Chapter Twenty-Three
Darsh stood behind Harry Compton and Officer Bickham as they knocked on Professor Roman Huxley’s office door. Darsh was trying to get his mind off Erin. It wasn’t working.
“Come in,” the man shouted.
Harry went in first, holding out the court order. Darsh went around the opposite side of the desk and stood near the window.
Huxley climbed to his feet. “What can I do for you all?” He was wearing a purple skinny-rib sweater, and his hair looked like it had been ruffled by a professional hair stylist. One of the grad students Darsh met a few days ago stood behind his boss, mouth open in shock.
The professor’s gaze landed on him in question.
“Roman Huxley?” Harry asked.
The professor’s head swiveled and he nodded.
“I have a warrant to search the contents of your office and your home, including computers, phones, any outbuildings—”
“What? This is outrageous!” Huxley snatched the sheets of papers out of Harry’s hand and scanned them. “This is nonsense.”
“Step away from the computer, please, sir.”
“But I have to give a lecture in five minutes.”
“You can give your lecture while we search your office,” Darsh assured him.
The professor eyed him like he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had. Since Erin had told him they were over without even giving them a chance, he wasn’t exactly feeling sane. But he had a job to do and damned if he’d prove anyone right by not doing it perfectly.
“Rick,” the professor said slowly, turning his head to look at the young man behind his shoulder. “Would you mind going down to the lecture theater and giving them a spot quiz on the memory module we covered last month? I think I’d better stay here and keep an eye on the police officers before they destroy twenty years of research.”
“Yes, sir. Want me to contact the dean?”
“That would be wonderful of you, thank you. And cancel any other classes for the day. I’m going to call my lawyer.”
The kid nodded and left hurriedly.
Darsh’s phone rang.
“You need to get over here.” Ully Mason was on the end of the line.
“Why, what have you found?”
The professor frowned even as Harry and Bickham rolled on their latex gloves and started going through his desk. Huxley dug into his pocket and tossed his keys on the desk. “You’ll need those if you don’t want to break any of the locks.” He rolled his eyes, bored with them and obviously considering them idiots. Was he innocent, or over-confident?
“Let’s just say I think you nailed it,” Ully continued. “Get over here. You need to see this.” The guy hung up.
Darsh was both grateful and pissed Ully had been there to look after Erin after the chief fired her. Strassen was an asshole, happy to pile the pressure on his people to get results and then bail when there was even the slightest hint of a mistake that might reflect poorly on the department. As far as Darsh was concerned, Erin hadn’t made a mistake. The witnesses had been manipulated by someone who understood that things like memory and perception could be altered.
“I need to go.” Darsh turned to leave.
“Sir?” Bickham called out as he was leaving.
He jerked his chin in question, and she pointed down into the drawer she’d been busy searching. Darsh went over and peered down. Huxley came to stand beside him. Darsh kept his weapon away from the guy’s reach, just in case. They all stared down. At the bottom of the drawer was a stack of letters held together with an elastic band. They were addressed to Cassie Bressinger.
Huxley’s eyes bugged. “I-I don’t know how they got there.” He scanned the room wildly as if looking for an escape.
Darsh raised his brows at Harry.
“Roman Huxley,” Harry began. “I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder…”
“I’m going over to his house,” Darsh told them after a couple of uniforms led the professor away in handcuffs. “Send Chen the laptop. Keep searching.”
* * *
When Erin saw Darsh had texted her telling her to call him about the case, she picked up the phone, even though what she really wanted to do was hurl it into the snow.
“You need to get over here. Fast.”
Her heart skipped. “Where are you?”
“Roman Huxley’s house.” He rattled off the address and hung up.
She swore. Dammit, she didn’t need to do a damned thing he said. She wasn’t on the force anymore, she was just your average Joe Blow citizen. Even as these thoughts ran through her mind, she grabbed her jacket and headed out the door. Had they found something? Had they caught the guy?
Ully had lent her his personal vehicle, a Ford Mustang GT. She knew how much it had hurt handing over the keys, and she appreciated more than any words he could have spoken that he had her back. Still, she decided to go to the insurance office and sort out her claim and a rental car on the way home from whatever the hell Darsh wanted her to see at Huxley’s.
Ten minutes later, she pulled up and parked on the road. Darsh was waiting for her on the front step, a glint in his eye, but he didn’t speak. Rather than taking her inside, he took her around the side of the house and opened the garage door. Huxley drove a SMART car around town or rode his bike. She hadn’t known he also owned the SUV parked there until Agent Chen had mentioned it. She circled the car.
“Well, hello, friend.” She shook her head as she examined the five-foot long scrape along the passenger side of the vehicle. “Did he admit to running me off the road?”
“Not yet.” Darsh watched her intently, but she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
So she’d been wrong about the professor. “Find anything else?” she asked, looking up and pretending it didn’t hurt to be this close to him.
Darsh nodded, and his eyes gleamed.
“Can I see?”
“You might not want to.”
“I’m not afraid of the truth, Agent Singh.”
He drew in a breath that made his shoulders seem even wider, and his expression changed as if he’d remembered they weren’t together anymore. Not that they ever really had been. That reality gouged something bloody from her chest.
She went to brush past him, but he caught her arm. “Erin—”
Her body responded to his touch, even as she forced herself to say, “Don’t.”
She stared at his chest, knowing she was being a coward, knowing she’d promised him more.
“I can’t believe you aren’t fighting for this.” He wasn’t just talking about her job.
“For what? A short-term fling with no future?” She looked up and met his onyx eyes.
“You’re the one saying we have no future. I’m the one saying you need to give us a chance. I’m coming over later, when I wrap things up here. We can talk—”
“I won’t be there.”
His head snapped up like she’d slapped him. “Why? Where are you going?”
She hardened her heart. “Queens. Not sure when I’ll be back.”
“Call me when you’re not so upset and we can talk this through like two adults.”
She backed away and shook her head. “Let it go, Darsh.”
“Call me,” he insisted.
“Fine.” She shrugged and nodded, but they both knew she was lying.
* * *
Ten minutes later, she got back in Ully’s car and drove away before the reporters turned up. The photographs on the wall of Huxley’s spare bedroom made her skin crawl. That he’d been watching her for months, photographing her even in her own bedroom. And now her fellow cops on the case got to see photos of her naked. Jesus. The sooner she got out of town the better.
He’d been in her house…the one place she’d seen as a sanctuary, a haven. A silver cross her grandmother had given her years ago was on his dresser, along with a recent credit card statement.
Darsh hadn’t tried to stop her from leaving. Why would he? He’d swoop
ed in and saved the day, and now the town was finally safe from a monster who’d fooled her as easily as a two-bit street magician. Her stomach clenched.
There was no direct evidence to suggest Huxley had raped those girls last year. She wasn’t sure what to think about that. She knew the case was being passed on to the FBI field office to be re-examined.
She would have bet her life savings—a paltry amount admittedly—that Huxley wasn’t a killer. She must be losing her instincts, or maybe she’d never had any. Maybe she just knew how to walk the walk and talk the talk but had the actual investigative skills of one of the rodents who lived in her barn.
Her fingers clenched on the leather steering wheel of Ully’s muscle car. She couldn’t stay in Forbes Pines anymore. Not only did she feel violated from Huxley’s creepy trespass, but the town hated her. And the idea of seeing Darsh again…
Seeing him ripped her heart out, because he was right. She was the one giving up on them. She was the one running away. But how could they possibly have a future when she didn’t have a clue about what she was going to do with her life?
No.
She checked her watch. She had a million things to do before the close of business today. The first was visiting the realtor, which had become her overriding priority since she’d realized someone had been inside her house, the second the insurance office and getting a rental sorted out until her claim was settled. Ully would need his car back ASAP. At least having tracked down Huxley’s damaged SUV meant the insurance people wouldn’t fight her over that.
She passed a media van as she headed along Main Street. News was starting to leak out. It wouldn’t be long before reporters were stacked knee-deep around her house, and she wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of trapping her inside. The sign for the travel agent caught her eye, and she swung into a parking space outside the shop.
The lie she’d told Darsh earlier suddenly seemed like a good idea. She was getting out of town. She just had one more thing to do before she left.
* * *
Huxley sat with his legs crossed, foot tapping the air impatiently. Darsh eyed him as he walked in the room. He didn’t look like a man who’d been arrested for the crime of murder. He looked like someone whose day had been inconveniently interrupted.
“Where’s your lawyer?” asked Darsh.
Huxley shrugged. “In the bathroom or somewhere.”
“Want me to come back later?”
“No. Get in here so I can go home.”
“Home?” Darsh frowned. “You really think you’re going home?”
Huxley leaned forward. “Look, I have no idea how those letters got into my desk, but my office is generally open so someone obviously put them there.”
“In a locked drawer?”
Huxley shrugged. “I often leave my keys on my desk, too. I’m not very good with security.”
Darsh said nothing and let him talk. Letting suspects talk was the best interview technique you could have as long as they kept on track.
“I have an alibi for Monday night,” Huxley said with a condescending raise of his brow.
“The soup kitchen?” asked Darsh.
The professor shifted. “Actually, not the soup kitchen, no. I left the mission early on Monday because I-er, had a date.” He pulled at the tight neck of his sweater.
“But you lied about it to Detective Donovan.”
“I don’t believe I lied directly.”
“A technicality.” Darsh kept his expression neutral. “Who was this date? Where’d you go?”
Huxley licked his lips. “We didn’t go anywhere. We stayed at my house. We can’t really go out in public…”
“Because?”
“Because…she’s one of my students.”
“So when you said ‘date’ you meant you were having sex with one of your students?” Darsh asked evenly.
The professor nodded. “But if the university finds out, well, let’s say they won’t be very happy.”
The guy was definitely fucked. “What time were you and this student—I will need her name to verify your alibi, naturally—engaged in sexual activities?”
Huxley’s expression turned angry. “I left the grad students at the mission about 6:45 PM. I picked up the young woman in question on campus, and we got back to my place about seven. We had sex, watched some TV, and ate. Then we had sex again before I gave her a ride home.”
“The girl’s name?” Darsh poised his pen over his notebook. And maybe he used the word ‘girl’ deliberately. So sue him.
“Monica Ripley. Ripley with an ‘e.’ I can give you her address if you like,” he said, in a patronizingly helpful tone. Darsh wrote that too and hoped one of the officers watching this was now tracking this Monica Ripley—with an e—down.
“Where were you last night?” Darsh asked.
The question seemed to take the professor back for a moment. “I was exhausted after being out on the search all day. I got home around six. Monica came over with take-out and we…”
“Had sex?” Darsh took a wild guess.
The professor nodded, and Darsh wanted to tie his dick in a knot. And maybe he was bitter because Erin had dumped his ass despite the great sex. He should just let her go. Let her run and hide from any pesky emotion she might actually feel.
“You didn’t leave the house again?”
He shook his head. “I did. I got called out to help attach ropes to Erin’s truck. Popped in to see how she was doing at the hospital and got home about nine. Monica had already left. I went into work early this morning. I had a lot to catch up on after being out of the office all afternoon yesterday.”
Darsh slid a photograph of the back of the hybrid SUV parked in Huxley’s garage across the table. “This your car?”
Huxley nodded, looking wary.
“How do you explain the damage to the vehicle?”
Huxley frowned. “What damage?”
Darsh slid a second photograph across the smooth surface of the table.
The professor leaned forward, staring at the photograph. “When the hell did this happen?”
“You tell me, it’s your car.”
Huxley shook his head. “I don’t understand?” His expression was openly confused.
Darsh wasn’t about to spoon-feed him information. The professor pressed his lips together, staring at the photograph of the vehicle.
“What about this?” Darsh showed him a photograph of the montage of images of Erin, some of her naked, others candid shots when she obviously didn’t know she was being stalked.
The professor glanced at the images, and his eyes widened. “Seems like someone has an obsession with the lovely detective.” He frowned. “I assume you warned her?”
Really? He was going to pretend these weren’t his when they were stuck to his walls and the originals were on his computer. “She saw them. She knows.”
The guy nodded as if reassured.
Wow, if Darsh hadn’t seen them in the professor’s house with his own eyes he’d have believed the guy didn’t know a thing about them.
Darsh frowned. What was his defense going to be? Someone else put them there? Or was he going to pull some multiple personality disorder mumbo jumbo?
“So why am I here?” the professor asked.
Darsh produced a picture of a coil of blue climbing rope and pushed it toward the other man. “Is that yours?”
Huxley nodded.
Then Darsh slid a picture of Cassandra Bressinger naked, tied to the bed with that same rope. The professor said nothing for a moment. Then Darsh showed him a photograph of the bedroom wall of his spare room from a distance so the man couldn’t pretend not to recognize the space.
Huxley’s gaze hardened as he stared at the pictures. When he finally looked up all he said was, “I want my lawyer.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Erin walked along the corridor wearing a pair of sweats, sneakers, and her parka worn loose over a Blackcombe College sweatshirt. This was
her disguise for blending in and being as inconspicuous as possible. A pale gray beanie covered her long blonde hair, and dark shades covered her eyes. She hit the second floor of the hospital and walked as swiftly as she could along the corridor. There was no way she could leave without checking in on Rachel, despite the girl’s mother’s actions earlier.
Up ahead she saw a doctor and two nurses hurry into Rachel’s room. Erin’s mouth went dry. Had she coded? Was she in trouble? She hurried to the doorway and caught Reilly by the shoulder just as he was about to follow everyone inside.
“Is she all right?” Erin demanded.
He removed her hand gently but firmly and gave her a friendly squeeze to show it was nothing personal.
“She woke up. A bit panicked from the tube so the medical team has come in to remove it. I need to get in there.”
She gave a skeptical quirk of her brow. “You worried one of them is going to hurt her?”
“No.” He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “But keeping her safe is what I get paid to do. Their job is to keep her alive.”
With that, he left her standing in the hallway.
Often cops on bodyguard duty at the hospital got distracted by the pretty nurses. Reilly looked like he was more likely to start cross-dressing than let anything distract him. She wondered what he’d done before he did this. The guy practically screamed “military.” As much as she wanted to go in there and make sure Rachel was okay, she realized with a faint pang that the girl was no longer her responsibility. It wasn’t her job anymore. Erin had no place here. The idea left a raw spot in her soul. What the hell was she supposed to do now? How did she stop acting like a cop? It was all she’d known for the last nine years. How else could she help people like Rachel?
The questions and uncertainty ran through Erin’s mind on a seemingly endless loop. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.
Had anyone told Darsh Rachel had woken up yet, she wondered suddenly. Erin doubted it. She dialed his number before she could second guess herself.
Cold Hearted (Cold Justice Book 6) Page 29
