Midnight Rain

by Dee Davis

  “You get shot in the head.” John’s voice was low, the line meant as a throwaway, but somehow in the quiet of the study that only made it more pointed.

  “Beyond that.” Roswell was still smiling.

  Tony Haskins was looking out the window, but Katie knew he was listening. D’Angelo was watching her, his look speculative. Or maybe it was just her imagination. Damn Roswell.

  She took a deep breath, forcing a smile. “It’s pretty straightforward actually. In John’s case, when the bullet entered his head it carved a path upward until it hit his skull. The force of the impact caused a ricochet that sent the bullet forward, stopping just before it reached the front of his skull.” She paused, her eyes seeking John’s. Again he nodded. “Basically, as the bullet plowed through his gray matter, it obliterated everything in its path.” Haskins flinched, his eyes on John’s head. “So anything in that path—memories, knowledge, emotions, anything—they’re gone.” She met Roswell’s gaze, her own narrowed in anger. “Forever.”

  “I see.” He nodded, apparently satisfied with her answer.

  D’Angelo, however, wasn’t as certain. “Then it’s your professional opinion that Mr. Brighton is telling the truth when he says he doesn’t remember.”

  “I’m not a neurologist, Detective. But yes, within the scope of my knowledge I’d say he’s telling the truth. I’ve read his chart, and the opinions there are based on the sizable body of knowledge of an entire battery of physicians.” She sounded defensive and hated herself for it, but she’d been caught off guard by her own damn people.

  “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.” The detective’s smile was meant to be disarming, but then, she knew all the tricks. “You explained it to me before, I know. But it’s a difficult concept to accept.”

  “For a layperson maybe. But the fact remains that John isn’t going to remember anything. So questioning him is useless.”

  “I don’t know that I’d go that far.” This from Haskins, who was still staring at John’s head. “I think we’ve learned quite a bit today.” He snapped out of his reverie, his gaze seeking his partner’s. “We done?”

  D’Angelo rose, extending his hand to John. Again the left one in deference to his injury. “Thank you for your help. I appreciate the fact that you were honest with us.”

  “As honest as I can be.” John’s smile was strained but genuine. In spite of everything, he hadn’t lost his sense of humor. Whatever else was happening here, John Brighton was a strong-willed man.

  “Well, I thank you for seeing us on such short notice.” D’Angelo nodded to her, and with his partner left the office, leaving Roswell alone with them.

  “Thanks for your time.” He held out his hand as well, the right one, and for a moment Katie felt a rush of anger. Internally she shook her head, wondering exactly whose side she was playing on.

  Sometimes the line was so damn fine.

  “Ms. Cavanaugh.” Roswell nodded in her direction, the twinkle in his eye unmistakable. The bastard was actually enjoying this. He turned his attention back to John. “I’ll be in touch if I have any more questions. And in the meantime, you have my card. Call me if you remember anything.”

  John flinched, but kept the polite look of indifference plastered on his face. “I will.”

  Katie couldn’t decide if Roswell was being obtuse in general or on purpose, but either way it was uncalled for. And just at the moment she was certain she was playing for the wrong team.

  Which should have scared the hell out of her.

  But it didn’t.

  Chapter 12

  “So what’s the big news?” Jason set his beer on the table and sat down across from Frank. “I had to walk out of an appointment at the Statesmen.”

  “Oh, give me a break, Jason. It’s not like you were meeting with the publisher himself.” Valerie pulled a chair up to the end of the table, pint in hand. The Dog and Duck was Austin’s answer to the British invasion. Complete with pub grub and dartboards, it was almost authentic. Except that it was in Texas.

  “Advertisements are important, Valerie. Especially now. You of all people should know that.” Jason’s voice was mild, but there was a spark of something in his eyes that Frank suspected was anger. He turned his attention to Frank. “I take it you’re with us.”

  Frank shot a questioning look at Valerie. He’d thought Jason was only a periphery player.

  Valerie’s hand found his leg under the table, her touch soothing and arousing all at the same time. “Of course he’s with us. Frank and I always stand together, Jason. You should know that by now.” Her tone was condescending, as if she couldn’t be bothered with Jason’s opinions.

  Frank bit back a smile, basking in her favor.

  “Is Danny coming?” Valerie asked, bringing his thoughts back to the matter at hand.

  He shook his head. “He couldn’t make it.”

  “But you said you talked to him.”

  “I did. And as I told you, he’s on the fence. I think he’s amenable to helping us, but he doesn’t want to hurt his brother.”

  “Fat lot of good that’s going to do us when Jonathan drags the company down the toilet.” Valerie’s eyes sparkled behind her glasses. No hidden anger with her. She wore her feelings right out front for anyone to see.

  “Look, I didn’t call you here to discuss Danny. We can deal with him when the time comes. Right now we have bigger problems. D’Angelo is back at the office, holed up with Jonathan.” He waited, enjoying his moment of suspense.

  Jason frowned. “So what? He’s been in and out of the office practically since they pulled Derek out of the lake.”

  “True.” Frank made a play of adjusting his cardboard coaster. “But not with the FBI.”

  “Shit.” Jason almost spilled his beer. “How do you know it was the FBI?”

  “I eavesdropped. At least on part of the conversation. Enough to know that Edmund Roswell was in the room.” He waited for a reaction, and was disappointed when he didn’t get one. Didn’t these people read the papers? “Roswell was the lead agent on the Travis Heights murders.”

  Valerie’s face paled, and Frank nodded with approval. The murders had been headline news for months. A state representative’s family had been massacred, with practically no leads at all. Roswell had been the one to make the link to the representative and ultimately put the man on death row.

  “The point is that if he’s involved you can bet there’s a lot more going on than just the death of an addict.”

  “I think you might be right.” Jason stared down at the glass in his hands, obviously considering his words carefully. “There’s something you all don’t know. A few months after the carjacking, I picked up Jonathan’s mail for Flo. And among other things there was a bank statement. It was already open. The envelope was mangled, and half the pages were hanging out.”

  Valerie held up her hand. “Enough with the excuses. Just tell us what you found.”

  Jason sighed. “Jonathan liquidated a half-million dollars in assets just before he left for Mexico.”

  Frank sat back, trying to assimilate this newest information. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “Because, at the time, it didn’t seem important enough to share.”

  “But you’ve known about this since they found Miller’s body. Surely that made it worth our knowing.” Two bright spots of red stained Valerie’s cheeks, a sure sign that she was close to losing control.

  “Hang on a minute.” Frank raised a hand, his gaze locking with Val’s. “Don’t go jumping to conclusions.”

  “Why the hell not?” Valerie pushed away from the table, her anger almost a physical thing.

  “This isn’t getting us anywhere,” Jason said, his voice harsh. He might be under tighter control, but his concern was more than apparent. “What I did or didn’t tell you isn’t the issue. The bottom line here is that if we want to protect our livelihood, we’ve got to take the offensive. And we’ve got to do it now.”

  “But
we have to have Danny.” Frank fought a wave of nausea. He honestly didn’t like confrontation, and the thrill of imparting his news had worn off with Jason’s disclosure.

  “I’ll make it happen.” Valerie shot them a tight-lipped smile. “Trust me.”

  “There’s one other little problem.” Frank was loath to make things worse, but there was really no way around it. “Flo has shares. And if she votes with Jonathan . . .” He trailed off with a shrug.

  “Which she will.” Jason’s tone reflected defeat.

  “Maybe there’s a way around it.” Frank met each of their gazes, working to hold his steady.

  “What?” Valerie and Jason asked almost in unison.

  “Not yet. Let me work on it first.” His smile was only a shadow. In truth, he hadn’t a plan at all, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t think of one. If he was going to be a player he had to show his worth, and this was the perfect way to do it.

  He’d worry about the details later.

  “What the hell were you doing at Guardian?” Katie fought to keep her voice to a normal level but it was hard, damn hard. She glared at Roswell across a bin of oranges. Central Market was teeming with activity, evening shoppers hurrying to get dinner bought.

  “Your job, evidently.”

  “And just what do you mean by that?” She barely managed to avoid a hiss.

  “I mean that if you’d get the information we need to convict Brighton, we’d have him just where we want him.”

  “Spewing information about Guardian? Whatever secret it is you think Miller was selling?”

  “Something like that.” He made a play of inspecting the oranges.

  “Well, I think you’re severely underestimating the man. He doesn’t hit me as the type to cave so easily.”

  “It’s amazing what the threat of a needle in the arm can do, even to the most stalwart of holdouts.”

  “And what if he’s innocent?”

  “He’s not.”

  “Look, I’m not here to argue the merits of the case. You could have compromised the operation by showing up like that. The least you could have done is give me a heads-up.”

  “There wasn’t time. I went to see D’Angelo, and they were on the way to talk with Brighton. He asked me to come along. Considering we haven’t exactly been seeing eye to eye, I figured it was a show of good faith.”

  “Did you tell him about me?” She reached for an orange, sniffing for effect.

  “No, I didn’t. In fact, I’d assumed we wouldn’t even run into you. I was as surprised as you when you walked through the door. And all things considered, I thought I was the model of civility.”

  “On the surface maybe.” She fought for an even tone. “But what about the questions?”

  “What about them?” He shrugged, dropping a couple of oranges into a plastic sack.

  “What would have happened if I hadn’t known the answers?”

  His smile was slow and reeked of testosterone. “You told me yourself, you’re good at what you do. So it didn’t seem that much of a risk.”

  “Next time either tell me you’re coming or stay the hell out. I don’t like surprises.”

  “Well, neither do I. Let’s just say I wanted to see how the wind was blowing.” He wasn’t talking about John anymore, and she released a breath, trying to maintain control.

  “I’m not going to do anything to jeopardize this operation.” She glared at him, her nails digging into the soft skin of an orange, grateful that he couldn’t see into her soul—particularly the part that was drawn to John Brighton. “Stop worrying about it.”

  “No dice, sugar. They pay me to make sure you stay out of trouble. And I’m not having your girly bullshit stand in the way of my getting to the bottom of this case. Jonathan Brighton is the key. And I’m not letting the bastard slip out of my grip. You understand me?” He’d moved toward her, his sheer bulk dwarfing her, his stance meant to be menacing.

  But he’d clearly underestimated her. She’d stood up to someone a hell of a lot more frightening and lived to tell the tale. Edmund Roswell was a pansy in comparison.

  “I hear you. But that doesn’t mean I’m listening.”

  His face flushed deep red, and she knew she’d scored a point. He made a play of adding more oranges to the sack, and then twisted the bag shut. “Look, Cavanaugh, as long as we’re in this thing together, we’re a team. You might not like it, and I sure as shit don’t like it, but that doesn’t change the way it is.”

  “You’re right.” And he was. Despite their feelings for each other, they were on the same side. And she’d do well to remember it. She pulled a plastic sack off of the spindle, some of her anger evaporating. “But it goes two ways, Roswell. You have to let me do my job. And I can’t do that unless you stay out of my way.”

  “All right.” The words were grudgingly spoken, but it was a truce of sorts. “I’ll back off. But we need Brighton. If we’re right, he’s got a hell of a lot to tell us. And nailing him for Miller’s death is a surefire way to get him to spill his guts.”

  “About Guardian?” According to the file, Miller had called the FBI intimating that he knew something about the company, something that had marked him for dead long before he could talk. Roswell obviously believed that John had the answers. And she had to admit that from a certain perspective the speculation made sense.

  But then, Roswell didn’t know the man.

  “Look, Cavanaugh, your job isn’t to try and break the guy. We just need you to tie him to the murder. Nice and simple. You deliver the package, and then I’ll take it from there. You think you can manage that?”

  Their gazes met and held, animosity almost as thick as the Texas heat. So much for the truce. She opened her mouth to retort, the words acidic on her lips, but he was already walking away, carrying his oranges, one more harried shopper hurrying home for dinner.

  Only he wasn’t a shopper.

  But then, neither was she.

  “So basically you’re telling me we’re in deep shit.” Danny paced the living room carpet, his restless energy filling the room. John wondered if he’d ever be able to pace like that again. And then immediately quashed the train of thought. There wasn’t any point in borrowing problems. He already had more than enough.

  “I think you’re in the clear. It’s me that’s looking guilty as sin.” He closed his good hand reflexively, wishing for a beer, knowing it wouldn’t help anything.

  Danny studied him for a moment and then walked over to the mantel to pick up a picture. It was a photograph of the two of them standing on the side of the highway in front of a “Welcome to Colorado” sign— testament to a long-forgotten summer vacation.

  John loved the picture.

  “We were so goofy-looking.” Danny rubbed his thumb across the smiling faces.

  “We were kids.” John was surprised to hear longing in his voice.

  “Yeah. And then we grew up.” Danny put the picture back on the mantel, turning his back on it. “This money you took, was it from Guardian accounts?”

  John shook his head. “No. It was my money.”

  “Then I don’t see whose business it is that you took it.” Danny plopped down in an overstuffed chair. “Everything so far is circumstantial. It doesn’t add up to anything.” He looked up, his eyes narrowing. “Unless you killed him.”

  “I didn’t.” The words exploded out of him, fueled by anger and frustration. “At least I don’t think I did.” And just as quickly as the emotion had come, it was gone, leaving him feeling empty inside—and full of self-doubt.

  “Therein lies the rub.” Danny’s expression was an odd mixture of compassion and concern. “And in order for this nightmare to be over, we’re just going to have to find a way to prove it. Did you talk to Kendall?”

  Kendall Richardson had been his broker for years. “I tried. But he’s on vacation. I left a voice mail and emailed. So hopefully with all that, he’ll get word and call back. In the meantime, I’m trying to explore other avenues.
I talked to Andy today.”

  Danny frowned. “Andy?”

  “Martin. From Hobson. He’s the one who offered me the house.”

  “Oh yeah. I’d forgotten. Did he shed any light on things?”

  “No. In fact, he only managed to make it worse.” John stared down at his injured hand, concentrating on making his fingers curl into his palm. The gesture seemed easier than before. Although only slightly. A tiny light in the midst of incredible darkness. “According to Andy, I never agreed to use the house in Mexico. Evidently I turned him down flat.”

  “But you didn’t. Because you definitely told me that you’d taken the Hobson retreat. In fact, now that you mention it, I think you specifically said it was Martin who offered it.”

  “Which means I lied to you.” He slammed his good hand down on the coffee table.

  “Hey.” Danny’s voice was soft, cajoling. “Don’t jump to conclusions. Maybe you just talked to someone else. I could be mistaken about Martin. I didn’t even remember him until you mentioned his name.”

  John sighed, struggling to stay focused. His head was throbbing, the pain almost unbearable. “Hopefully you’re right. Andy is going to ask around. Although I didn’t get the idea he thought it was a priority.”

  “Who else knows about this?” Danny stood up, crossing restlessly to the window.

  “The police and the FBI know about everything but my conversation with Andy. I didn’t think it was worth telling them about the retreat until I had more information.”

  “Makes sense.” He leaned back against the windowsill, his somber gaze meeting John’s. “What did the FBI fellow have to say?”

  “Not much. He asked Katie about my memory, but other than that he mainly listened.”

  “Katie was present when you talked to the police?” His head snapped forward, his eyes flashing anger. “What the hell were you thinking?”