The Man She Almost Married

by Maggie Price

  “Which of these cars is hers?”

  “The Jaguar.”

  “Check inside, Halliday. Maybe she brought juice for the drive to work and spilled it in the car.”

  He walked the few steps to the shiny, black car, pulled open the door and bent out of sight. “Smells like a salad bar inside,” he said as his head reappeared over the Jag’s gleaming top. “One side of the driver’s seat is soaked. So’s part of the carpet.”

  “What about a cup?”

  “There’s an empty one sitting on the console,” he said as he rejoined her.

  Julia looked back at O’Shea. “Do you have the victim’s address?”

  “Not yet. The security chief’s getting it for me now.”

  “Okay. The minute we have it, send a patrol unit to check the place. If there’s no sign of forced entry, keep a uniform on the door until either Halliday or I can break loose and get there.”

  “You got it, Sarge.”

  She shook her head, grateful for O’Shea’s efficiency. “Now, let’s talk to the guy who found her.”

  At normal times, Don Smithson would be considered distinguished, Julia decided—maybe even handsome with his carefully brushed iron-gray hair and strong, square jaw. Now, sitting hunched over on the metal chair with a greenish tint to his complexion and sweat on his brow, he looked distinctly ill and helpless.

  “Mr. Smithson, I’m Sergeant Cruze. This is my partner, Sergeant Halliday. Are you feeling up to answering some questions?” Julia noted the man’s slight nod, then gestured at the recorder clipped to her purse strap. “I’m taping our conversation, Mr. Smithson. I understand you found Ms. West’s body.”

  With obvious effort, he straightened in the chair and clasped his well-molded hands in a tight grip. “It was awful... awful.”

  “Did you see the victim when you drove in?”

  “Not until I got out of my car. I was preoccupied, thinking about the dinner party my wife and I are giving tonight. Dear Lord, I nearly stepped on poor Vanessa.”

  “What time did you arrive?”

  “Seven... little after. I used my ID card to open the gate. You can check the records to get the exact time.”

  “I will,” Julia said matter-of-factly. “Was this your usual time to arrive for work?”

  “Around seven, yes.”

  “Did you see anyone in the garage when you pulled in?”

  “No. Well, except Vanessa.”

  “What did you do when you saw her?”

  “I thought for a minute she’d slipped on some oil, fallen on her back and hit her head.” He wiped an unsteady hand across his forehead. “I bent down, touched her. I think I said her name.”

  “You touched the body?”

  “Her shoulder. That’s when I saw her eyes...the blood.”

  “What did you do after that?”

  “Stumbled into a corner and got sick.” He shuddered visibly. “I know you people are used to this, but I... My stomach just turned over.”

  “You saw no one else in the garage between the time you found the body and you went in to notify security?”

  “That’s right. No one.”

  Julia nodded. “What is your job here?”

  “Personnel. I head the Personnel Division. Remington has over forty-three thousand employees nationwide—”

  “How well did you know the victim?”

  “We...not well. We worked together on a project about a month ago. Ms. West was brilliant. She had a remarkable understanding of risk management principles.”

  Smithson propped his elbows on his knees and dropped his face in his hands. “This is terrible. Terrible. I don’t feel well. All I see is Vanessa’s face...her eyes. I’m going home.”

  Julia glanced at Halliday, then looked back at the man who seemed to be coming apart in front of her. If anything, his skin had gotten greener as they’d talked. “Okay, Mr. Smithson, that’s all for now. We may want to talk to you again.”

  Nodding, he slowly lifted his head and blinked. A network of lines pulled at the flesh around his eyes.

  “Two more quick things,” Julia added as he rose unsteadily. She took in the dark suit tailored to fit his lanky frame, and realized he was taller than she’d first thought. “Do you own a gun?”

  His eyes widened. “Surely you don’t think I had anything to do with Vanessa’s death.”

  “It’s a routine question.”

  “I hunt quail. I own several shotguns.”

  “Any handguns?”

  “No.” He jerked at his tie, fumbled with the top button of his starched shirt. “Can I go now?”

  “After we check your car.”

  “My car?”

  “This entire garage is a crime scene. We have to search all vehicles.”

  “Fine.” He took a deep, unsteady breath. “Fine.”

  Julia extended her hand. “Thank you, Mr. Smithson.”

  He hesitated only a second, then returned her handshake.

  O’Shea stepped forward. “Here’s a standard release form for you to sign,” he said as he ushered the man away. “If you’ll give this officer your keys, he’ll check your car and then you can leave.”

  Julia waited until they were out of earshot, then turned to Halliday. “What do you think?”

  “That O’Shea better keep his distance, or the guy might upchuck on his shoes,” Halliday commented while nudging his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Smithson’s upset. Scared.”

  Julia pulled a tissue out of her purse and scrubbed her palm. “He’s also sweating like a hooker in church.”

  “Well, he just stumbled across a dead body. Not the normal routine for a guy used to cozying up with risk management stats.”

  “Yeah.” Julia pursed her lips.

  “By the way, what did O’Shea mean when he said he guessed you knew a few people around here? You used to work here or something?”

  “Or something,” Julia said under her breath. She turned at the hollow echo of footsteps coming from behind, and felt an instant tightening in her shoulders.

  Fair-haired, with appealing blue eyes in a weather-beaten face, Rick Fox walked toward her, his tall, burly frame clad in gray slacks and a dark blazer that sported Remington Aerospace’s logo on the breast pocket.

  “Julia, if this isn’t one hell of a way to get old friends together, I don’t know what is.” His lips curved, but his eyes remained sober as he reached for her hand. “How are you?”

  The fingers that curled around hers were as hard as marble. “I’m fine,” Julia said, and frowned at the thickness that had settled in her voice. The last time she’d seen the security director she’d wept like a baby while pleading that he tell her Sloan Remington’s whereabouts. Hell, she thought with derision, she hadn’t pleaded—she’d begged.

  And accomplished nothing. Rick had patiently lent his sturdy shoulder to cry on, poured her an ocean of coffee, then driven her home. But he’d remained loyally silent regarding the man who was both his best friend and boss.

  Thinking again of how she’d demeaned herself in those first grief-stricken days after Sloan walked out on her brought the old hurt—the bitterness—crashing in on Julia. That was then, she reminded herself. It doesn’t matter now.

  Rick cocked his head. “I have to say I’m surprised you’re on this call.”

  “Luck of the draw,” she said evenly, and nodded in Halliday’s direction. “Rick Fox, meet my partner, Sergeant Halliday.”

  Rick shook Halliday’s hand, nodding when the detective requested a printout of everyone who’d scanned an ID card at both the gate and the door that led into the building.

  “I’ve got the one from the gate with me,” Rick said as he pulled a folded paper from the inside pocket of his blazer. “This shows everyone who used their ID card to enter this garage beginning at midnight until we opened the gate for your lab people. The names are in order by time of arrival.”

  “What about the printout from the door into the building?” Halliday a
sked.

  “I’ll have that for you before you leave.”

  “Rick, what was Vanessa West’s job?” Julia asked while her partner unfolded the paper.

  “Executive assistant to the CEO.”

  Julia held his gaze. “She worked directly for Sloan?”

  “Yeah.” Rick shoved his thick hands into the pockets of his slacks, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

  “She worked out of this office?” Julia persisted.

  “Has, for the past three months.”

  “Before that?”

  His eyes cut to the recorder clipped to her purse strap. “I’ll have to check her personnel file.”

  “We’ll need a copy of everything you’ve got on her.”

  When he frowned, Julia added, “I can get a warrant, if it’s necessary.”

  He held up a palm. “It’s not. We’ll cooperate fully.”

  “I hope so,” she said evenly, then paused. “Rick, I need to know if you’re arnned.”

  “I’m an ex-cop, Julia. Old habits die hard.”

  “Is your permit to carry current?”

  “You bet.” He shoved back one flap of his blazer to reveal a holstered automatic. “Glock, 9 mm,” he added.

  “Draw the weapon,” Julia said. “We need to record the serial number.”

  Rick nodded. The sound of steel withdrawing from the leather holster hung in the garage’s cool air.

  The automatic felt cool and heavy in her palm as she recited the serial number into her recorder.

  “We may need to run a test on it,” she said, handing the Glock back to Rick.

  “Just let me know.”

  She tilted her head. “Is that the only gun you’re carrying?”

  A slow grin crossed his face as he spread his arms. “You can search me, darlin’,” he drawled in a voice heavy with the thick tones of his native Louisiana.

  In a brief flash of memory, Julia recalled the comfort she’d derived from the soft words spoken in slow, Southern cadences while she cried on Rick’s shoulder. Kind words. Words meant to soothe, but couldn’t.

  Her spine went as stiff as a nail. Damn, she thought, and mentally shoved the past back to the dark recesses of her heart, where it belonged.

  “Why don’t you give me a rundown on the victim,” she suggested. “What kind of person was Vanessa West?”

  “The best at her job.”

  Julia narrowed her eyes at Rick’s avoidance of an answer. “Did she have enemies?”

  “Vanessa liked to roll over people who got in her way. You make enemies when you do that.”

  “Roll over them how?”

  “Whatever way was most advantageous to her.”

  “Did she ever roll over you?”

  “No. I guess I didn’t have anything she wanted.”

  Julia gave a slow, assessing nod. “Officer O’Shea said he asked you to get Miss West’s address.”

  “Right.” Rick slid an index card out of his pocket and handed it over. “I had one of my men call personnel to get it.”

  “Any idea if she has a roommate?” Julia asked, noting the address on the card was in an upscale part of the city.

  Rick shrugged. “I don’t know for sure, but I doubt it. Having a roommate means you share. Vanessa didn’t share. Not her space, not anything.”

  “Something tells me you weren’t in the running for president of her fan club.”

  “Hardly.”

  O’Shea stepped to her side and Julia handed him the index card. He checked the address, then walked discreetly away, pulling the radio off his belt.

  Halliday looked up from the list. “We need to interview everyone on here. Can you set us up in a room where we can talk to them one at a time?”

  “This garage is reserved for executive-level staff, so everyone on that list works on the upper floors,” Rick advised. “I’ll clear you to use the CEO’s conference room. Let me know in what order you want to talk to them, and I’ll have a secretary arrange things.”

  “We’ll start with whoever logged in just after the victim,” Julia said, peering at the printout in her partner’s hand. “That’ll be...”

  “Sloan Remington,” Halliday finished.

  Julia looked up slowly. A dull roar started at the base of her skull. She met Rick’s gaze. It took everything she had, but she met his gaze. “He’s on-site? Sloan’s here?”

  Rick’s mouth settled in a hard, tight line. “He’s back, Julia. Has been for three months.”

  The comment hit her like a slap in the face. Legs weak with reaction, she bit down on a curse, telling herself she’d deal with the storm inside later. “We’ll finish down here, then talk to Mr. Remington,” she said without inflection.

  “Okay, Julia, we’ve got a few minutes alone,” Halliday said as the elevator soundlessly whisked them toward the fifteenth floor. “What’s the deal? How do you know so many people around here?”

  She glanced up at the gleaming ceiling, saw no sign of a microphone or surveillance camera. Still, either one could be hidden between the polished aluminum panels. “We’ll talk later.”

  “Julia—”

  “Later!”

  Eyes narrowing behind his wire-rim glasses, Halliday opened his mouth to speak, then shut it when the doors slid apart.

  “Sloan’s between appointments,” Rick said, striding across the carpeted reception area to meet them. “He can see you now.”

  Julia raised her chin. “If we’re putting a chink in the CEO’s schedule, we’ll be happy to talk to him downtown.”

  Rick’s mouth kicked up on one side. “Just some standard office lingo on my part, Julia. We’re all at your disposal.” He swept a hand toward the towering paneled doors on the far wall. “I’ll show you in.”

  A sense of déjà vu settled around her as her gaze swept the reception area. The heavy English motif with its polished brasses and pewters looked unchanged. The paneled walls gleamed with the same rich luster. The heady, aged scent of leather furniture hung familiarly on the air.

  Her throat tightened as memories closed in, hovering just at the edge of her consciousness. With great effort, she pushed them away. God, if she’d known Sloan was back, she would have passed the call to another Homicide team. But she hadn’t known. Hadn’t thought she would ever see him again. Sure as hell hadn’t wanted to.

  Halliday touched her shoulder, nodding at the oil portrait of a silver-haired man with kind eyes and a shrewd face, which hung on one of the paneled walls. “That the CEO?” he asked quietly.

  “His father.”

  Rick slowed his steps as they approached the U-shaped mahogany desk rising from a great span of sand-colored carpet. The white-haired woman whose fingers raced across the computer’s keyboard looked up, a smile crinkling the corners of her eyes.

  “Hello, Miss Cruze.”

  “Elizabeth. How are you?”

  “Very well, except for what happened downstairs. Mr. Remington has asked me to bring in juice for him, and coffee for yourself. Do you still take yours with cream?”

  “Yes.” Julia ignored the look Halliday sliced her way.

  “And you, sir?” Elizabeth asked, turning her efficient attention to him. “Would you care for something?”

  “I’ll pass.” The hard edge in Halliday’s voice made Julia regret not briefing him on her history with Sloan Remington. Because of that, her partner was going into this interview cold, and that put him at a disadvantage.

  “Rick will show you into the office,” Elizabeth said, then turned back to her computer.

  With her insides twisted into a knot, Julia followed the head of security through the paneled doors. She paused, standing motionless as she took in the lush office with its deep chairs, sofas and antique rug.

  As if cold air had seeped through her, she felt the man’s presence before she saw him.

  Sloan stood with his back toward them on the far side of the vast office, his gaze focused out the wall of windows on a point somewhere off on the horizon. J
ulia stared at the thick, black hair, remembering the touch of it against her hands, knew too well the firmness of the broad shoulders beneath the dark, tailored suit.

  Her hands began to tremble.

  Rick remained just inside the door. “Sloan, Sergeants Cruze and Halliday,” he said,.then stepped out, closing the door behind him.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Sloan turned. His gaze locked with Julia’s, and he slanted her a smile in an intensely handsome face that had changed little in two years.

  “Hello, Jules,” he said softly.

  Chapter 2

  “It’s Sergeant Cruze now.” Despite the blood pounding in her cheeks from Sloan’s use of his private nickname for her, Julia kept her voice carefully void of emotion.

  “Sergeant, then,” he said, his gaze holding hers steadily. “Do you know who killed my assistant?”

  “The investigation’s ongoing,” Julia said, tightening her fingers on the strap of her purse.

  He lifted a dark brow. “Is that police jargon for no?”

  “We haven’t made an arrest. Yet.” Julia felt as if a stone had lodged in her chest. How could she have forgotten Sloan’s startling sense of presence? The hard impact of his dark, good looks. The eyes the color of melt-in-your-mouth chocolate.

  No, she hadn’t forgotten, she corrected herself as realization swept through her. She’d blocked those pulse-stirring details, built a wall against the gut-wrenching memories. But she hadn’t forgotten or blocked what this man who looked so coolly refined in the dark suit and knotted silk tie had done to her. Remembered well the relentless pain she had sometimes thought she would die of.

  Stiffening her shoulders, she took a firm grip on her composure and got down to business. “This is Sergeant Halliday. We need to ask you some questions about Vanessa West.”

  Sloan nodded, then gestured toward the pair of leather chairs positioned in front of the desk. “Have a seat.”

  Halliday slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “I’ll stand.”

  The soft click of the door sounded from behind. Julia glanced around, her gaze tracking Elizabeth’s smooth glide across the plush rug, silver tray in hand. Wearing a classy gray suit that made her look cool and capable, the woman bristled with efficiency.