The Bride’s Secrets

by Debra Webb

  “The preliminary exam indicated foul play,” Eve countered, snapping out of her hatefest long enough to take a jab at showing her up.

  “That’s right,” the other woman agreed. “But I spoke with Terrence’s attorney yesterday, and he indicated that the police are leaning toward suicide.” She looked from Eve to J.T. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but he hanged himself—or appears to have done so. There were signs of a struggle, and that’s the reason for the other suspicions. There’s nothing official yet.”

  “Becca, is there any way to get into Terrence’s files? I don’t want to accuse a man I not only trusted and respected but also who isn’t here to defend himself.”

  If he called her Becca one more time, Eve was pretty sure she would throw up.

  “Since he retired a few months ago,” Rebecca began, “his internal files were absorbed by various colleagues. We can look, but I doubt there’s anything to find. If your suspicions are accurate, I’m certain he would have covered his tracks.”

  “If your suicide theory is correct,” J.T. commented, “he may have sensed he was about to be caught.” He glanced at Eve. “He apparently had reservations about any evidence he left behind.”

  “What about that guy Damon Howe?” Eve put in. “You said he worked closely with Terrence.”

  “Is it possible Howe could have been involved with Terrence?” J.T. asked.

  “You didn’t hear?”

  Eve tensed. Judging by the grim tone of the other woman, the news wasn’t good.

  “Hear?” J.T. prompted.

  “He has cancer. He moved to Mexico to pursue a new kind of treatment. The last time I spoke to his wife, she said that his condition had deteriorated. He doesn’t have long.”

  “By default, that leaves you,” Eve suggested. J.T. shot her a look.

  Rebecca James blinked. “I suppose it does.” She managed a halfhearted smile for J.T. “I guess the two of us are the prime suspects in a case the authorities aren’t even aware of.”

  That she hung on to J.T.’s gaze with her own should have ticked Eve off all the more, but her instincts had started to hum.

  That was the goal, she realized: to eliminate anyone involved in the fraud before the authorities were in the loop. That way any one of a number of folks could be deemed the scapegoats.

  The perfect crime. Set up your closest colleagues, then kill them off one at a time.

  Except for Howe, of course. And nature was taking care of that loose end.

  When things got dicey, the bad guy—or woman—simply pointed at the evidence.

  Brilliant.

  Eve gave herself a mental shake and again zeroed in on the conversation.

  “I think that’s the route to go before this gets completely out of control,” Rebecca was saying.

  What was the suggested course of action?

  “The caretaker will let you into the house?” J.T. asked.

  Eve’s attention swung back to Rebecca. What the hell had she missed?

  “Absolutely. I was friends with Terrence for many years. I’ll tell Carlton that I’m looking for a file Terrence may have brought home from work. He won’t question me.”

  Eve’s instincts were screaming at her now. “If you were such good friends with Arenas,” she pressed, “didn’t you suspect what he was doing?”

  Rebecca looked taken aback. “There was never any reason to suspect him of wrongdoing. Terrence was an outstanding claims auditor. His reputation was stellar. His personal finances always seemed in perfect order. I can’t imagine why he would do this.”

  “For millions of dollars,” Eve offered. Was the woman dense?

  “Remember,” J.T. emphasized, “I considered Terrence my friend, as well.”

  Eve resisted the impulse to tell J.T. that his words carried no impact. He’d trusted her.

  The reality of that statement pricked her with guilt.

  The waiter arrived with the drinks Rebecca had taken the liberty of ordering. White wine all the way around. Eve hated white wine, but she didn’t let that stop her from having a big gulp. She needed something to wash down all this garbage. This woman was up to something. Maybe J.T. couldn’t see it, but Eve saw right through her too-sweet facade.

  When they’d placed their lunch orders, J.T. added, “I don’t think either of us is accusing Terrence of illegal activity at this point.” He said this more to Eve than to Rebecca.

  Eve shrugged. “He’s dead. I doubt he cares.” J.T. shot her another of those looks. “However, he may have had evidence against whoever was responsible.”

  “That may very well be why he’s dead,” Rebecca suggested.

  Eve swallowed more of her wine. If she survived this meal without barfing, it would be a miracle.

  J.T. really was far too trusting.

  But she sensed that he was about to learn a very valuable lesson.

  “So,” Rebecca said when the waiter had moved away, “what do you do, Eve?”

  Eve smiled at the pretty woman. “Me?” She tucked the linen napkin into her lap. “I’m a problem solver.”

  J.T. was glaring at her. She didn’t have to look to know; she could just feel those dark eyes boring into her.

  “A problem solver?” Rebecca made a humming sound. “Interesting. Do you work here in the city?”

  “The world is my office.” Eve decided to give her something to think about. “I travel a lot. Analyze situations and determine the most efficient route to solve the problem.”

  The woman held her gaze as she sipped her elegant white wine. Everything about her was ultrachic and conservative. Perfect—down to her French manicure.

  “How did you and J.T. meet?” she inquired.

  “Actually,” J.T. cut in, “she rear-ended my SUV.”

  Rebecca’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Afterward,” Eve chimed in, “we went back to his place and had hot, sweaty negotiation sex.”

  Rebecca choked on a swallow of her fancy wine, which to Eve tasted like bad beer.

  J.T.’s sour look had turned to a flat-out glower.

  “He’s quite good,” Eve provided, “in case you didn’t know.”

  J.T. cleared his throat and shuffled his note pages together.

  “Actually,” Rebecca said with a sly look at Eve, “I do know.”

  Conversation was a little stilted after that. J.T. rambled on about work at the agency. Rebecca waxed on about how things had changed in the months since he’d left Gold Coast Life. Eve worked at keeping her eyes from rolling back in her head far enough to see the roots of her hair.

  Mainly she spent the time banishing images of classy, uptight Rebecca rolling in the sheets with J.T. The two would be perfect together. Both smart and beautiful and sexy.

  Funny, Eve never once had this problem before. Not once.

  The men she encountered were typically associated with her work. And work, well, it was work. She never got emotionally involved or personally attached. In. Get the goods. Out.

  Uncomplicated.

  What the hell had happened this time?

  Her gaze settled on the man on the other side of the table.

  He’d taken something from her, something she couldn’t seem to move on without.

  That dark gaze collided with hers as if he’d sensed her watching him.

  Beyond the frustration and defensiveness she saw the answer….

  He had loved her like no one else ever had.

  Like no one else ever would.

  The intensity of his feelings had stolen her edge.

  She was lost without it…without him.

  Eve looked away.

  He could never know.

  She was wrong for him.

  He deserved better.

  He deserved something real…. This wasn’t real. She wasn’t real.

  Chapter Fourteen

  5:30 p.m.

  “She’s not here.” Eve pointed out the obvious.

  J.T. gritted his teeth. He needed to focus on th
is investigation. Saying to her what he wanted to say at the moment would be a waste of time and energy. Not to mention the resulting blow up that would distract them from what they were here to do.

  “She’ll be here,” he stated firmly. “She had a meeting. It may have run longer than expected. Happens all the time.”

  “A meeting. Yeah.”

  Enough. “What’s your problem?” He shifted in the seat of his borrowed car to glare at her. “You don’t even know Rebecca. You have absolutely no reason to believe she’s involved in this any more than I am. Why the bullying?”

  Eve made an unpleasant sound. “Just because you’re blind doesn’t mean I am. She’s playing you like a well-tuned guitar. You just don’t see it.”

  Damn. He shifted his attention to the house across the street. He wasn’t doing this. Whatever Eve’s problem, she could think what she wanted.

  The only real evidence they had at the moment that pointed to anyone in particular was Leonard Jamison’s word that it was Arenas.

  The clients were all associated with him somehow, but that wasn’t evidence.

  They needed a connection to the numbered account in the Caymans. And right now that connection was J.T. himself. But he hadn’t set up the account, hadn’t transferred any money into it.

  What bothered him more than anything was the way this whole thing had come out of nowhere. He’d worked at the insurance agency for four years. Not once had he suspected a single one of his colleagues of anything less than honorable conduct.

  How could he have been that blind?

  The woman in the passenger seat plopped her head back against the headrest and blew out a disgusted breath.

  Maybe the same way he’d been blind to her true agenda.

  How could he continue working for the Colby Agency when he obviously didn’t have the necessary insight into people?

  A long talk with Victoria was in order when this was over.

  He was sitting here, completely in the dark, so to speak, while his mother was in the hospital for reasons he hadn’t seen coming.

  Turning this investigation over to the agency would likely be best for all involved.

  Then Eve could move on with a clean conscience.

  He wasn’t buying that whole hanging around for some added payoff. She just didn’t want him to know she was worried about him.

  Funny, from what he’d seen so far, she wasn’t the type to worry.

  Or to hang around once she was finished.

  Just stop thinking, J.T.

  He closed his eyes and exiled the confusion.

  For the next ten minutes he managed to do exactly that. His attention remained focused on the house as he replayed all that he knew about the defrauded clients and the man he’d considered a friend. He hated to hear about Damon Howe. Could he be the one who’d taken the money? Medical bills were likely mounting. Unorthodox treatments could be costly.

  “This is ridiculous,” Eve complained, finally breaking the awkward silence.

  “Give me your cell.” He held out his hand. She dropped the phone in his palm without touching him. He entered Rebecca’s number and waited through the four rings that activated her voice mail.

  He closed the phone and handed it back to Eve. “She’s obviously still in the meeting.”

  Eve shoved the phone into her pocket. “I don’t know about you, but I’m sick of waiting.” She opened her door. “I’m going in.”

  “Eve!”

  She was halfway across the street before he was out of the car. “Eve! Damn it! You can’t go in there.”

  It was an outright miracle that the caretaker hadn’t noticed them loitering in the street already. In this neighborhood people called the police when strangers loitered for too long.

  Eve didn’t slow. She marched right up the walk. He caught up with her at the steps.

  “You can’t—” he snagged her arm, pulled her around to face him “—go in there like this. We have to wait for Rebecca.”

  “Brace yourself, Baxley. Your friend isn’t coming.”

  Eve jerked free of his hold and double-timed it up the steps.

  J.T. followed.

  “Eve, wait.” He was tired, frustrated and plain sick of this whole situation.

  At the door she turned to face him. “It’s not a big deal, J.T. We’ll knock. Mr. Whatever His Name will come to the door, and we’ll tell him we’re meeting Rebecca here. He’ll ask us in, and we’ll snoop around when he isn’t looking.”

  J.T. shook his head. “We’re not knocking. We’re not going in.”

  The sound of a car approaching drew his attention to the street. Not Rebecca. Damn. She knew how important this was. What was the hold up? He could buy the prolonged meeting excuse for only so long.

  When he turned around, Eve was no longer standing next to him. The door yawned wide-open.

  He swore.

  For a second he considered just getting back into the car and driving away. This had gotten completely out of control. But the thought of his mother lying injured in that hospital bed reminded him that this wasn’t just about him.

  He walked through the open door. “Eve.” He surveyed the massive foyer.

  When he got his hands on her, he was going to—

  “J.T.!”

  “Where are you?”

  “Kitchen.”

  He wandered past the enormous great room and formal dining room. He’d attended a couple of parties here, but the front living area was as far as he’d ever gotten.

  The kitchen sprawled across a major portion of the back of the house. Eve stood in the middle of the room.

  A man lay on the floor at her feet, blood pooled around his body.

  As J.T. slowly approached, Eve glanced at him. “Carlton, I presume.”

  J.T. had never been a police officer or a detective in a crime unit, but certain things he knew from his training at the Colby Agency.

  “Don’t touch anything,” he warned.

  “No kidding,” she snapped. “I know my way around a crime scene, Baxley.”

  J.T. refused to ask. The more he learned about the woman, the more he realized he didn’t know her.

  It was scary.

  He knelt next to the man, careful not to disturb the positioning of his body or the puddle of blood. He checked the carotid artery. No pulse. His skin was cold, his lips a pale blue.

  J.T. lifted his hand. Rigor mortis had begun.

  “He’s been dead for a while.” J.T. looked up at Eve. “Yeah.” He pushed to his feet and backed away from the corpse. “Call 9-1-1.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Your friend is supposedly on her way. She can call.” Eve headed across the room. “Meanwhile, we’ll be taking advantage of the situation to see what we can find.”

  “Eve,” J.T. growled, “we’re not touching anything and we’re calling 9-1-1.”

  When he would have stalked after her, something on the floor caught his eye. He moved closer and crouched to get a better look. A handgun. Black. Halfway under the refrigerator. Taking a quarter from his pocket, he eased the weapon from under the fridge and leaned down, studying it more closely.

  Glock.

  “Eve!”

  No answer.

  He pushed to his feet and went in search of her. She could be into anything. God only knew what she would do if he didn’t keep an eye on her.

  Down a second hall that led deep into the east end of the house, he found her. In a home office or study. She sat behind the desk, her fingers flying over the computer keys.

  “Terrence’s computer has been wiped.”

  “Are you certain?” J.T. moved up next to her, leaning down to view the screen when he’d intended to tell her to get away from the desk.

  “Nothing but the original software on here.”

  “What about CDs? External hard drives? Any sort of storage device.”

  “I’ve checked all the drawers.” She pushed out of the chair. “The whole room has been cleaned out.”

&nbs
p; “But his body was found only a few days ago.”

  “He lived alone?” Eve asked as she walked around the room, looking on empty shelves and behind the window curtains.

  J.T. shrugged. “He was a widower. He lived alone as far as I know.”

  She turned around. “You friend’s not here yet, is she?”

  J.T. shook his head. “We really need to call the police.” He moistened his lips. “But first, there’s something you need to see.”

  She followed him back into the kitchen. He pointed to the Glock on the floor. “Is that your weapon?”

  Before he could stop her, she reached down and picked it up, looked it over. “It’s mine.”

  Their gazes locked in a silent knowledge.

  Tension throbbed between them for four, then five, beats.

  “You realize there’s only one way it got here,” she said, her voice low, stiff.

  “Yes.” The weapon had been in his SUV at the hospital.

  “You also realize that only one person knew we were coming here.”

  He nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

  EVE TURNED ALL THE WAY around in the kitchen.

  No sirens.

  No police.

  No bad guys.

  No Rebecca.

  They had arrived well before the designated time. It was thirty or thirty-five minutes past that time now.

  She drew in a really deep breath. The smell became more prominent. Gas. Her gaze fastened onto J.T.’s once more.

  The Glock slipped from her fingers and clattered on the floor.

  The words tumbled out of their mouths simultaneously.

  “We need to get out of the house.”

  Eve lunged toward the French doors on the other side of the room.

  J.T. beat her there and wrenched the handle downward.

  Locked.

  Damn!

  His fingers fumbled on the locks.

  “Hurry!” she urged.

  He yanked the door open.

  She pushed him through the opening.

  He almost lost his balance but didn’t lose his forward momentum.

  He twisted his body and rushed back toward her.

  “Run!” she screamed at him. What the hell was he doing?

  Eve dove out the door.

  He grabbed her hand.

  Her whole world seemed to lapse into slow motion.