Detective Beckett caught up with them outside. He handed Erin his card. "Call any time."
Before she could respond, Harold looped his fingers around her bicep and propelled her across the street. "You have something to share with the police, tell me. I'll pass it on."
"I get that I'm a suspect, but pissing off the detective won't help him see my side."
"Beckett is not your friend. He'd be the devil's confidant if it helped him solve this case. We're meeting Jeff at your apartment. I'm parked over here." He gestured to the reserved parking lot. "You can fill in the details on the way."
She opened her mouth to protest that her car was in the public lot but decided against it. Arguing with Harold didn't seem like a good idea. And hitching a ride with Jeff to the police station to pick up her car wouldn't be a problem. She fell in step with Harold, trying to sort out the events of the past few days. Her career was in ruins. Her freedom in doubt. And her integrity questioned.
"When is this going to stop?" The words fell from her. Pent-up stress had driven her right to the edge of frustration. "I'm ready to rip my hair out."
"You could do that." His tone held no hint of sympathy or humor. "Or you can start at the beginning and fill me in."
"Aren't you going to ask me if I'm guilty?"
"No. I don't want to know."
CHAPTER 3
Erin had yet to return home when Jeff and Rafe arrived. Jeff had unlocked the door and insisted they wait. Rafe used the time to inspect every aspect of her home, starting with the living room. The open floor plan gave him a quick overview. Modest furniture of laminated oak and butter-colored faux leather told him her salary was that of an underpaid educator. Her TV wasn't large, but her DVD collection hinted she enjoyed romantic comedies. A bookcase-lined wall reflected her other interests, running the gamut from books on the psychology of today's teenager to a stack of different sports magazines. A dozen trophies and plaques decorated her counters and tables.
Scattered around the room were pictures of young girls wearing YMCA basketball jerseys. A beautiful woman stood proudly behind them. Erin herself. The tall, lanky girl with the caramel-colored hair had grown into a traffic stopper.
He moved down the hall and found her bedroom. Across the hall, he wandered into her office. Rafe circled the room, walking past the desk and cloth secretary's chair, reading the titles off a stack of training manuals. He found more team pictures and sports memorabilia. Then he crossed to her bedroom. A queen-size bed, dresser, and easy chair took up most of the space. He closed his eyes and breathed in a light floral scent. Yeah, she spent most of her time at home in here. This area was her refuge. For some odd reason, he was reluctant to leave. He shook off the feeling and returned to the living room.
"So? What do you think?" Jeff held out two bottles of flavored water so Rafe could choose one.
"That she lives for others, loves sports, is frugal, and doesn't entertain a lot." He selected the least-disgusting-sounding drink, a lemon-lime something. He left out his surprise at how beautiful she'd become, remembering how disappointed his dad and Jeff had been that Rafe's relationship with Erin had ended before it began.
"How do you know she doesn't entertain a lot?"
"There is one coaster on the coffee table. One cup sitting next to the coffeepot. And the drinks you carried in here? I'm betting there was no beer, and she only keeps flavored water in the fridge. And she shouldn't leave a key hidden under the garden fairy by the door. How am I doing so far?"
"Pretty damn good." The older man smiled, and this time it looked sincere.
The sound of a vehicle pulling into the driveway drew them back into the living room. Rafe moved to the far side of the room and settled in a wing-back chair. He assumed their company was Erin and her attorney, but it was Rafe's nature to be cautious. The only weapon he carried today was the subcompact .45 strapped to his ankle, so he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. His hands hung loose and at the ready.
The lock on the front door turned, and a second later, Erin stepped inside, followed by a well-dressed man. Jesus. She took his breath away.
"Jeff," Erin said, smiling warmly. "You didn't have to wait here. I would've called."
"I haven't been waiting. I've been getting help," Jeff said.
She stopped halfway across the room. Had she sensed Rafe's presence? Her head snapped to the right, and her gaze settled on him. Her eyes, the color of a sparkling emerald, delivered an icy stare.
"Come now, you remember Rafe Sirilli." Jeff slid his arm around her shoulders.
"Everybody in town remembers Rafe." Her words, coated in sarcasm, pissed him off.
She had no reason to be ticked at him. That she'd embarrassed the shit out of him was old news. A twelve-year-old scab, but who was counting?
He stood, slapped his brightest smile on his face, then crossed the room. That same fragile scent he'd noticed in her office slammed into his senses.
The urge not to stare was an internal battle. Her skin was flawless, as was her cupid's bow upper lip. Thick hair, pulled off her face and into a low ponytail, put the focus on her eyes. Her body had changed a great deal, too. Nice breasts filled out the YMCA T-shirt she wore. The nylon warm-up bottoms did little to hide the small waist or curve of her hips. She'd matured into a beautiful woman, but apparently, ice water still ran through her veins.
"I doubt that everybody remembers me." He spoke the truth. After graduation, he couldn't wait to get to college. After Nick's funeral, Rafe hadn't come home much. He wasn't proud that he hadn't been back often. It had just worked out that way. "I'm surprised that you do."
She raked her gaze over him, stopping for a minute on his long hair and two-day-old scruff. Would she still dislike the whiskers if he rubbed them along the inside of her thigh?
Shit. He had been undercover far too long.
He extended his hand, half-surprised when her palm met his. Her fingers were warm and soft against his palm. The suit that had walked in with her watched the exchange and then joined them.
"Harold Penza. I knew your daddy. He was mighty proud of his boys." Penza's tone was that of a politician up for reelection. His posture, speech, and mannerisms projected authority. Even his shiny black shoes screamed money. This was a man accustomed to getting his own way.
"Thank you." Rafe towered over him, but the man looked up and held his gaze.
"Hell of a guy, your dad. We need more like him in law enforcement. Are you planning on sticking around?" Harold asked.
"No, sir. I don't plan on being in town for long."
"Then why are you here?" Erin's right eyebrow rose.
"I asked him to help." Jeff's Scottish lilt had thickened.
"Without talking to me?" Her voice jumped up an octave.
"Before you go off half-cocked, let me say this," Rafe said. "You don't have to like that I'm here. Doesn't mean I'm walking away if Jeff needs me." Persuading Rafe to back out now would be easy, but the words had to come from Jeff.
Her gaze met and held his. If she was looking for reassurance, he didn't have it to give. Jeff thought she was innocent, but Rafe remembered the hot-tempered teenage girl whose tongue was sharper than her long fingernails. Was she capable of murder? Given the right circumstances, wasn't everyone?
"Rafe and I are here to help," Jeff insisted to her.
"You understand that if these two sit in on our discussion, I can't guarantee everything you say will remain private." Harold set his briefcase on the coffee table. The snaps opened with a crack, and everybody except Rafe jumped.
Erin dropped to the couch as if surrendering. "For the record, I did not kill Penny. And before you ask, I was home alone last night."
"Keep that information to yourself. If anyone else asks, tell them you've been instructed by council not to comment. All questions are to be directed to me." Harold removed a legal pad from his briefcase and made a couple of notes. "Remember, the burden of proof lies with the police. Exactly what did you tell the detect
ive?"
"Nothing," Erin said. "I called Jeff before I got to the station, and he said for me to wait for my attorney. That's all I said to Wade Beckett. He stuck me in an interrogation room to stare at the two-way mirror until you arrived."
"Good. Let's get started. Penelope Holdstrom was found dead early this morning. Her mother discovered the body when the girl's alarm went off but continued to blare. She'd been stabbed multiple times. Crime scene investigators are analyzing blood spatter and searching for clues. My sources tell me something was printed on the wall of the girl's bedroom." Harold made a note on his pad.
"What did it say?" Erin asked.
"My source either didn't know or couldn't reveal that information."
A look of defeat slid across Erin's face. She dropped her head forward and cradled her face in her hands. Her fingers massaged her temples. If she was faking revulsion to such a heinous crime, Rafe was impressed as hell. When she lifted her head, the pain radiating from her eyes hit him in the gut.
"I can't imagine the horror of walking in to wake your child and finding her murdered." The healthy glow of Erin's creamy complexion had vanished. If anything, she was pasty white. Death, sometimes bloody and gory as hell, had become the norm in Rafe's world, but not hers.
"How could anybody believe I could do something like this?" Erin pulled the rubber thing from her ponytail and dropped it on the coffee table, allowing her hair to fall in waves well past her shoulders.
All those waves tumbling and sliding across her neck sent a bolt of heat blazing through his veins. The image of his hands buried deep in those silky strands flashed through his mind. He started to speak, but his breath caught.
"Everybody in this room is here to support you," Harold assured her.
Rafe didn't comment for fear his voice might crack like a teenager's. Truth be told, he was leaning toward believing in her innocence. Experience had taught him never to assume. This last undercover operation busted a drug ring run by the sweetest-looking grandmother in Dade County. The sixty-five-year-old woman wouldn't have hesitated to slit anyone's throat if they had crossed her or her family. She and her son were currently sitting in a federal prison awaiting trial.
"This murdered girl," Rafe asked. "When did you last have contact with her?"
Erin turned to face him. Her eyes revealed nothing, but her mouth drew to a tight line. "Does that matter?"
"It does to me. I'm going to look into your situation from the perspective that you're innocent."
She turned toward Jeff, who'd folded his arms across his chest. "Erin, girl, Lotty and I love you. I'll call in the devil himself if I have to."
Erin mumbled something that sounded like, "Looks like you already have."
Rafe kept his mouth shut, opting to send her a smile.
"I'm sorry," she added quickly. "I keep waiting to wake up and discover this was all just a nightmare."
"No problem," Rafe said, feeling like a dick for not being a little more understanding. "Let's try this again. When did you last see the girl?"
Erin's shoulders shuddered. "I hadn't seen or spoken to Penny since the day I laid that plastic bag of yellowish powder on Principal Mueller's desk."
"Back up and tell me how the drug came into your possession," Rafe said.
"Penny's grades had fallen drastically over the past semester. I'd called her to my office to talk about them. She became defensive and angrily grabbed her purse to leave. It slipped from her hand and hit the floor. The contents scattered. I knelt down to help her, and there next to my knee was the clear plastic bag. She shoved me, trying to get to it first."
"But you beat her to it."
"Yes. I tried to get her to talk to me. She denied knowing where it came from or how it got into her purse. She refused to say a word, so I escorted her to the principal's office." Erin paused and rubbed her temples again.
Rafe didn't push her to continue. He had to know everything she remembered, but she needed to move at her own pace.
"I left Penny with Principal Mueller's assistant. I went in his office, put the baggie on his desk, and then explained what had happened."
"When did he notify the police?"
"Not until after he'd called Penny into his office and asked where she got the drugs." Erin's color paled. "At first, she claimed to have no idea how they got into her purse. I reminded her that she'd almost knocked me over trying to get it away from me. Her face crumpled, and she began to sob. Principal Mueller waited a few seconds before asking her again where she got the drugs.
"When she lifted her head, there wasn't one sign of a tear. As calmly as anything, she said I'd made sexual advances toward her, that she'd rejected me, and I was trying to get even." Erin's hands covered her stomach. "It was as if she'd flipped a switch in her head. She looked me in the eyes and said I'd warned her that I'd get even. Right in front of us, she'd morphed into a different person."
"Then the principal reported the drug find?" Rafe asked, providing a gentle nudge to keep Erin talking.
"Yes. He notified city law enforcement, the school district police, and Penny's parents." Erin shook her head, keeping her gaze focused on the floor. "The rest of the day only got worse."
"How so?" Rafe asked.
"The police treated me as if they believed her accusation. The district sent an investigator, who at least started out friendly. His attitude changed after he heard Penny's side of the story. By the time they were finished with me, I was embarrassed, hurt, and angry. I was sent home, pending results of the investigation."
"That scenario certainly sounds like a motive for murder, but you're innocent until proven guilty," Harold said. "The police need hard evidence in order to file charges."
Rafe had been so zoned in on Erin, observing every facial and body movement, that he'd almost forgotten Harold was taking notes.
"They may have it." Erin's bottom lip quivered. "Sara Monroe came forward this morning and claimed to have heard me threaten Penny."
Harold dropped his pen on the legal pad and leaned toward Erin. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"I'm sorry." Erin's tone was defensive. "Her statement makes me the logical suspect."
Harold waved his hand as if wiping out Erin's words. "Motive and hearsay do not constitute hard evidence. Finding your DNA or fingerprints at the crime scene would be hard evidence."
Rafe bit back an argument. He'd been involved with more than one trial where a sharp district attorney had spun an airtight case using circumstantial evidence. Harold could soft-pedal the situation all he wanted. Truth was, Erin was in a lot of trouble.
A knock on her front door interrupted the discussion.
Erin sprang to her feet. Rafe caught her arm just before she turned the knob. "Let me take a look first."
"Aren't you being a little paranoid?" Her eyes dropped to his hand on her arm. "My life's not in danger."
"You're sure about that?"
She rolled her eyes. "Wouldn't a plan to discredit me be useless if I'm dead?"
No way was he backing down, but he released her arm. "Humor me."
She huffed out a breath, then peered through the peephole. Yes, sir, she'd grown into a nicely proportioned woman. The evidence was right in front of him. He felt a stirring in his groin that he mentally batted away.
"It's my neighbor."
"Company? That's what you need." He released her arm and stepped back.
She opened the door and gasped. "What the hell?"
Rafe slid one arm around her waist and pulled her behind him, placing himself between her and the man on her porch. Rafe quickly realized what had shocked her. A handful of local TV station vans were parked in front of her house. Half a dozen reporters ran up the sidewalk, all shouting questions.
Rafe stepped back and allowed the neighbor to come in, then slammed the door closed. "Vultures, every one of them," he mumbled.
"We agree on that." Erin's tone of voice had lost its edge.
Her gaze met his and held for a second.
It was long enough for him to see how hard she was working to hide her fear. Erin was scared. He understood. Her entire life was in shambles, and she was about to become nationwide news.
"I found this propped against the door," the neighbor said, handing her a manila envelope.
"What's this?" she asked, ripping the packet open.
Rafe reached to stop her but too late. She'd opened the damn thing and had removed the sheet of paper. She turned toward Rafe, stumbling backward. She held the page away from her body as if it were about to explode. He read the one word aloud.
"Murderer."
Rafe spun toward the neighbor. "Who are you?"
"Linc Hawkins," Erin answered. "He's installing the new computer system for the high school."
Rafe nodded to the neighbor. "Erin," Rafe said, "where would I find a couple of baggies?"
"Check the cabinet by the sink. Middle shelf." Erin still held the note away from her body. He liked her savvy. She knew she was holding something important.
Wearing plastic bags in lieu of gloves, Rafe took the letter from Erin and placed it on her breakfast bar. Then he picked up the envelope, which she'd let flutter to the floor.
Harold studied the note from a few feet away. "You need to give this to the cops."
"Why let them know everybody is passing judgment even before all the facts are in?" Erin's tone was defiant.
"Doesn't matter," Harold insisted. "If you get ten of them, you should call ten times."
"I'll call Detective Beckett." Erin fished a card and her cell from her pocket. She walked to the sliding glass doors overlooking her backyard.
Her hands trembled. She was hiding her shot nerves exceptionally well, and Rafe respected how she hadn't fallen victim to self-pity.
"Erin isn't capable of killing anyone," the neighbor said.
Rafe wanted to know more about the neighbor. "Linc, isn't it?"
"Yes. I live next door."
"How long have you known Erin?"
"Just a few months, but that was enough to learn how much she cares for the kids at the school."
Rafe sized up the neighbor while he talked. Calm and unruffled by the note he'd delivered to Erin, Linc Hawkins looked like he should have been hanging ten off a twenty-foot wave in his board shorts and faded T-shirt. His curly blond hair fell in every direction.
Till Justice Is Served Page 2
