by Maggie Price
“Starting when?”
“I left the dealership at nine. Went home and cleaned up. We met at a restaurant around ten.”
“It took you an hour to get cleaned up?”
“Yes.” The faint tightening around Champion’s mouth revealed his growing irritation. “Is that a problem?”
“Not for me.” With a slow, grim smile, Jake sat on one arm of the couch. “Did anybody see you last night between the time you left work and met your date?”
“No.”
“You ever meet Phillip Ormiston?”
“Yes.” Champion’s jaw tensed, then relaxed. “Why?”
“When did you meet him?”
“About four months ago.” He lifted his fingers to the perfect Windsor knot in his tie. “I met him through DeSoto. They knew each other from working out at a gym called Sebastian’s.”
Why did everything about this case seem to circle back to the health club? Jake wondered.
“Do you work out there, too?”
“No. I use the gym at my condo complex.”
“Have you met the health club’s owner, Sebastian Peck?”
“Nicole’s mentioned him. We’ve never met.”
Jake thought about Eddie Denson’s obituary still folded in the pocket of his sport coat, of the argument about steroids Mel Hall said he’d overheard between Peck and Ormiston. “Do you know a college kid named Eddie Denson?”
“Never heard of him.”
“Let’s go back to Ormiston. Exactly how did you meet?”
“DeSoto gave him a prime deal on five stretch limos for his funeral home business. When Ormiston came to the dealership to close the deal, DeSoto had me handle the paperwork.”
Jake paused, wondering if that purchase had anything to do with the sour investment Ormiston had complained about. “Did the deal for the limos go through?”
“Why wouldn’t it?”
“A glitch at the factory? Problems with delivery?”
“It went through without a hitch.”
“Did Ormiston mention an investment he’d made where he lost a lot of money?”
“No. Look, I heard Ormiston died on Tuesday night. Did someone kill him?”
“Yes.” Jake scowled as if puzzling over a weighty mat ter. “I’m trying to get this time line in my head, so I appreciate you cooperating the way you are.” A case of vague confusion was a tactic Jake used often to nudge a guilty party into cooperating himself into a corner. “Since you knew Ormiston, I have to ask what you did and everywhere you went on Tuesday.”
“I worked.”
“Did you take a lunch break?”
“Just like I do every day,” Champion answered, his voice heating.
“Where did you go?”
“I ran errands.”
“Can anyone verify that?”
“Probably not. Every place I went I paid cash.” Champion’s eyes chilled as he pushed out of the chair. “I don’t like your questions, Ford.”
Jake let his shoulders lift and fall. “You don’t have to like them. You just have to answer them. If it turns out your boss was murdered, you can expect to answer more.” Especially since you have no provable alibi for the time of either man’s death.
“I didn’t kill anyone.”
Jake rose off the arm of the couch. “Then you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“You’re right, I don’t.” Champion strode into the entry hall, pulled open the door, then looked over his shoulder. “By the look of things, you and Nicky have something going.” A muscle in his jaw jerked. “I can’t figure what the hell she sees in you. You’re not her type.”
Jake gave him a smile that was all insolence. “Like you?”
A faint flush rose from above Champion’s knotted tie to his cheeks. “Go to hell, Ford.”
Jake’s cell phone rang. He grabbed it off the coffee table, checked the display. The M.E.
He answered the call just as Champion closed the door behind him with a snap.
Nicole sat at her tidy desk with its long, curved legs, staring unseeingly at the computer’s monitor. Behind her, a piece of paper unfurled from the printer sitting on the small credenza that matched the desk.
How had everything spun so out of control? she wondered. Less than an hour ago, Jake Ford—a man she was certain was all wrong for her—had kissed her brainless and melted her bones. With shivering need clawing inside her, she’d been close to dragging him onto the kitchen floor and pillaging. Now Jake was in her living room, presumably interrogating her ex-husband about his boss—her client— whose death was probably due to murder.
She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. Cole couldn’t have been the shadowy figure who’d rushed out of DeSoto’s house last night and plowed into her. Nor had it been Sebastian, as Jake had implied last night at the hospital.
How could she be certain? she asked herself. How could she know who it wasn’t when she couldn’t even swear the person had been a man? In truth, the only thing she knew for sure was that two of her clients were dead and she’d come close to having sex on her kitchen floor with the cop investigating the case.
A cop who was the type of man she knew she should avoid.
Pressing her fingers to her eyes, she attempted to will away the memory of the shuddering jolts of electricity that Jake’s kiss had rocketed through her. When that didn’t work, she dragged in a deep breath, then another, hoping the breathing exercises Sebastian had taught her would clear her system of Jake’s primal male taste and stop her stomach from flipping.
As matters stood, she was grateful Cole had shown up when he did. His presence had reminded her how, when they’d met, she’d been so blinded by the fire-drenched demands of her own body that she hadn’t looked past the outer layer to see the real man. She’d jumped without thought into a swirling tidal wave created by her own hormones and had wound up betrayed and hurt.
Never again. Passion alone was not to be trusted—she knew that better than most. Knew, too, that what she felt for Jake was all passion. Viciously arousing passion.
Sweet holy heaven, had she been aroused!
Murmuring a quiet oath, she reassured herself that her off-the-Richter-scale reaction to Jake’s kiss didn’t mean she’d lost control of her emotions. After all, she knew with unerring certainty what she wanted, knew the kind of man she belonged with. She had no intention of ever again letting a whirlwind of fiery lust addle her thinking. One day she would step into a man’s arms and feel the kind of slow, sweet beginning that promised a lifetime of warm desire and lasting commitment. He was out there—the one man, her soul mate. He would walk into her life, and she would know him. Until then, all she needed was a little patience.
“Nicole?”
She swiveled in her chair, saw Jake, tall, gorgeous Jake, standing in the center of the doorway. Her heart jolted. She would need patience and self-control, she amended as heat licked through her veins and shot into her cheeks. A large dose of self-control would come in handy while she waited for Mr. Right.
He slanted her a curious look. “You okay?”
“Of course.” She jammed a loose pin back in her hair. His white shirt was buttoned now, its tail tucked into his jeans. When her palms began to itch with the remembered feel of the sinewed muscles beneath that shirt, she wondered why her overtaxed brain didn’t just implode. “Is Cole gone?”
“Yeah. He didn’t like my questions and decided not to play anymore.”
She hesitated. “Questions about DeSoto?”
“Among other things.” As he moved toward her desk, Jake’s gaze shifted, taking in the small, tidy bookcases and wood file cabinet that shared space with the matching rose-and-ivory-toned chairs. “The M.E. called,” he added, slipping a hip onto the side of the desk.
Nicole wasn’t sure if it was his nearness, or the grimness in his eyes—or both—that curled fingers of tension in her stomach. “Was…DeSoto murdered?”
“Same MO as Ormiston. Injected with something that paral
yzed his lungs. They’re still not sure what that something is. It’ll take time to get the toxicology reports back.”
She felt tears well up and blinked them away. “Who, Jake? Why?”
“I don’t know. Yet.”
When he reached to touch the hand she’d fisted on the desk, she eased back in her chair, twined her fingers in her lap. It would be so easy, she thought. So easy to accept comfort. So easy to step into his arms again and lose herself in the heat for as long as the fire raged.
He’s not what you want, the logical part of her admonished, even as her body and heart yearned.
He said nothing for a moment, his eyes on hers. Finally, he crossed his arms over his chest. “The M.E. is sure enough of the time of death that we can figure whoever it was who knocked you off the porch killed Villanova.”
“Good God.”
“Is your brother on the outs with Champion because you found him with another woman?”
“Yes. After Bill heard what I walked in on, he wanted to pound Cole into pulp. I had to remind Bill that wasn’t the best thing for an assistant D.A. to do.”
“It is for an older brother.”
“That’s what Bill said.”
“What does he think about you and Champion still being friends?”
“You don’t want to know.”
Jake cocked his head. “I need you to tell me more about your ex.”
“Because you think Cole might be the killer?” she asked, dread settling in her stomach.
“Because when he walked through your door this morning, he stepped in the middle of a homicide investigation.” Jake raked a hand through his hair. “I’ve got two men murdered. Your ex knew both of them, those are the facts.”
“Cole knew Phillip?”
“Yes. That doesn’t necessarily mean anything—a lot of people knew both victims. Those are the people I need to look at. You were married to Champion, you lived with him. Who better to tell me what he’s like beneath the surface?”
She closed her eyes, opened them. “What do you want to know?”
“You said he’s worked for Villanova about half a year. What did he do before?”
“When we met, Cole was a land man for a local oil company.”
“That means he researched land ownership records, right?”
“Yes. Then he’d contact landowners to secure acreage leases for drilling, both oil and gas wells. Cole also brokered deals on the side. Of course, he preferred to keep those quiet.”
“Why?”
“Because the company he worked for didn’t get a slice of that particular pie. I’m not sure the company shouldn’t have, but it’s a common practice in the industry. A lot of land men broker deals for both their employer and for themselves.”
“It’s my guess he’s pretty good at working deals.”
“Very. Cole’s a born networker. He seems to know everyone, has a knack for putting the right people together for what needs to be done.”
“So, the bottom line is he found people with money to invest in a well that had yet to be drilled. Then he hooked them all up as partners in that well?”
“Right.”
“What did Champion get for doing that?”
“A guaranteed percentage of the total money invested.”
“What kind of money are we talking about?”
“During the oil boom, a lot. Cole brokered several big deals. In some cases, he also invested in a well he brokered, so he also got a percentage of the profits when the well hit.”
“What happens if a well doesn’t hit?”
“The investors take a loss.”
“Money down the pipeline, so to speak.”
“Sometimes a lot of money.”
“Suppose Champion didn’t invest his own money in a well, just brokered the deal to get the guys with the money lined up. Was the commission he made from brokering the deal safe?”
“Yes.”
“He ever have any major losses?”
“A couple that I know of while we were married. That’s why Cole stopped putting his own money into a well and worked strictly as a broker.”
“Which made his risk minimal. Almost nonexistent.”
“When it came to the money, yes.” Nicole plucked a pen off the desk, laid it down. “Once in a while an investor who loses gets irate. It’s no one’s fault if a well doesn’t hit, it just happens. That’s sometimes hard to remember when your money goes down a dry hole.”
“Do you know if Ormiston invested in any wells?”
Jake’s question sent a ripple of unease down her spine. “If Phillip did, he never mentioned it.” She rolled her chair back, rose and turned to the credenza. “Did Cole tell you Phillip put money into one of his oil deals?” she asked while she straightened a brass frame that held a family photograph.
“No, Champion didn’t tell me that. Is the oil bust the reason he went to work selling Cadillacs for Villanova?”
Turning, Nicole leaned a hip against the credenza. “Yes. Hundreds of people were laid off, Cole included.”
“Did he stop brokering?”
“I’m not sure, but I doubt it. He loves the prospect of making money, almost as much as the act itself.”
“I’d love it, too, if I could make a profit with no risk to my own bank balance.”
The sardonic edge in Jake’s voice transformed the unease she felt to dread. “I know you have to consider everyone, but Cole couldn’t have killed DeSoto. Or Phillip.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“Positive. I…” Her voice hitched. “I can’t believe this. How can DeSoto and Phillip be dead? Murdered.”
“They’re dead because someone had reason to want them that way.” Jake stood, dipped his head toward the printer. “Is that the list of the women who dated both Villanova and Ormiston?”
“Yes.” She turned, retrieved the single piece of paper. When she swiveled around, she bumped right into Jake. She jerked away as if scalded.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
“Yes.” She handed him the paper while avoiding his gaze. “I…two women went out with both Phillip and DeSoto.”
Crossing her arms around her waist, Nicole roamed around to the opposite side of the desk. She had to keep distance between them. A lot of distance.
“Rhonda Livingston and Ingrid Nelson,” she said. “Their files were with the ones you had the officer pick up yesterday.”
“If I remember right, Livingston’s a Realtor. Nelson’s a physical therapist.”
“There’s that good memory of yours again.”
“Yeah. Like I said, I’ve already made appointments for this afternoon to meet with the ten women Ormiston dated.” Jake checked his watch. “Now that I know for sure Villanova was murdered, I need to hit up my lieutenant with a new angle on how to work this. If things line up the way I think they will, you may have a new client on your hands.”
“A new client?”
“Me.”
“You,” Nicole said quietly.
“Two men who dated both of these women are dead. One may be a black widow who mates, then kills. If so, she’ll be looking for victim number three. Whether I get matched up with one or both depends on their alibis for the times of the murders.”
A twin mix of emotion assailed Nicole. First, a tug of worry at Jake putting himself in danger. Second, an instinctive, gut-level rejection to his dating other women. She didn’t like either prospect.
Nicole moved to the far end of the room, pausing in front of the bookcase she’d filled with leather-bound first editions. “It makes me sick to think the killer could be a client of Meet Your Match,” she said, meeting Jake’s gaze. “We run background checks, do personality profiles. Testing. How could we have missed someone who kills?”
“‘Desire to kill’ isn’t something that gets listed on a person’s résumé,” Jake pointed out. “You check people out the best you can. That’s all you can do.”
When she remained in front of t
he bookcase, he cocked his head. “Maybe you’d like it better if I stepped out in the hall while we talk. Would that put enough space between us for you?”
Her throat closed at the hardness in his voice. “I’m sorry, Jake. It’s just that…I think it would be best if we didn’t repeat what we did in the kitchen.”
“Eat breakfast?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know.” He folded the paper she’d given him, jammed it into his shirt pocket. “That was less than an hour ago. You mind telling me what changed things?”
“Cole. Cole changed things.”
Jake’s dark brows slid together. “You telling me you still have feelings for him?”
“Not that kind.” She ran her tongue over her dry lips. “I told you when I met him I lost my head. Big time. I let emotion sweep me off my feet. Jake, that’s how it is with you.”
Something dangerous came and went in his gaze. “Do you think I’m like Champion? The kind of man who’d betray a wife?”
“I don’t know what kind of man you are. Not really. And when I’m around you, I don’t care. That’s the problem. I don’t think. I just feel. That’s how it was when I met Cole.”
His mouth thinned to a grim line, Jake skirted the desk, walked slowly toward her. “Sounds to me like you’re comparing us, man to man.”
“I’m comparing the situation.” Taking a step back, she lodged her spine against the bookcase. “And it’s the same.”
“Is it?” he asked, pausing a bare inch from her.
“Yes.” She had to lift her chin to meet his gaze. “When you’re around, I forget, let myself forget how dearly I paid at one time because I ignored logic. When Cole showed up this morning, he made me remember. I’m close to doing that same thing with you, Jake. That scares me to death. What happened between us was a physical reaction—”
“Damn right it was.”
“—that I don’t trust. I learned the hard way the kind of man who suits me. You’re not him.”
“I seemed to suit you well enough in the kitchen.”
“You swept me off my feet, and I let you.” She fisted her hands against the memory of the searing kisses they’d shared. Of how far they’d almost taken their attraction. “I don’t want that. I can’t want that,” she added for her own benefit.
