by Debra Webb
He found another that way. Then another. His pulse kicked into overdrive. And yet another thrown-together frame and photo.
That was when he began to look for other signs of a rushed but methodical search. He got down on his hands and knees. The coffee table and sofa had been moved very recently. The indentations in the carpet from their former position were visible. Whoever had moved them had failed to put them back in the same spots. Shane shook his head. Sloppy, very sloppy.
“Excuse me.”
He looked up at the woman who’d spoken and who was now standing over him with confusion and suspicion battling in her expression.
“What are you doing?” she asked, suspicion gaining the upper hand and tightening her weary expression.
He got to his feet. “When’s the last time you moved your sofa or your coffee table?”
“I…I don’t know. Months ago, I guess.” She stared at the furniture in question. “Maybe never. I’m usually in a hurry so I vacuum around things.”
He pointed to one of the hastily framed photos. “Did you hang all these yourself?”
“Yes.” She peered at the photo he’d indicated. “But I didn’t leave it like that. Did you do that?” The suspicion gave way to uncertainty.
He shouldered out of his jacket and dropped it on the sofa. “We’re going to need to go through your apartment one room, one item at a time.”
“I don’t understand.” She surveyed the many photos she had no doubt carefully and lovingly hung.
“I think someone has been in your apartment looking for whatever they believe your sister may have had in her possession at one time.”
Mary Jane visibly prepared to debate his conclusion but something held her back. Instead, she went on the defensive. “She didn’t give anything to me. I hardly saw her those last few weeks.” Fear had nudged its way into her voice despite her best efforts to ward it off. “She wouldn’t even talk to me about what she knew.”
“You know that,” he explained softly, “but they don’t. If someone believes you have information pertinent to the case your sister was scheduled to testify in, you could be in imminent danger.”
“That’s insane.” She set her hands on her hips and looked around at her small, modest home. Irritation had chased away some of the uncertainty and fear. “Even if your theory held any merit, why now? Why not look for whatever they thought my sister had months ago?”
“Maybe they found out today that she was dead just like you did. Just maybe she took some insurance with her and someone thought she was long gone with it. But now they know differently.”
A frown furrowed her brow. “So, since she’s dead, they think she passed it off to me?”
“They won’t let it go until they’re certain your sister hasn’t left behind any means of getting to them. As your sister’s only living relative, you’re the most likely suspect. We just have to make sure we find it, assuming it exists, before they do. While,” he added, “keeping you safe.”
She threw her hands up and visibly struggled to keep her emotions steady. “I need that coffee now.”
Shane imagined she would need something far stronger than coffee when she found out he wasn’t about to leave her alone without protection.
He would be staying the night. On her sofa or outside her door. Whatever. But he wouldn’t be getting out of earshot of Mary Jane Brooks…not until he understood exactly what they were dealing with.
He wasn’t about to let her end up like her sister.
Chapter Five
“How many ways are we going to go over this?” Mary Jane was exhausted. She dropped her head against the sofa back. She had told all she knew over and over. To the FBI. To the marshals involved with her sister’s case. To Detective Bailen. And now at least twice to Investigator Allen.
Stationed in the chair across the coffee table from her, he leaned forward, the intensity in his eyes a stark counterpoint to her fatigue. “Ms. Brooks, I know this is difficult, but it’s also necessary. My goal is to reconstruct those final weeks of your sister’s life. To attempt to comprehend what might have been going through her mind. What her motivations were for any actions she did or didn’t take. Assuming she did, why did she call the Colby Agency? No one recalls speaking to her.”
Mary Jane put up her hands to stop him. “How do we know she spoke with anyone? Maybe she hung up when the receptionist answered.” Fear might have kept Rebecca from going through with whatever request she’d hoped to make. Another wave of weariness washed over Mary Jane. She was so tired. Completely drained. She needed sleep. For all they knew, Jason Mackey could have made the calls as part of his setup. If he had killed Rebecca, dumping her at the Colby Agency that night would have been the logical step if he’d intended to try and show a connection between her and the agency.
But then, he’d been murdered before he had ever made it into the building for the Christmas party.
“Perhaps we should call it a night.” Allen rested his forearms on his knees and visibly withdrew the push she’d felt emanating from his eyes. “You’re tired. We can continue this in the morning.”
He was determined to stay the night in her apartment.
Mary Jane wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Her tire had been slashed. Her apartment searched…it seemed. Was it possible her sister could have been looking for something? Surely Mary Jane would have noticed at some point during all these months if that were the case. Since she hadn’t, that could only mean that the search had taken place recently.
Was it possible that someone suspected she possessed a piece of evidence against Horizon Software? Or other information that might prove pertinent? If so, did she risk facing that threat alone? If someone had been in her apartment, they could return.
Her attention settled on Investigator Shane Allen. Considering the possibilities, did she allow this man—this stranger—to sleep on her sofa?
Better safe than sorry.
Mary Jane stood, the effort draining her further. “I’ll get you a blanket and a pillow.”
Before she could step away from the sofa, he pushed to his feet with an ease of flow that seemed contrary to his tall frame. “I know this isn’t exactly comfortable for you,” he offered. “But it is the right thing to do. I’ve worked situations like this many times, and avoiding any unnecessary risks is definitely the route to go.”
She had spent approximately twelve hours with this man. She didn’t know him. Had absolutely no reason to trust him beyond the fact that he was employed by a prestigious private investigation firm and yet…she did. Trust him, that is. On some level, anyway.
“I’m glad you’re going to stay,” she admitted. The words sounded a little shaky, but she meant them. Yes, putting the idea into action was a bit awkward. She hadn’t had a man spend the night in her apartment since…
Actually, she’d never had a man spend the night in her apartment. She hadn’t dated in ages. Who had the time or inclination when disease and death were your constant companions?
Mary Jane took a breath. “I’ll be right back.”
She made her way to the hall closet. The pillow and blanket she used sometimes when she crashed on the sofa were right where she’d left them the last time. Resting her hand on the pillow she considered that it had been almost two years since she had lived full-time in her apartment. She’d moved into her parents’ home after her mother’s cancer had reached a debilitating stage. Mary Jane was certain her father’s heart had managed to keep working sufficiently for him to see his wife through her painful final months. Then, as if he’d completed his work on this earth, he’d died in his sleep less than one month after her burial.
That had been six weeks ago. Since laying her father to rest, Mary Jane had divided her time between settling things at her parents’ home and taking care of the necessities around here. She’d ended up spending more time away than at home. Pressing her forehead against the door, she could confess now that she’d stayed at her parents’ home maybe a little
longer than necessary to be near the memories.
She was all alone now.
Completely alone.
Hugging the pillow to her chest, she reached for the blanket. As soon as Rebecca’s murder was solved, Mary Jane had to get on with her life. She couldn’t keep living in the past. It wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t right. Neither her parents nor her sister would want her to live like this…in limbo.
But first, whoever had killed her sister had to pay. She was certainly no vigilante, but she wanted justice. Justice wouldn’t bring Rebecca back, but it would make Mary Jane feel like she’d done the right thing by her sister. That was something she had to do…no matter the risks.
Back in the living room, Shane Allen waited right where she had left him. Standing. Watching. His stillness made her pulse react just a little. She wasn’t afraid of him. Not really. She was just nervous, she told herself. Maybe as much about his suggestion that she could be in danger as by the idea of having a stranger in her home while she slept.
“Thank you.” He accepted the linens.
“Good night.” Somehow she managed a halfhearted smile. When she would have turned back to the hall, she hesitated as a question she’d wanted to ask earlier bobbed to the surface of her exhaustion. “Do you think—” she searched his face for an answer before she even completed the question “—my sister was afraid of more than the bad guys at Horizon Software?”
He considered her question for a time. She suddenly felt stupid for asking, but she had a right to know what conclusions he had reached thus far. He’d put in a call to one of his former colleagues, but the response hadn’t been what he’d wanted. The open status of the case prevented his friend from discussing the details.
“If you’re asking me if she might have felt she had been sold out by her protectors, that’s always possible.” He shrugged. “Anything is possible.”
She hadn’t noticed until then just how wide his shoulders were. Maybe the leather jacket had kept her from focusing on the actual breadth of him. Her entire life she’d always associated motorcycles—and those who wore battered leather and shabby denim—with rogues. But this man was a former U.S. Marshal. A member of the prestigious Colby Agency staff. A good guy. Maybe he’d become a bit of a rebel after leaving the Marshals Service. If she got the nerve, she’d ask. Eventually.
“Even the best man has his weakness,” he went on. “If he permits it, that weakness can cost him everything.”
The idea that he spoke from experience overwhelmed her ability to think rationally. “Has that ever happened to you, Investigator Allen?”
“Only once. But it won’t happen again.”
She didn’t know where the question came from, but it was across her lips before she could stop it. “Is that why you’re not a marshal anymore?”
For five, then six beats of her heart he didn’t answer, just searched her eyes as if he could see—when she couldn’t—the motivation behind her question.
“Yes.”
“It wasn’t drinking.” Not a question. She somehow sensed that he was not the type to give in to drugs of any sort.
“No.”
The flash of old pain in his eyes gave her the answer.
“A woman,” she guessed.
“My ex-wife.” He said this with such indifference that it was difficult to believe he would have been distracted by someone he clearly cared so little for.
Mary Jane wasn’t sure how to respond. She’d unquestionably delved into sensitive territory for this dark, brooding man…who was set to spend the night on her sofa.
“I found out she was cheating on me,” he continued with the same matter-of-fact tone. “I was distracted and ended up in the path of a bullet. That’s why I’m no longer a marshal.”
“That must have been hard to deal with all at once.” Losing the woman he loved and his career and recovering from an injury.
“Like I said, it won’t happen again.”
There were other things that she suddenly wanted to ask, but his closed expression was loud and clear: he had no desire to discuss the subject further.
“All right.” She backed up a step. “Good night, then.”
Mary Jane made it all the way to her bedroom without looking back, although she wanted to. Her curiosity was definitely aroused now. She wanted to know what made this man so different from the others she had seen at the Colby Agency. So totally opposite to the marshals who had interviewed her in the past few months.
Had he veered close to death from the gunshot wound? Had losing his woman and his career sent him on a search for who he really was?
She closed the bedroom door behind her and sagged against it. Somewhere in the back of her mind she’d been toying with the idea that she needed to take some time to find herself. It seemed foolish. She’d gone to school to be an elementary school teacher. She had taught for five years before her parents had become ill, and she’d taken an extended leave. She had planned to return to teaching the next school year, some nine months from now. About the only work she could hope to get midway through the school year was substitute teaching. But the concept of doing a little soul searching and looking into other options still hovered in the back of her mind.
Maybe she would do just that.
Explore the possibilities and see if she was the same person she’d thought she was when she’d dived into an education degree. The insurance money would tide her over for some time to come. Rebecca had always said she deserved a break. Maybe she would travel. A long, relaxing cruise would be nice.
Mary Jane stripped off her blouse and slid down the zipper of her skirt. She pushed it to the floor and went in search of a suitable nightgown. In the event the building caught fire in the middle of the night, she didn’t want to be dressed too scantily with a man sleeping on her sofa.
She tugged on a pink, ankle-length flannel one that looked exactly like something her grandmother would have worn. Then she brushed her teeth and washed her face before turning out the light and climbing into bed. She sighed at the marvelous feel of comfort and familiarity. It was good to be home.
The apartment was quiet, so she assumed that her bodyguard had gotten comfortable on her sofa. Her mind focused on her sister and the troubles she’d faced upon discovering those ugly secrets about Horizon Software. Rebecca had already made up her mind and gone to the authorities before telling Mary Jane anything. Even then, she’d only explained that there would be a trial and that Mary Jane was to speak to no one regarding her sister or her sister’s work.
No one had questioned Mary Jane. If she’d been watched or followed she had not been aware of it. Then, just before Christmas last year her sister had disappeared. Vanished off the face of the earth as if she had never existed. It grieved Mary Jane to allow thoughts to surface of how she had died. She could only imagine the fear her sister had felt. No one should ever have to feel that way. What kind of animal enjoyed hurting another human being?
The shrill sound of the doorbell sent Mary Jane’s heart rocketing into her throat. She bolted upright. Fear tightened in her chest. She had flung back the covers and crossed the room before her brain could catch up with her body.
Wait.
Investigator Allen would check to see who was at her door. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Eleven-fifteen. Who would show up at this hour?
Detective Bailen?
Was there more news?
Unable to bear the not knowing, she yanked open the door and burst into the hall.
A tall, male body stopped her. “Stay in your room until I find out what this is about.”
The light from the living room reached far enough into the hall for her to get a good look at his expression. Grim. Determined.
“Is it a man or a woman?”
“A woman.”
Someone she worked with? A neighbor?
She started to ask more when he grasped her by the shoulders and ushered her back into her room. “I’ll let you know if it’s safe to come ou
t.”
He’d closed the door before she could summon a response.
She couldn’t stand here like this. She grabbed the clothes she’d shed only minutes earlier and quickly donned them once more. Whatever this visitor wanted, she needed to know. It could involve her sister.
Once she’d pulled her clothes into place and had taken a breath to calm her nerves, she cracked open the door and listened. The voices were too low for her to make out what was being said.
Slowly, one inch at a time, she opened the door and eased out into the hall. She stole her way as close to the doorway leading to the living room as she dared and then she held very still to listen.
“That’s not possible.”
Shane Allen’s voice. Whatever the visitor wanted, he wasn’t going for it.
“I have to speak to Ms. Brooks,” the woman insisted. “I won’t talk to anyone else.”
“If you have information for Ms. Brooks, you’ll have to pass it along through me.” He held his ground, his tone unyielding.
“Look.” The exasperation in the woman’s voice multiplied. “The information I have to give her could cost me my job. Could get me sent to jail,” she fairly shouted. “I’m not giving it to anyone but Mary Jane Brooks.”
“Then we have nothing else to discuss,” Allen concluded.
It was all Mary Jane could do to hold herself back. What if this woman knew something relevant to Rebecca’s murder? All she had to do was step away from the wall and walk into the living room. Three, four steps max and she could look this woman in the eye and demand to hear what she had to say.
Something like fear kept her plastered to the wall. She told herself to move, but she couldn’t.
“This is ridiculous!” the woman argued. “What I have to say is extremely important.”
“You’re aware that Rebecca Brooks was murdered?” Allen countered.
