Police Business

by Julie Miller

  Why wasn’t the great Cain Winthrop concerned about that?

  And what about the list? That’s number four.

  The thin-lipped man with the pockmarked face didn’t seem to be the sort of person who would make a mistake.

  Neither was she.

  Trusting instincts that no one else seemed to think she had, Claire pushed to her feet. There was only one way to convince her father that he or his company might still be in grave danger, only one way to convince him to get help. With a resolute sigh, she strode back into the foyer to retrieve her purse. The staccato tapping on the stone tiles beneath her feet told her that her father and stepmother were following her.

  “Valerie must have come back for some reason, Dad. Deirdre, would you call Rob and make my apologies for me? I’ll have to take a rain check on drinks.” She turned to her father, ignoring the worry that deepened the creases beside his eyes. “I’m sorry. But we have to go back to your office. Right now. And I want you to call the police on our way over. I won’t let this go until you do. Valerie’s dead.

  “I’ll show you.”

  Chapter Two

  Using the beam of his flashlight to guide his way through the dark offices and hallway, the man with the long fingers paused in his work. Caution, more than curiosity, guided him to the shiny gold disk that had caught his eye. Squatting down beside the potted ficus tree, he picked up a small gold pin. Cheap, by the weight of it. He turned the trinket over in his palm.

  Forsythe.

  He couldn’t quite place the name, but he’d file it away in the back of his mind until he could.

  Before he straightened, he lifted his gaze, studying the view from this vantage point. Interesting. A place to see, but not be seen. If anyone was of the mind to do so.

  He’d been assured that the 26th floor would be abandoned after 6:00 p.m. That the cleaning crew wouldn’t arrive until ten o’clock.

  Was the pin a result of sloppy housekeeping? Unlikely, given the money and expectations tossed around this place. Was it just coincidence that someone had lost this pin on this night—in this place with a camouflaged view of Cain Winthrop’s office?

  In his business, it didn’t pay to count on coincidence. Had there been an uninvited guest at their meeting? A witness who could destroy years of hard work and cost him millions of dollars in potential profit?

  His pulse didn’t quicken at the possibility; his heart didn’t leap into his throat. He closed the pin inside his palm and stood. This could be a problem.

  The question was, did he tell his partner?

  Or did he take care of it himself?

  A.J. TUCKED HIS NOTEPAD AND PEN inside his leather jacket and knelt down to brush his fingertips across the polished sheen of the mahogany floor in the executive waiting area. While Josh did what he did best, and handled most of the interview questions, A.J. had taken his time to walk around the top floor and study every posh nook and imported treasure of Cain Winthrop’s state-of-the-art decor.

  He wasn’t thrilled with the mix of eagerness and melancholy he felt at returning to the expensively hallowed halls of the Winthrop Enterprises Building. What had he been—seventeen? eighteen?—the last time he’d been here? He’d come in to see his father while Antonio, Sr. worked the night shift, vacuuming carpets and buffing floors, doing the minor repairs that kept the building in working shape.

  He’d come here to bum money off the old man. Probably for something stupid, like the cigarettes he used to smoke or gas for the car he drove too fast and wrecked too often.

  He splayed his fingers across the cool wood and admired the exotic decor, wondering if any of this was his father’s handiwork. Wondering how many times his father’s footsteps had crossed this floor.

  Wondering why he couldn’t have appreciated his father for the man he was until it was too late.

  Eighteen years later, A.J. had finally come back.

  Not to pay homage to his father, but to investigate a homicide.

  Customarily, though, when two detectives were summoned to the scene of a murder, there was usually a dead body involved.

  A.J. rolled the kink from his bum shoulder and pushed to his feet, squinching his face against the three itchy stitches that closed the gash along his left cheekbone. If it weren’t for the location, he’d probably appreciate the diversion of a call. Even an apparent wild goose chase like this one was turning out to be. After the week of desk duty he and Josh had been assigned to following the explosion last month in front of the Jazz Note—which had sent him to the E.R. and stalled out their investigation into the drug dealer murders—A.J. was ready for a little action.

  But coming to the Winthrop Building after all these years, looking Cain Winthrop in the eye and remembering the last words his father had spoken about the man, left A.J. feeling unsettled rather than relieved to be back in the game.

  Despite the hysterical tinge in Claire Winthrop’s distorted voice, she seemed absolutely sure that she’d witnessed a murder here. Both times he’d asked her to relate her story, she’d been clear and vehement about her facts—and unable to explain why Winthrop’s office was spic-and-span tidy, with nary a bullet hole, speck of blood—or a body—in sight.

  It wasn’t the first time someone had reported a crime in the Winthrop Building that evidence said hadn’t taken place.

  No one had believed his father, either.

  Well, one person had. One person believed Antonio Rodriguez’s story enough to kill him.

  A.J. lifted his gaze up to the vaulted ceiling and pondered the odds of something like that happening twice in the same location. No wonder he didn’t feel right in his skin on this one.

  There were too many secrets in this place. Too many lies. World-class players walked these hallways, as well as invisible men like his father had been. His father deserved better than what he had gotten. He deserved the truth.

  So did Claire Winthrop. A.J. could feel something funny going on here all the way down to his bones. He couldn’t put his finger on it yet, but he trusted that instinct more than what his eyes told him.

  “I’m gonna make this right,” he whispered out loud. He didn’t know if he was making a promise to his father or Claire Winthrop or to the powers that be.

  His determination might not show on the outside, but it was a vow he intended to keep.

  “I don’t mean to make light of the situation.” A.J. tuned in to the conversation across the waiting room as Josh followed Cain Winthrop out of his office.

  “But could your daughter be mistaken in what she saw? She did leave the alleged crime scene. The guard downstairs said she was the only one who checked in for the 26th floor. Without his pass key to override the lock, no one could take the elevator to the penthouse floor. Maybe she got off on a different floor and we’re in the wrong place.”

  The white-haired millionaire shook his head. “Everyone who works on this floor has a pass key. They wouldn’t have to sign in, even after hours. But Claire would. If she said it was the 26th floor where she saw something, then I believe her. She wouldn’t make a mistake about that.”

  Josh asked the right question. “Is there something she would make a mistake about? Is it possible this is a cry for some attention? Or the repressed memory of another crime?”

  “She’s been known to have an active imagination, if that’s what you’re hinting at, Detective.” Winthrop shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his charcoal wool slacks. When he pulled out his left hand, he was fiddling with something at the end of his key chain. “Claire lost her hearing when she was three. To the same illness that claimed her mother’s life. She had a very lonely childhood. I know she filled her time with books and stories she made up inside her head. Sometimes she’d get so lost in her imaginary world that it was hard to reach her.”

  “So you think she’s making this up?” A.J. strolled over and invited himself into the conversation.

  Winthrop narrowed his gaze, studying A.J. as intently as he had when they’d first arri
ved on the scene and introduced themselves. “Are you sure I don’t know you, Rodriguez? You look damn familiar.”

  So he was a dead ringer for his father. If the man had a good memory, he might be able to make the connection. But A.J. wasn’t about to give Winthrop any information that might color his answers or affect his cooperation. He came up with an honest response and steered him back to the interview. “No sir, we’ve never met. You were telling us about your daughter?”

  The older man shrugged, his expression perplexed. “I can’t imagine why she’d be making up a story like this now. Those episodes were years ago, when she was a child. Tonight she seems so certain. But it’s impossible. Maybe I should have called a doctor instead of—”

  A.J. sensed the man striding up behind him and turned before he heard the gruff interruption. “Cain. I should have been notified if there’s a situation.”

  “Whoa, buddy. Who are you?” Josh stepped in to deflect the verbal attack with an easy smile.

  The man in the corduroy blazer and jeans matched Josh in both height and brawn. But there was nothing easy about the grim set of his pale gray eyes or the blunt cut of his hair. “Marcus Tucker, Chief of Security, Winthrop Enterprises. Who the hell are you?”

  A.J. didn’t hesitate to square off against the bigger man. “Rodriguez and Taylor, KCPD.” He flashed his badge and nodded toward the bulge beneath Tucker’s coat at the side of his waist. “You got a permit to carry that weapon, Chief?”

  The big man’s cheeks ruddied as he schooled his temper. A.J. braced on the balls of his feet as Tucker wisely pulled open his coat to reveal the Smith & Wesson he carried. At the same time, he slowly reached inside the jacket to pull out his wallet and show his permit and ID.

  The man was legit. But A.J. never relaxed his guard and Tucker never answered his question. Instead, the security chief pointed a blunt finger at his employer. “I shouldn’t have to hear about a shooting on the premises from my contact at KCPD.” He thumped his own chest. “I should have been your first call.”

  “You have a contact at the department?” A.J. asked.

  “I have contacts all over the world, Rodriguez.” Tucker sneered.

  Cain Winthrop patted the air with placating hands. “Relax, gentlemen. Marcus, please. There is no situation.” He glanced at Josh and A.J. “More of a misunderstanding, I think.”

  The pale eyes narrowed. “Was there or was there not a shooting?”

  A.J. answered before Winthrop could discount his daughter’s story again. “That’s yet to be confirmed. But if you really are the top dog in security around here, then I’d start with your man at the desk downstairs. At least three unknown parties made it to the top floor without him being aware of their presence in the building. And when Miss Winthrop asked him to assist her earlier tonight, he refused to leave his post.”

  Tucker swung his gaze to Winthrop. “Is that true?”

  “That’s what Claire said.”

  That seemed to blow a hole in the chief’s malign-the-cops-and-save-the-day routine. “Warren’s new. He’s still green about how we run things here and who we answer to. I’ll take care of him. Miss Winthrop’s okay, right?”

  Cain nodded, though he didn’t look entirely convinced.

  After what passed for an apology to his boss, Tucker huffed up his chest and pointed another finger at the two cops. “I want to be copied on your report. Anything you find out about crimes on this property or against anyone associated with Winthrop, Inc. comes through me. Understood?”

  Idly, A.J. wondered if Tucker would miss that annoying finger if he twisted it off the end of his hand. He’d taken down bigger blowhards before.

  Josh grinned and vented the sarcasm that A.J. held in check. “I’ll run your request past Captain Taylor. If he gives the okey-dokey, I’ll trot that report right over to your office myself.”

  “Just do your job, Detective. And let me do mine.”

  Tucker pulled out his cell phone and stormed back down the hall the way he’d come. No one said goodbye. No one seemed to miss him.

  “He’s a charmer,” Josh joked.

  “He might be short on personality,” Winthrop apologized, “but he’s well-qualified to safeguard an empire the size of Winthrop Enterprises. I do business on six continents, and he oversees security for all of it.”

  Maybe Chief Tucker could handle men across six continents, but he’d done a lousy job making one young, frightened woman feel secure in her father’s own office.

  And maybe his father’s death wasn’t the only reason A.J. was still here an hour after finding out there was no crime at the alleged crime scene. Claire Winthrop had reminded him of his youngest sister, Teresa, the night she’d been mugged on her way home from work. That same shock was in her eyes; the fear was in every darting glance over her shoulder. Something had spooked the young lady. No matter what the evidence said, Claire was afraid.

  Of what or whom didn’t matter. He supposed it was the big brother instincts in him. Or maybe some sort of continual atonement for not being able to prevent or solve his father’s so-called accident. But A.J. wasn’t going to walk away until he was sure that Valerie Justice wasn’t really dead and Claire Winthrop wasn’t in any real danger.

  “Do you need anything else from me, Mr. Winthrop?” Pulling on her lightweight trench coat, Valerie Justice’s replacement waltzed out of the office and joined them. She’d introduced herself as Amelia Ward, and Winthrop said she’d come highly recommended from the temp agency from which he’d hired her for two weeks. “I can’t find anything that’s missing in either your office or Ms. Justice’s. The files and the phone logs all seem to be in the same order she showed me this morning. I’ve contacted the airline and the hotel in the Bahamas, as well, asking Ms. Justice to call us as soon as she gets the message.”

  The new boss offered her a reassuring smile. “Good thinking, Amelia. I’m sure everything will be fine. I appreciate you coming in so late. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “No problem, sir. I’m going to head back home and finish watching that movie I rented.” She tucked her auburn hair behind her ear and offered Josh a smile that was more than friendly. “Unless the police need me for something else?”

  Subtle.

  Josh made a point of adjusting the front of his jacket and showing off his wedding ring. “I don’t think so, Miss Ward.”

  Rebuffed by the big, blond cop, she turned her hopeful smile on A.J. “Officer Rodriguez?”

  Not his type.

  “It’s Detective.” He tapped his pocket where he’d stuffed his notepad. “But we’re good. We have your name and number on file, and if we need anything more we’ll give you a call.”

  She didn’t quite take the hint. “Please do. Good night, gentlemen.”

  With a nod, Amelia sashayed down the hallway. A.J. watched her leave, but he wasn’t noticing the purposeful strut of her hips. Instead, he was marking off the distance in his head because, for several steps before she turned the corner to the elevators, she’d completely disappeared from his line of sight.

  I hid behind the trees and aquarium. I could see him, but he couldn’t see me.

  Claire Winthrop’s words replayed in his head, fueling his curiosity. Marcus Tucker had been tall enough to remain in view as he walked the length of the hallway. But the top of Claire Winthrop’s head barely cleared A.J.’s shoulder. Was she tiny enough to pull off what she claimed?

  Leaving Josh and Winthrop to wrap up their conversation, A.J. drifted back to the doorway of Winthrop’s office. He rose up on tiptoe, trying to make himself as tall as the man in the black suit Claire had described. Nada.

  Even looking straight at the circle of pots and furniture, she could have hidden and watched the office without being seen. Why give that sort of accurate detail if she wasn’t telling the truth? Unless she was in the habit of hiding behind potted plants and spying on her father?

  Though her handicap and slender, petite build added a delicacy to her appearance,
Claire Winthrop didn’t strike A.J. as a woman prone to childish pranks. Maybe it was the designer suit or the careful way she chose and articulated her words that made her seem more grown up.

  Or not.

  “Miss Winthrop?” His voice fell on empty air as he turned into the interior of Winthrop’s office. Maybe the boss’s daughter did make a habit of playing hide and seek. She was nowhere to be seen inside here, either.

  But he could hear her—rummaging around, mumbling to herself—on the other side of Winthrop’s sized-to-intimidate mahogany desk.

  Hooking his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans, A.J. circled the desk and was greeted by the elegant sway of a pink silk bottom. Bello. His initial amusement at finding the proper, ladylike heiress crawling beneath her father’s desk heated with something decidedly male as he watched the graceful shape bob up and down.

  He made no apologies for enjoying the view, but heeded the voice inside his head that reminded him he was here on business. Unlike Amelia Ward’s obvious flirting, this was no practiced seduction meant to entice. It was just a nice butt. Okay, a very nice one. One that moved with an innate sense of rhythm that seemed to match the pulse beating in his veins.

  Ignore it, Rodriguez. He blinked and politely looked away. Whatever pleasures he might enjoy with the opposite sex, he knew they wouldn’t be with the daughter of the man his father had once cleaned toilets for.

  “Miss?” Despite her assertion that she could hear some sound, thanks to surgery and cochlear implants, A.J. raised his voice. “Miss Winthrop?”

  She seemed inordinately engrossed with running her fingers around every inch of the plastic chair mat beneath the desk. Needing her attention, A.J. leaned down and tapped her on the shoulder. “Miss Winthrop?”

  As soon as he touched her, she let out a yelp, smacked her head on the desk and muttered something a little less classy than he might have expected from the dainty heiress. She spun around and landed on her bottom in a graceful heap, rubbing at the back of her skull where she’d conked herself.