by Maggie Price
“Can I bring anything else?” the secretary asked after settling the tray on the mahogany credenza behind Sloan’s massive desk.
Sloan gave her a brief smile. “I’ll let you know.” He picked up the silver coffeepot and began pouring. As he moved, gold cuff links peeked out of his coat sleeves.
Edgy, Julia slid onto a chair and looked at Halliday. He roamed the length of the far wall, conducting a random study of the leather books on the shelves of the floor-to-ceiling built-ins.
“Julia.”
Her head jerked up at the nearness of Sloan’s voice. She swiveled, and found him standing so close she could see the fine weave of his silk tie. Sitting as rigid as cold steel, she accepted the cup and saucer he offered, careful to avoid contact with his fingers. Agitation stirred in her when she saw he’d added the exact amount of cream she preferred to the steaming brew. China rattled against china when she abruptly set the cup and saucer on the small table beside her chair.
Sloan regarded her with interest as he settled into the high-backed leather chair behind his desk. “Something wrong with the coffee?”
“No.”
He leaned, lifted a glass off the silver tray. “There’s orange juice if you’d prefer—”
“I’d prefer to get started.” She jerked the recorder off her purse strap, clicked on the Play button and placed the device on the edge of his desk.
He gave the machine a quick assessment. “Why the recorner?”
“I need your statement on record,” Julia explained.
“I wasn’t aware I was about to make a statement.”
“Your response to our questions, then.”
He shrugged his acquiescence.
“Mr. Remington,” she began, “what time did you arrive here this morning?”
“I’m not sure.” He looked at Halliday. “But since my head of security gave you the printout from the scanner in the garage, you already have that information.”
“Yeah,” Halliday said, leaning a shoulder against the bookcase. “You get to the office about the same time each morning?”
“Earlier. I usually work out here.”
“Work out?” Julia asked blankly.
Sloan’s gaze ranged casually back to where she sat. “In the gym.” His lips curved with the hint of a smile. “I exercise.”
She dropped her gaze. The Sloan Remington she’d known was the last person who would flex a muscle to exercise. Yet, despite a love of fried foods and desserts, he’d had the physique of an athlete. Her eyes lifted for an instant to skim across the broad chest beneath the tailored suit. It appeared his body was as rock solid as ever. The fact that she’d looked had Julia’s mouth tightening.
Halliday spoke from across the room. “Why didn’t you work out this morning?”
“I did. I swam laps in my pool at home.”
“All right,” Halliday said, crossing his arms over his chest. “You took a dip in your pool, got cleaned up and came to work. Did you see Vanessa West in the garage when you drove in?”
“No.”
“Did you see her car?” Julia asked.
“No, but then, I didn’t look for it. When I drove in, I was talking on the phone—a call to D.C. I parked in my slot and stayed in my car until I completed my business.”
“How long was that?” Julia asked.
“Five minutes—could have been more.”
The phone on Sloan’s desk buzzed. He pressed a button on the intercom. “Yes, Elizabeth?”
“I have a call holding on my line from a Lieutenant Ryan. He’d like to speak with either Sergeant Halliday or Cruze.”
Travis pushed off the bookcase. “I’ll take it.”
Sloan nodded. “Elizabeth, show Sergeant Halliday into my conference room, then transfer the call there.”
“Yes, sir.”
When the door closed behind Halliday, Julia felt her skin prick with the uncomfortable knowledge that she and Sloan were alone. As if pulled by a magnet, her gaze went to the vast desk, swept across the leather blotter, then settled on the ebony pen set positioned at exact angles on the polished surface. The remembered feel of the cool, smooth wood against her bare flesh snuck up like a phantom, tossing her back to the night of the Christmas party when she and Sloan had barricaded themselves into this very room, so damned hungry for each other that they’d rolled onto the desk, tearing at clothes, yielding to the fast, molten ride of urgent sex for which their bodies clamored. Later, after they’d moved across the room to the leather couch and she lay in his arms, all sated and warm and drowsy, he’d proposed.
“It’s good to see you again, Julia,” Sloan said quietly. “How are you?”
A slash of temper followed on the heels of the sudden jump of her pulse. She grabbed the recorder and snapped it off. “I’m here as a cop, Sloan, not an old acquaintance wanting to play catch-up. Let me explain how a homicide investigation works. We ask the questions. You answer them. Period. Is that clear?”
His dark eyes stayed steady on hers, betraying nothing. “Crystal.”
She switched on the recorder and replaced it on the desk, pleased to see that her hand was steadier than her heartbeat. “Mr. Remington, how long have you known Vanessa West?”
He settled back in his chair, watching her over his steepled fingers. “A couple of years. She first worked at our West Coast facility, then transferred to Houston. She came here a few months ago.”
“A few months?” Julia asked. “You need to be more specific with the time frame.”
He sipped his orange juice before answering. “Three months.”
“About the same time you came back to Oklahoma?”
“About.”
“How would you define your relationship with the victim?”
“I was her employer, she my employee.”
“That’s it?”
Sloan leaned forward, propping his forearms on the desk. “You need to be more specific with your question, Sergeant Cruze. I’m not exactly sure what you’re asking.”
Julia narrowed her eyes at his carelessly polite tone. “Did you ever have, or were you having, a physical relationship with Vanessa West?”
“You mean were we lovers?” He paused, letting the question hover on the still air. “No, Sergeant. As I’ve already stated, our relationship was platonic. Strictly business.”
The inner swing of the door pulled Julia’s eyes from the dark ones that bored into her. Halliday stepped in, his mouth set in a tight, thin line.
Taking a deep breath, she looked back at Sloan. Whatever had Halliday hot under the collar would have to wait. “Was your assistant involved in a relationship with someone else?”
“I have no idea.”
“Can you give us the name of someone who might know?”
“Her secretary, Eve Nelson, might have some idea. Eve’s off today, having minor foot surgery. I’ll have Elizabeth give you her phone number.” Sloan jotted a note with the ebony pen. He paused and looked up. “I understand Rick is getting Vanessa’s personnel file for you.”
“Yes.”
“Do you need anything else?”
“I’ll let you know.” Julia waited a moment, then asked, “What kind of person was Vanessa West?”
Saying nothing, Sloan turned his head toward the window, but not before Julia spied the jump of a muscle in his jaw.
“She was your assistant,” she persisted when he remained silent. “You must have had a close working relationship. Surely you have an opinion of her character.”
“Vanessa wasn’t a nice person,” Sloan said bluntly, remeeting her gaze.
“How so?”
“She was beautiful, and she knew it. She could knock a man over with just a glance. Then she’d laugh when he couldn’t get up. Not nice at all.”
His frank assessment caught Julia off guard. “You thought that about her, yet you had her working directly for you?”
“Considering her skills, having her work for me was much preferable than her working for a com
petitor,” Sloan answered. “Despite Vanessa’s...personal faults, she had a brilliant mind for business. Assign her a project and she gave five hundred percent of herself. Her work ethic might sometimes have been questionable, but never her work product. Replacing her won’t be easy.”
Julia rose, walked to the wall of windows and stared out. Traffic had thinned; the sun beat down with such intensity that she could see heat rising off the pavement. Her brows slid together, and she wondered if she felt hesitant about asking the next question because she already knew the answer.
She straightened her shoulders and turned. It didn’t matter what she knew. She needed Sloan’s verification on record. “Do you own a gun, Mr. Remington?”
He sat silent, his eyes so cool and unblinking that she shifted her stance. “Shall I repeat the question?” she asked.
“No. I’m wondering why you asked it, since you know the answer.”
Her hands curled against her thighs. “I need your answer on record.”
“Yes, I own a gun...more than two hundred to be exact. I inherited my father’s collection when he died.” Sloan flicked a glance at the recorder. “For the record, Sergeant Cruze, you and I have taken several of my handguns to the range and fired them. Since I haven’t sold or bought any during the past two years, you’re as familiar as I with the weapons I own.”
Julia fought to stay calm. “We need a copy of the inventory.”
His dark eyes narrowed. “You think one of my guns might have killed Vanessa?”
“It’s a possibility.”
“Hardly. My collection is kept under lock and key, remember?”
What Julia remembered was that only Sloan had the key to the fireproof room off what had been his father’s study. “Do you have a copy of the inventory here?” she asked.
Keeping his eyes locked with hers, Sloan picked up the phone and issued orders for Elizabeth to print the list. He hung up, then stood, an obvious sign that they’d worn out their welcome.
“I understand you’ll be using my conference room to interview my staff.”
“That’s the plan,” Halliday said.
“There’s one other thing.” Julia walked to the desk and retrieved her recorder. She didn’t have to look at Sloan to feel his eyes tracking her movements.
“What’s that?”
She raised her gaze and met dark eyes that looked as hard as iron. “Don’t leave town, Mr. Remington.”
Halliday exploded before they got halfway to the conference room. “Dammit, Cruze, I want an explanation.”
Seeing Sloan had left Julia with weak knees and damp palms. Her stomach was in knots. The last thing she wanted to do right now was explain.
“Later—”
“Like hell.”
Her gaze darted down the length of the paneled corridor, lined with glowing light fixtures and discreetly closed doors. The hallway was empty except for the two of them, but it wouldn’t be that way long. Elizabeth had already summoned the first staff member to the conference room.
“Halliday, give me a break. I’ve got interviews to conduct, and you need to meet a lab unit at Vanessa West’s apartment. I’ll run everything down to you when we meet back at the station.”
“I already gave you a break,” he shot back. “I didn’t drag you out of Remington’s office in the middle of the interview.”
Julia heard the familiar buzz in her head seconds before her temper snapped. “Look, pal,” she said, poking her index finger against his chest. “I’m lead investigator on this team. You don’t tell me what to do, and you sure as hell don’t drag me anywhere.”
“Fine. You’re in charge. You’ve got more experience at this than me. Maybe that’s why I’m missing something.”
She gave him a wary look. “Like what?”
“Like why you left me open to explain to the lieutenant why we’re here.”
“That’s what Ryan called about?”
“Yeah. My explanation of ‘to investigate a homicide’ didn’t exactly sit too well. When I inquired if there was a reason we shouldn’t be on this case, he said to ask you. So, Cruze, I’m asking. Why are you so chummy with the head of security? How does the secretary know you like cream in your coffee? And what the hell were you doing hanging out at a pistol range with Remington?”
“Lord!” Julia grabbed the nearest doorknob, twisted it and dragged her partner into what turned out to be a mirrorwalled bathroom with gleaming brass fixtures. As she moved, her purse slid down her arm and landed with a thud on the pristine marble floor. She shoved the door closed, then stepped to the sink and turned on the water full blast.
“What are you doing?”
“Interference,” she said, glancing at his reflection in the mirrored wall. “Rick Fox has a talent for hiding microphones in all sorts of places.”
“Another fact I would have liked to know before I took Ryan’s call,” Halliday rasped, anger seething in his voice. His hands curled against his sides. “Cruze, what the hell was—or is—going on between you and Remington?”
“Nothing!” she snapped, and whirled to face him. “There’s nothing going on between Sloan and me.”
“Sloan. ” Giving her a smug look, Halliday leaned against the door and crossed his arms. “Well, Jules, I don’t exactly buy that.”
Julia blew air between her clenched teeth. Shifting her gaze to the small chandelier that hung over the marble vanity, she waited for her anger to subside.
Halliday glanced at his watch. “I’ve got all day—”
“You’re right,” she shot back. “There is something between Sloan and me. It’s called dislike. I dislike the man.”
“Why?”
“Because two days before our wedding was to take place he decided he’d made a mistake.” Her voice shook and she took a deep breath. “It hit him that he didn’t love me.”
Halliday gaped. “You and the silk suit were engaged?”
“That’s usually the next step after two people decide to get married,” she said, shoving her hand through her hair.
“Damn.” The rush of angry emotion had disappeared from Halliday’s face, and in its place was quiet assessment. “Damn,” he repeated softly.
“I know the director of security because he’s Sloan’s best friend. I actually spent a few days crying on Rick’s shoulder. And if you think Elizabeth is efficient with coffee, you should see how capably she handles sending five hundred telegrams that regrettably inform people the wedding is off,” Julia continued, her body trembling with the words. “She didn’t miss notifying anyone on the guest list, not the governor, the four senators...she even remembered my Aunt Tilly in Woonsocket, South Dakota.”
“Julia—”
“Then there was the matter of returning all those gifts.”
Halliday held up a hand. “Okay, I get the idea.” He frowned, his voice softening. “So when I told you the location of the homicide, why didn’t you hand it to another team? I’d think Remington would be the last person you’d want to deal with.”
“He is.” For the first time Julia glanced at her reflection in the mirrored wall directly in front of her. Her cheeks and lips were pale, her eyes glassy. “I didn’t know he was back.”
“Back from where?”
“I don’t know. Right after Sloan called things off, he left the state. At first I was fool enough to think he’d just gotten cold feet and I could make him see....” She shrugged. “Anyway, I tried to find out where he’d gone. Rick was the only one who knew, but he’s as loyal to Sloan as a pet dog and he refused to tell me anything. After a while, I came to my senses and stopped asking. When a man tells you he never loved you, it makes a big dent in your pride.” She raised her chin. “Overall, it was a very humbling experience.”
“I can imagine.”
The sympathy that settled in Halliday’s eyes fired Julia’s temper. “I got over it,” she said through her teeth. “Three weeks after Sloan walked out, my promotion to Homicide came through. I had plenty of dead bo
dies to keep my mind occupied. Later, I met Bill.” She held up her left hand, the diamond sparking beneath the chandelier’s brilliant rays. “My life is exactly what I want it to be. I’m exactly where I want to be. End of story.”
“Julia...”
She leaned and snatched her purse off the floor. “Did Lieutenant Ryan pull us off this case?”
“No, But he wants you in his office the minute you hit the station.”
“Fine,” she said, cringing on the inside at the prospect of facing her steely eyed boss. “We’ve got an investigation to conduct, Halliday. Let’s stop wasting time.”
He remained unmoving, blocking the door while he gave her a long stare.
“What?” she asked with impatience. “Did my nose suddenly fall off or something?”
“What if Remington turns out to be our guy?” he asked quietly. “How are you going to handle it if he’s the one who pumped that bullet into Vanessa West?”
“If he did it, I’ll arrest him and lock him in a cage,” Julia said, then reached past him and jerked open the door.
“Thought you might want this.” Rick Fox tapped an envelope against his palm as he strode across the office.
Sloan looked up from the financial report he’d stared at the past half hour. He’d opened the file right after Julia and her partner left his office. Right after she’d looked at him as if he were a murderer on the prowl.
Expelling a slow breath, he closed the folder, having no idea what the report said. “What is it?” Sloan asked as Rick handed the envelope across the desk.
“A photograph. I printed it off the tape from the camera at the entrance to the garage.”
Sloan pulled out the photo, his gut tightening at the image of Julia’s grave, beautiful face staring up into the camera’s lens. She looked controlled and efficient, like a tough little gangster in her pin-striped suit.
How little she’d changed in appearance, he thought, his gaze tracing the hair that spilled across her shoulders like a dark shaft of silk. The same crimson gloss slicked the mouth that in another lifetime had marked his flesh with kisses, sighs and soft words. Sloan dragged in air to loosen the knots in his stomach, and only proceeded in filling his lungs with the familiar scent of her that still lingered in the air. A warm, soft scent that aroused a million memories he’d vowed to keep buried.
