Durango tilted his head, not sure what amazed him more: that Gracie knew so much about the strangler and his past, or that she’d used the f word. He’d never heard a curse word cross those perfect lips before, never imagined she was even capable of it.
“This is not my fault!”
“The murders? No, they’re not. But your drinking, your dangerous behavior—that’s your fault. You’re making a victim out of yourself!”
Rage turned his vision red. He moved into her, grabbed her by the throat as he pushed her back against the counter.
“You have no fucking idea what’s this has been like! Living with the guilt of what happened to Sarah, being put on trial by those fools in Chicago! Everyone looking at me like I’m the same category of scum that I used to put behind bars. You . . .” He squeezed hard at her throat for a second, before backing off, the fear and shock in her eyes enough to eat through the rage. He stepped back, ending on a weak note. “You have no idea.”
“If you think you’re the only person to ever suffer the way you have, then you’re a damn fool,” she said as she approached him, catching him by surprise. He couldn’t imagine why she’d want to come near him after what he’d just done. “You’re not alone, Durango. But you will be if you keep doing what you’ve been doing.”
She reached up and touched his nose, causing a flash of pain to burn through him. Her fingers moved down his jaw, sliding over the curve that led to his chin.
“I don’t think it’s broken,” she said.
He nodded. “I’m sorry, Gracie.”
He touched her throat, something breaking deep inside of him at the sight of the redness that would soon turn into a bruise. She pulled his hand away, holding it to her breast as she stepped into him.
She tilted her head up and he was a breath from kissing her when the front door suddenly burst open.
“Brother!”
Billy Chamberlain, Durango’s stepbrother, walked through the door with all the confidence and pompousness of a popular television star. Born Billy Grant, he’d adopted Jackson’s name when he went into acting, hoping the name alone would land him jobs. And it had. But it also cemented a connection that Durango had sought to avoid the same way Billy had embraced as though it were his birth right.
Perhaps it should have been.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Durango demanded as he rushed toward the shorter man. “No one told me you were in town!”
“We’re in Chicago shooting outdoor scenes, and I saw the article in the paper. Fuck, Durango, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?”
Durango shook his head even as he went into one of those manly embraces Billy never failed to offer whenever they met.
“It’s a clusterfuck,” he admitted.
“Yeah, it is. I heard they only let you out because Jackson swore you were with him during the time the woman was killed?”
“I guess. I didn’t hang around to ask.”
Billy’s eyes shifted to Gracie where she stood in the archway to the kitchen. She was watching, her eyes cautious and curious. But, like when she saw Jackson in the police station, she didn’t seem to recognize Durango’s famous brother.
Did this woman not own a television?
“Who is this fine lady?” Billy asked, extracting himself from Durango and crossing the room to stand before her.
“Billy, this is Gracie Colson. She works for me at Mastiff.”
“Nice to meet you, Gracie from Mastiff.”
Gracie politely shook his hand, then ducked around him. “I should get back to the office. Axel will need help keeping things on track.”
“Gracie,” Durango said, reaching for her as she passed. But she moved just out of reach, and he didn’t think she’d appreciate him pursuing the situation. He watched her go, a part of him really wishing he could make her stay.
“Who is that, really, brother?”
Durango shook his head, regretfully closing the door behind her. “Just a friend. A good friend.”
“Hate to break it to you, but that woman has the hots for you. But you can’t really blame her, can you? We Chamberlain brothers are pretty charming.”
Durango just nodded.
“But she’s not really your type.”
“I don’t have a type.”
Durango walked around Billy to retrieve the bottle of sherry in the kitchen. But as he lifted it to his lips, he could see the disapproving look on Gracie’s face. On second thought, he capped it and put it back in the cabinet.
“You do have a type. Every woman I’ve ever seen you with is a blond with perfect blue eyes.”
“That’s not true.”
“Sure it is.”
Durango glanced at him. “That’s just a coincidence.”
“Is it? I can’t remember a woman you were with that wasn’t blond.”
Durango thought about it, searching his memory for a brunette or a redhead in his past. But he couldn’t think of a single one even though he was sure there had been. “What about you,” he finally said. “You’ve always chosen blonds, too. You even had a thing for Sarah there when we first met her.”
“True. But I’ve always emulated my big brother.”
Durango hit his arm as he passed him. “You need to get a mind of your own, Billy.”
Durango threw himself on the couch, trying not to think about the night he’d fucked Hyde on this very couch. He could almost see her, lying back against the cushions, that pleased smile on her lips.
“They’ve got you good this time, don’t they?”
Durango shook his head. “They think they do. But all they can prove is that I had sex with her, especially if Jackson went to them and told them that we were here when she was killed.”
“What is Jackson doing in town? When’s the last time you and he were even in the same room?”
“I don’t know.” Durango ran his fingers through his hair. “There was an article on the Internet talking about the night mom died. I think maybe it rattled him a little to see it.”
“So he showed up, out of the blue? He didn’t even go to Sarah’s funeral!”
“I asked him not to. I didn’t want it to turn into a circus. She deserved more than that.”
“Speaking of funerals . . .” Billy sat heaving on the couch beside Durango. “Why didn’t you call me when Kyle died? I would have liked to have attended the funeral.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I just assumed you’d be in the middle of filming.”
“I was, but I would have dropped everything for that. You know that.”
Durango did know that. He knew his brother would do just about anything for him, which was why he couldn’t ask. Once again, he didn’t want to get the people he cared about wrapped up in the middle of this mess he’d somehow found himself in. Especially Billy.
He slapped his hand against Billy’s knee. “No offense, brother, but I didn’t want you here. I didn’t want you under the microscope of the cops looking into me. I didn’t want you taking the attention away from Kyle. And I didn’t want you getting caught up in my problems.”
“But we’re brothers. That’s what brothers do for each other.”
“Maybe. But not this time.”
“That’s what you said during your murder trial.” He leaned forward a little. “I could have helped you, brother.”
“And had your reputation smeared if the press had put together our relationship. It’s bad enough that that article about my mom connects me to Jackson. It won’t take long for some savvy reporter to put it all together. And then your press agent is going to have a hell of a time keeping you out of everything.”
“Don’t worry about my reputation. I have a whole list of people on my payroll who take care of that shit.”
“But I do worry.”
Billy sighed. “Always taking care of me. I don’t deserve it.”
Durango nodded. “True.”
Billy slugged him in the arm, but they both laughed. And it felt good.
/>
Chapter 16
Springfield, Illinois
Quinn Naylor’s Home
Calder pulled into Quinn’s driveway and walked over to the SUV parked at the curb, waiting while Doug rolled down the window.
“All quiet?”
“Not a peep.”
“Good.”
He headed inside, unlocking the front door with the set of keys he’d taken from her little glass bowl by the door. He was hoping if she didn’t have her keys, she wouldn’t try to escape again, but he wouldn’t put it passed her. He called her name as he moved into the living room, looking around out of habit, his training kicking in as he noted the way the sheer curtains on the French doors hung slightly askew from their earlier activities. But everything else in the room seemed to be exactly as they always were.
He went upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. Quinn wasn’t in the bed when he walked through the master bedroom’s door, but the bathroom door was closed. He sat on the edge of the bed and slipped off his shoes, calling to her.
“Quinn, I’m back.”
She didn’t answer, didn’t come running out the door in excitement as his ego kind of hoped she would. He stood and shrugged out of his sports coat, in the middle of unsnapping his holster when he heard an odd sound from behind the bathroom door. He stopped, concern mingling with alarm. And then the sound came again, a sort of gurgling sound that didn’t sound healthy.
“Quinn?” He pulled his gun and approached the door, tapping lightly on one of the panels. “Quinn? You okay in there?”
The sound came again. He tried the doorknob and found it unlocked. He pushed the door open and found her, naked, her head tilted at an odd angle as the rest of her body sprawled on the closed toilet lid. He set down his gun and rushed to her side, touching her face as gently as he could, pulling her head up so that he could see her eyes. They were closed.
“Quinn?”
He tapped her cheek, trying to get a response. She moaned, but she didn’t seem to hear him.
“Fuck!”
He turned, searching first with his eyes, then snatching open drawers and cabinets, trying to find whatever it was she’d taken. She was clearly high. But he couldn’t find a single needle, a single vial, couldn’t find a bottle of pills, or anything stronger than some cough syrup that looked like it’d expired several years ago.
“What the hell?”
He searched her body next, looking for a puncture mark, some proof that someone had injected her with some sort of medication. He couldn’t find it, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. There was some discoloration around a couple of her scars that could have been caused by an injection, but he couldn’t imagine that would be effective. Nothing between her toes, her fingers, nothing behind her ears or on her scalp. He checked everywhere but found nothing.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
He went to the closet and quickly dressed her in a simple summer dress that wouldn’t require a bra and a cardigan. Grabbing the blanket from the bed, he carried her out to his truck.
“What’s happening?”
Calder shook his head, not bothering to look over at Doug. “Are you sure there was no one in the house while I was gone?”
“I’m positive. I’ve had eyes on the front of the house all afternoon.”
“What about the back?”
Doug held up the tablet he had in his hands. The screen was still displaying the cameras they’d set up in the backyard, revealing an empty rose garden.
“No movement.”
Calder shook his head. “She’s high as a fucking kite, but I can’t find anything in the house to explain it. The woman doesn’t even take aspirin!”
“What are you going to do?”
“Take her to the hospital, have her tested.” He slammed the truck door harder than necessary, glancing at Doug. “Search the house. Let me know if you find anything out of the norm, even the smallest thing. Okay?”
Doug nodded.
Calder climbed into the truck and took off, leaving skid marks on the driveway. Lincoln Medical Center was ten miles from Quinn’s house, but it felt twice as long as he waded in and out of traffic. He parked at the emergency room entrance, sliding a plaque onto the dashboard that suggested he was there on official business, preventing the authorities from towing the truck. Then he gathered her up and carried her inside.
“What seems to be the problem?” the nurse at the triage desk asked.
“She’s been drugged. She needs to be treated.”
The nurse looked up, the bored look disappearing when she recognized Quinn. She immediately stood and led the way to an exam room.
“Doctor will be in shortly.”
Calder had to explain what he wanted four times before he finally got one of the doctors to listen to him. They wanted to hook her up to an IV, wanted to start her on medication that would dilute the medication in her system. All that was good, but he needed them to draw blood first, to run tests that would definitively identify whatever it was she’d been given. He finally got that idea through to one of the doctors when he backed him up against the wall and physically stopped him from starting the IV.
Ten minutes later, a phlebotomist came into the room and drew five vials of blood.
Calder slipped her a hundred-dollar bill and, she slipped one of the vials into his sports coat’s pocket.
A nurse came in moments later to start the IV.
“How long will it take her to come to?”
The nurse shrugged. “Depends on what she’s on and how much she took.”
Calder didn’t like the implication that she’d taken the drug willingly, but he only nodded. He took a seat beside her and held her hand, brushing his lips across the back of her fingers as he watched her sleep.
“The doctor will be back in a few minutes. He’ll administer the medication that should counteract whatever’s in her system.”
“And then?”
“And then we wait.”
The nurse left. Seconds later, another nurse came into the room with a syringe filled with a clear fluid.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a stimulant meant to counteract the sedative effects of the medication she took.”
Calder nodded, watching as the nurse wiped the port on the IV line with an alcohol swab. Then she lifted the syringe, popping off the lid and preparing it for the injection. But her hands were shaking and she was sweating, her lips quivering as she struggled to focus on the job at hand.
Calder knew a nervous woman when he saw one. Why was this woman nervous?
Just as she touched the syringe to the port, he grabbed her wrist, pulling himself up as he simultaneously pulled her back from the IV.
“What’s really in that?”
The woman shook her head. “I told you.”
“You lied to me.”
She looked up, but he could see the truth in her eyes. This woman was likely a very poor poker player.
“What is it?”
She jerked her hand away and rushed out the door. Calder followed, grabbing her arm and slamming her against the tile wall. Thankfully they were alone for the moment, a slow afternoon allowing for an empty corridor.
“What the fuck were you doing in there?”
Big, crocodile tears began to flow from her eyes. “I needed the money!”
“What money? Someone paid you to do this?”
She nodded, glancing over his shoulder as though she expected someone to suddenly burst out of the curtained cubicle across from them.
“Who?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. He contacted me via text message.”
“When?”
She looked around them again, tears still flowing down her face. “Look, my husband’s sick. The bills . . . they’re outrageous! We needed help, and this guy texts me a couple of weeks ago, asks me to get Dr. Naylor to a party across town. It seemed harmless, and he offered me so much money. . .”
“You’re the nurse who t
alked her into going to that party?”
“Yes.”
“And today?”
“He texted me again ten minutes ago and said she was in the emergency room, and I should inject her with a syringe I’d find at the triage desk.”
“Do you know what’s in it?”
She shook her head, tears still running down her cheeks. “He threatened to reverse the wire transfer on the money. But I’ve already spent most of it!”
Calder took a deep breath, trying to keep control of his temper. “You could have just killed her.”
“I know,” she said with a little sob. “I know.”
“She said you were her friend.”
“I like Dr. Naylor, really I do.” She shook her head, the tears falling all around her like a rain shower. “But we were desperate. We have three kids!”
Again, Calder took a deep breath. “You were at the party that night?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see who Quinn talked to? Did you see her leave?”
She nodded quickly, eager to help. “She spoke to Dr. Petrov. He’s a fellow in her department. And then she talked to Dr. Morgan, a pediatrician on the sixth floor.”
“Who else?”
The nurse thought about it for a second, her lips screwed up in thought. “I didn’t see her with anyone else inside the party. But I saw her leave.”
“Did you?”
“A man, a slight man with gray hair, met her outside the party. They spoke for a minute, and then he went with her to her car.”
“Did he look like someone she knew?”
The nurse nodded. “They seemed really familiar with each other. He was talking low, and she raised her voice at one point. He grabbed her arm and whispered in her ear, said something I couldn’t hear. Then they left together.”
“In her car?”
“Yes.”
Calder shook his head in disgust. “You couldn’t go to the police and tell them this?”
“The text messages said to keep my mouth shut. That the money would disappear if I said anything.” She began to cry again. “I’m sorry.”
“Do you have your phone?”
She nodded eagerly again, tugging it out of a pocket on the front of her scrubs. He grabbed it from her and pulled up the texting app. He found the messages easily, read through them. They said basically what she’d claimed. He took a screenshot and sent the messages to his own phone.
Mastiff Security: The Complete 5 Books Series Page 34
