petroleum jelly wouldn’t burn long enough to take down a house. But it does show that someone likes playing with fire.” He considered something for a moment. “If you stuffed the lit cotton inside the gas tank of a car...”

  “It would torch it, like Jocelyn’s Jeep?” It had been totaled, just like the equipment shed.

  Mark nodded.

  “I found more.” She pulled the loose photographs from her backpack, but Mark pushed them away when she tried to hand them to him.

  “The fewer people who touch those, the better. Show me.” Mark’s expression turned grim as she thumbed through the photographs.

  “I want to show these to the police, too. What do you think they mean?” Amy shook her head. “What am I saying? I know what they mean. I’ve felt like someone’s been watching me on and off for a long time now, but I didn’t know he was taking pictures.”

  Mark muttere
d a curse. “You think someone’s been spying on you out here? For how long?” He reached for her hand. “Never mind.” He pulled her to her feet and slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her hip against his. “Can you walk?” Amy nodded. She doubted she even needed his steadying support as she barely limped along beside him, but she wasn’t about to push away his solid warmth and sheltering strength. Her ankle might be fine, but her knees were still shaking after that encounter with Dale O’Brien. “I’m going to put in a call to my uncle Josh or Cole at KCPD. My brothers Pike and Alex aren’t detectives like they are. I want to find out how they think we should handle this. Are you the only one who’s touched these photographs?”

  They stepped out into the sunlight, and Amy breathed in the fresh air, and the clean, freshly showered maleness that was all Mark Taylor. “Since I’ve been here, yes.”

  “Do you have any big plastic bags at your house?” She nodded. Mark opened the passenger door to his truck, spanned his hands around her waist and lifted her in.

  “I guess you can pick me up.” She was half teasing, remembering the threat he’d made the first time they’d met. But she was also thinking of the gentleness and caring behind all that strength.

  He winked. “Wait until I throw you over my shoulder.” But before she could respond to the flirtation or even smile at seeing the intensity of his protective mode ease a fraction, he had closed the door and jogged around the hood to climb in behind the wheel. It was a quick drive to the top of the driveway, and then Mark was at her door again, winding a supportive arm around her waist and helping her up the steps into the house. “Get me those bags,” he ordered, taking her all the way into the kitchen when she told him their location. He set her backpack on the table and hovered around her while she opened the drawer and got him the requested items. “I’ve learned enough from my brothers and uncles about police work to know that we shouldn’t be touching things they might be able to get fingerprints from. While I’m doing this, you change your clothes and get your grandmother ready. Unless you need me to help you?”

  Amy shook her head. “I can manage just fine. But I don’t think Gran’s awake yet.”

  “Then get her up. We’re all going into the city this morning.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Because I’m not leaving any woman out here alone with that piece of scum O’Brien and everything else that’s going on. I’ve got a place she can stay for a couple of hours while you and I are talking to the detectives.”

  “Okay.” She made it to the kitchen archway before she stopped and turned. “Mark?”

  He paused in his bagging of those disturbing pictures. “What is it?”

  “I had a plan to get away from O’Brien.”

  “I’m sure you did.”

  “I’m strong and I’m smart. Maybe braver than I should be. I don’t need you to rescue me.” He set the bag down on the table and turned to argue something about being alone and getting hurt and somebody needed the hell to keep an eye on her. But his words fell silent when she crossed the room and wound her arms around his waist. Her forehead nestled in at the crook of his neck and collarbone, and she turned her ear to the strong beat of his heart. “But I do need you to hold me.”

  She felt the tension in him vanish as his strong arms folded around her and pulled her close. “Anytime, Red.” He nuzzled his lips against her temple. “I will hold you anytime.”

  They stood together like that for countless moments until the warmth of Mark’s body seeped into hers, chasing away the chill that even the summer day hadn’t been able to reach. “I was scared,” she confessed, knowing she was in a safe place to share the truth. “Of Brad and Richie. The timing was just so weird. I hate to give the man any kind of satisfaction, but I was scared of O’Brien, too. I’m scared of whoever took those pictures. I don’t know who I should be afraid of, but I am.”

  “I know, Red. I know. Your last text scared me, too.” He rubbed warm circles against her back, then settled his hand with a possessive familiarity over the curve of her hip. “And then I walked in and saw he’d cornered you against the back wall—”

  “I wasn’t giving up without a fight.”

  “Neither was I.” When he started to pull away, Amy whimpered a protest. But the sound quickly became a groan of pleasure as Mark framed her face between his hands and kissed her. Deeply. Thoroughly. And far too briefly for a woman who was learning to love and trust this man more and more with every passing moment. She clung to his wrists as he leaned his forehead against hers. “Don’t worry about the box O’Brien took. We’ll get this guy with or without it. I just need you to be safe. Because, as far as I’m concerned, you are the only thing that’s important.”

  Chapter Twelve

  It didn’t hurt that Mark’s oldest uncle, Mitch Taylor, was the chief of police.

  After a phone call to his uncle Josh to ask how Amy should handle this meeting with Detectives Beck and Carson, Mark dropped Comfort Hall off at his grandmother’s house. Although Amy seemed inclined to stay a little longer and chat after he’d made the introductions, he’d reminded her of the time, dropped a quick kiss onto Martha Taylor’s cheek and hurried Amy back to his truck, leaving the two older women standing in the front door of Martha Taylor’s new house.

  Josh must have mentioned something to Mitch because a phone call straight from the chief’s office had suddenly changed Cathy Beck’s doubting demeanor. While her partner, Dean Carson, copied the pictures off Amy’s phone and took the photographs and Jocelyn’s laptop into evidence, Detective Beck started treating Amy more like a witness than a suspect, jotting down notes of Amy’s account of this morning’s events at the burned-out house and her run-in with Derek Roland on the Williams University campus. They agreed that the arson fires and murders were connected, although it would require more digging to determine if the murders were the reason the fires had been set, or the fires were the reason the murders had happened. Or, as Detective Beck postulated, was the killer taking advantage of some firebug’s handiwork? Motive seemed to be the key to solving these crimes. Apparently, the motives for setting a fire and killing an innocent woman were quite different. If they could pinpoint why these women were being targeted, or why the fires were all on Hall property, they could narrow down their suspect list.

  Mark’s fingers were going numb from clutching them into fists while Amy described Roland’s erratic behavior toward her, and the way she’d confronted the two handymen and Dale O’Brien this morning. Someone with a sick, selfish plan had been watching Amy, taking pictures of her, possibly setting her up to be his next victim. And he hadn’t been there to protect her from any of it. It wasn’t until Amy reached across from her chair to rest her hand over his fist that he realized just how tense sitting through this meeting and feeling like he’d failed her was making him.

  Muscles leaped beneath his skin at her intuitive touch, calming him, centering him. When he forced his hand to relax, she laced her fingers together with his, linking them together while she answered Detective Beck’s last question. Now his fingers were tingling where she touched him. Probably just the nerves waking up from the tight grip he’d held for too long, but maybe because, well, it seemed this woman’s touch had awakened a lot of things inside him.

  He squeezed his hand gently around hers where it rested on his thigh, and wondered how in the hell he was ever going to save her when a) she insisted she didn’t want to be rescued, and b) he needed her quirky caring and trusting touch to save him.

  “Thank you, Ms. Hall, Mr. Taylor.” Detective Beck stood up and circled around her desk to shake Amy’s hand. Mark stood and shook her hand, as well. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her. Although, I wish you’d leave the detective work to Dean and me. Don’t suppose I can stop you from poking around your own place, though, can I.”

  “Just keep me in the loop if you can,” Amy said. “Jocelyn didn’t have an enemy in the world. I rea
lly want whoever did that to her to pay.”

  “We’ll do our best.”

  Before they headed back out to his truck, Amy went to use the restroom and Mark seized the opportunity to stop by the officers’ lounge to pay a visit to his two oldest brothers. He accepted a cup of coffee and gave Pike and Alex a brief rundown of everything that had happened out at Copper Lake and Amy’s home, and why they were here at precinct headquarters. Since he’d already called in favors from Matt and his Lucky 13 crew to watch the place while he was gone, he asked his KCPD brothers to help with something else.

  Alex didn’t typically carry a notepad on his SWAT uniform, so he scribbled himself a note on a paper napkin. “Sure. I’ll make a couple of calls to verify that Preston Worth is still living in Montana.”

  “And hasn’t shown his face in Kansas City anytime over the past few months.”

  “Hasn’t...shown...his...face...” Alex copied the words and underlined them.

  Pike doctored the bitter coffee with a shot of milk before bending his long legs and settling onto the vinyl couch. His K-9 partner, Hans, lay down at his feet. “You think this old boyfriend could be seeking retribution against Amy?”

  Mark leaned against the door frame and downed half of the nasty brew. He’d been going almost forty-eight hours on just a couple of naps since his KCFD shift had started two days ago. He was off the clock now, but he didn’t intend to crash and leave Amy alone without him guarding her back just because his stomach lining was tired of downing caffeine. “He’s at the bottom of my suspect list. Those pictures tell me this killer is patient, calculating. The fires had to have been planned—the targets are specific to the old Hall farm, and we’d have somebody on our radar by now if anyone unfamiliar with the place was seen there. Worth sounds like a temper tantrum waiting to happen.” Mark forced himself to take another sip. “But so help me, if that man does show his face anywhere near Amy, I’ll have to ask you two to look the other way.”