“Could be.”
“Which her attorney is going to use as indication that she acted in self-defense.”
Jeremy scrubbed a hand over his pretty face. “Shit.”
“You know, we’ve been putting forth a valiant effort to prove that the holes in Ms. Cavanaugh’s story mean culpability on her part. But I got to tell you, I’m starting to think that Wellington could be right. And you know how it pains me to say that.”
Jeremy picked up a pen from his desk, twirled it between his fingers like a majorette. “The guy last night, the one who attacked her. His story was all over the place. There’s a chance the assault was random. A junkie looking for an easy way to make a few bucks to score his next hit. Someone visiting the vending area is likely to carry cash.”
“So he was going to kill her for a few dollars?”
“Maybe. People have killed for less.”
Phil shook his head. “I’ll give you that there’s a chance, and we’ll know more when we talk to him later today. Assuming he’s sobered up enough to make sense. But one thing he seemed pretty consistent on was the woman. The woman telling him to do it, or paying him to do it. Hell, maybe it was just a damn voice in his head. But he kept mentioning the woman.”
“Yet was unable to describe her.”
“He said she wore sunglasses and a hoodie.”
“Which is a really big help. You get to work with a sketch artist, and I’ll release the description. We’ll have this bitch tracked down in no time.”
“It’s a good thing you’re pretty, because your disposition sucks. All I’m saying is that given what we know about Ms. Cavanaugh’s ex boyfriend’s death, the fact that his wife is still at large and wanted for questioning, and allegedly had a beef with Ms. Cavanaugh that resulted in targeted harassment, I think that’s something we need to investigate more thoroughly.”
Jeremy tossed the pen into the air and then caught it with a flourish. “You’re right.” He sighed. “It pisses me off because I feel like we’ve been chasing our tails, but there’s no point in continuing to run in circles. I’ll get on the phone with the Atlanta PD, see what shakes out. What do you think about Wellington’s suggestion that Darius Presley’s death might be connected?”
“I would say he was grasping, but given the events of the past week, I think we’d be remiss to not check it out. It appears that someone may want Ms. Cavanaugh dead. And if they want it badly enough, they may not care about collateral damage.”
“You know,” Jeremy said “if we’re going down this particular garden path, it brings up another thorny issue.”
“Did you seriously just say that?”
“Hey, we’re investigating a writer. It brings out my inner Hemingway.”
“What the hell is it with you and Hemingway? The man would hit you over the head with a rum bottle right now if it were possible.”
“You’re just jealous because you lack my way with words.” But Jeremy sat the pen back on the desk, and when he looked at Phil, all trace of humor was gone. “What if Ms. Cavanaugh being left-handed doesn’t mean what we think it does.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Unless she is ambidextrous – and I’m going to check that out – there’s another possibility. Because let’s face it, her relative physical wellbeing and the state of the room don’t really bear out some sort of life or death struggle. Not like anything I’ve seen previously, at any rate.”
Phil made a keep it coming motion with his hand. “And?”
“And if she didn’t struggle with Cox, then she would have no reason to stab him with her non-dominant hand. Unless of course she was trying to skew the physical evidence, which seems like a hell of a chance to take when you’re dealing with a man who has a good six inches and sixty pounds on you. And if you’re taking that risk, why not carry it through, toss some shit around in the room, make it look like you fought for your life. Give yourself some injuries beyond a bruise or two that could have come from almost anywhere. But that brings us back around to suspecting her of staging a murder as self-defense, which we tacitly agreed seems unlikely. Take that lamp for example. Why pick it back up? And why the hell would she wipe it down? There’s no logical consistency in the evidence we have so far. At least not if we try to frame it through either of those narratives.”
“Jeremy,” Phil said as evenly as he could. “I know you’re trying to make a point. But I’ll be damned if I can figure out exactly what that point may be.”
“My point is that if she didn’t in fact act in self-defense, and didn’t stage the whole thing to look like she did, we have to consider a third option.”
“Which is?”
“What if,” his partner said, dropping each word like stones in a pond, and then waiting to see the ripples “there was someone else in the room?”
SUNLIGHT woke Caitlin, and for a moment she was mentally thrown back to the morning she’d awakened, naked and sick, with a dead man by her side.
But then the arm wrapped around her registered. The arm attached to a very much living man. And while she might be naked, she knew exactly how she came to be in that state, and there was nothing troubling about it.
Except for the fact that she kind of wanted to repeat the process again.
“You’re awake.”
Jack’s voice was a deep rumble emanating from somewhere above and behind her ear. “Apparently you are, too. I must have fallen asleep in the bathtub. Sorry about that.”
“A warm, wet, naked woman konking out immediately following sex, and you think that’s a problem?”
One corner of her mouth lifted. “I guess not.”
“I would love to exhaust you again,” Jack said as he eased his hand down her stomach, dipping teasingly between her thighs. “But I just got a call from Detective Clark. He’d like us to come to the station. I already contacted Elise, and she’s going to meet us there. Ainsley has a court appearance that she can’t get out of.”
“I slept through all that?”
“I think you would have slept through a nuclear winter. You needed it.” The hand which had been tormenting her slid up until it was cupping her chin, gently angling it toward him. Caitlin met his gaze, the silvery eyes she’d previously thought of as cold now making her soften like butter. Jack might be hardened to an extent, but he wasn’t cold. In fact, she thought he might be far more human than he gave himself credit for being.
And that human, that man, had somehow worked his way into her heart.
“This is crazy,” she said softly.
He cocked a brow in inquisition.
“This,” she repeated. “Us. You know, I’ve written several novels detailing the relationship that develops between two people facing various dire and threatening circumstances. And it never before struck me as a kind of madness.”
“Most romantic relationships are a kind of madness, which is why I tend to avoid them. And just because a bond is forged under duress doesn’t make it any less durable. Diamonds are a lump of coal subjected to overwhelming pressure.”
Caitlin chuckled and shook her head. “I guess that’s one way of looking at it.”
“It’s my way,” Jack said, rolling her over. “And in case you haven’t noticed, I tend to get my way.”
Caitlin gasped when he slipped into her, although she’d read the intention in his eyes. “I thought you said we didn’t have time for this.”
“The cops can wait.”
She thought he would rush, a quick tumble to take off the sexual edge, or maybe prove his point.
But he lingered. Caressed her with both his gaze and his body. And by the time she crested the final rise, Caitlin was trembling. Not only with physical repletion, but with emotion. She felt cherished. Safe.
And when Jack said “Look at me” as he worked toward his own climax, Caitlin opened her eyes. And realized that somewhere along the line, they’d gone from having sex to making love.
It was both exhilarating and terrifying.
&n
bsp; Jack pulled out at the last second. After catching his breath, he rolled off of her, and then reached out to take her hand. He squeezed it and then climbed from the bed. “I’m going to take a two minute shower and then you can have the bathroom to yourself. We need to get moving.”
Caitlin watched him disappear through the door, taking a moment to appreciate his exceptional ass before shaking her head, half amused, half bewildered. From tender lovemaking to a rather blunt let’s get this show on the road. It struck her as so typically… male.
She eased from the bed, relieved to find that her various aches and pains weren’t nearly as bad as she expected. The soak in the tub last night – or really, early this morning – obviously helped.
Caitlin straightened up the bed before selecting a pair of shorts and a light blue top from her bag. She really needed to go back home and pick up some more clothes, but the thought of it depressed her. Scared her. Made her want to crawl back into Jack’s bed.
The severity of her situation wanted to press in, to squeeze her until she couldn’t breathe, but Caitlin fought off the encroaching panic. She’d had enough of asthma attacks. Enough of just about everything.
“Not going to let her do this,” she muttered as she pulled out a pair of panties. “Not going to let that bitch control my life, let alone end it.”
“Good for you.”
Caitlin whipped around to see Jack standing in the bathroom doorway, rubbing a towel over his hair.
“I’ve been waiting for you to find your anger, channel it in the right direction.”
“You mean not toward you?”
“I didn’t mind being a temporary stand in. There’s a clean towel hanging over the shower door.”
“I’m just going to freshen up,” she told him. “If I wash my hair it’ll be wet all day. In fact, I think it’s still damp from the bath. How long did I sleep, anyway?”
“About five hours. Not as much as I would have liked you to, but at least the circles are gone from beneath your eyes. Except for the black one.”
“What?”
Caitlin rushed toward the bathroom mirror. “Great. I can’t believe you didn’t put a bag over my head before you slept with me.”
“Why do you think your hair is still wet?”
Jack grinned when she snatched his towel and hit him with it. Caitlin was just about to march into the bathroom, head held high, when she heard the beginning notes of Here Comes the Bride.
Frowning, she glanced around. “Where’s that coming from?”
“The phone that was in the envelope addressed to your brother. It rang earlier and so I opened it.”
“Good thing it wasn’t a detonator.”
“You’ve been writing too many novels. The level of sophistication of the attempts on your life thus far doesn’t indicate a knowledge of explosives. Here.”
The ringing stopped just as Jack put his hand on the phone to hand it to Caitlin.
“It’s Connie’s phone,” she said. “The police must have found it and returned it to the company office. I guess Lance had them send it to Savannah. Looks like the battery died, though, so I have no idea who was calling.”
“The call earlier this morning was from Peyton Easton.”
Caitlin frowned. “Probably trying to convince Connie to intercede with me on his behalf, because all Peyton cares about is Peyton. He certainly hasn’t called me to see if I’m okay. Although to be fair, I don’t think Lance has told anyone at the company what’s going on. And I doubt either one of them gave Peyton my new number. They know he’s on my list at the moment.”
When Jack didn’t say anything, she looked up. His mouth was set in a thin line, making him look like the cold man she’d initially taken him for.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He shook his head. “Get dressed.”
Jack might not be cold, but he was bossy. However, since they were operating under a time constraint, Caitlin did as he suggested, with the addition of pulling out her makeup in an attempt to disguise the scrape on her cheek, which had morphed into a black eye. Luckily her hair covered the bump she’d sustained when she hit the ice machine last night, especially when she piled it in a loose bun on top of her head with a few wispy bangs hanging down.
When she emerged from the bathroom, Jack was just ending a phone call. He slipped his phone into his pocket and then looked her over from head to toe. “You’re beautiful.”
“I look like one of those cartoon cats after it’s emerged from a fight in the alley.”
“But still beautiful.” He moved closer, stroked his fingertips lightly over her makeup-covered bruise. “If I could figure out a way to keep you from having to go through this, I would.”
“I’m an old hand at being interrogated by the police by now.” Though she suspected he was talking about something more than just the upcoming interview.
He studied her face before allowing his hand to fall away. “Ready?”
“As I can be.”
“Let’s go then.” He held out his hand. “We’re going to take my other car.”
JACK’S other car was a battered pickup truck, a fact which struck Caitlin as highly improbable. Her skepticism must have shown in her face, because Jack raised his brows as he opened the passenger side door for her.
“Problem?”
“It’s kind of like discovering that Conan the Barbarian is actually a vegan. The image just doesn’t jibe.”
“Which is exactly the reason I sometimes drive it,” he explained before shutting the door. He cast his gaze around the parking garage as he crossed to the driver’s side, leaving his gun in the console between them when he climbed in. “Sometimes witness interviews take me into areas where a Porsche is going to get me noticed in an unfavorable way. Not to mention that people in those areas aren’t typically inclined to talk to high-falutin’ outsiders. Even if that outsider is supposedly on their side.”
That made sense. “I guess I didn’t realize that your job included so much… field work, I suppose you would call it.”
“Not all lawyers do it. Some leave the investigation almost entirely to the cops and then wait for discovery to sort out the evidence, which is not only lazy, it’s highly irresponsible. Many more have private investigators, like Evan. I rely on Evan for a lot of information, but there are some things that I feel responsible for handling myself. Subpoenas might work for the prosecution, but I’ve learned that people are more inclined to talk when you meet them on their own turf.”
Looking at him in his jeans and worn T-shirt – clothes he’d pulled out of the tiny closet in his loft – she could see how potential witnesses would find him much more approachable than the Brooks Brothers clad man she’d first met. “And today the truck has the benefit of throwing off anyone who may be looking for the Porsche.”
“Exactly.”
Caitlin sighed. “I still can’t believe this is my life. I’m not in denial anymore, but it will be a while before I’m able to move out of the you have to be kidding me stage. My life was utterly normal up until recently. Mundane, even, with the exception of the situation with Ryan. But you were correct when you said that I’ve found my anger. I wish Lydia had the courage to face me in person, because I would desperately love to smack a bitch.”
When she glanced over, Jack’s brows were drawn together.
“What?”
He sent a thoughtful glance her way. “I was just thinking that she did have the courage. Previously, I mean. She confronted you in person when she found out about your relationship with her husband. Correct?”
“Well, she confronted Ryan. I just happened to be there. Although I guess you could say she intended to expose both of us.”
“And then afterward, when she was stalking you. She made sure that you saw her?”
“Yes. I think it was her way of intimidating me. Or maybe making me feel guilty. But yes, she made herself very conspicuous. Even online, until I blocked her known accounts.” Caitlin hesitated. “You thi
nk that’s significant?”
“I think that if she is responsible for at least some of this, she’s changed her pattern of behavior. Revenge by proxy doesn’t seem like her style.”
“Except for trying to run over me with Ryan’s car. That wasn’t exactly inconspicuous.”
“We still don’t have proof that was actually his car, given the issues with the quality of the photograph. But yes, I’ll give you that.”
“Don’t forget about the note on my car,” Caitlin said. “And really, considering she’s still wanted for questioning in Ryan’s murder, do you expect her to be flaunting herself in public?”
“No, I don’t. Which makes the use of her dead husband’s car problematic.”
“Maybe she wanted me to know who was terrorizing me before I died.”
“Maybe. But she would have had to drive his vehicle here from Atlanta. And if she did hire or otherwise persuade Cox to assault you, with the ultimate intention of either raping you, killing you or possibly even framing you, it isn’t particularly logical for her to have taken the risk of being arrested herself. There was a BOLO out for Fasteland’s Hummer since it went missing from the scene of his murder.” He glanced her direction. “Evan informed me of that this morning.”
Caitlin considered that. “I agree that it isn’t exactly logical, but then can you really expect logic from a woman who is not only unstable, but also off her meds?”
“No. Which is why I’m not sure why she theoretically appears to be hiring or persuading drug addicts to do her dirty work for her. If she’s spiraled out of control – and the murder of her husband, provided she’s involved, suggests that’s a possibility – then why is she suddenly showing signs of comparatively coherent planning?”
Caitlin looked out the window at the busy lunchtime traffic. All of those people going about their normal routines. What she wouldn’t give to be one of them. “I don’t know. I keep falling back on crazy people do crazy things.” She turned her head toward Jack. “But it sounds to me like you’re… questioning her involvement.”
When he didn’t answer, Caitlin’s heart rate picked up. “Jack?”
“Do you have a will?”
The Southern Comfort Prequel Trilogy Box Set Page 85
