“I assumed it was to follow up on the leads I gave you.”
Andrea turned to look at John. “Leads you gave him? You told him about Sutcliffe?”
“Yes.”
She let out a relieved breath. So she hadn’t given anything away that she shouldn’t. Detective Mylinski hadn’t gone to Chicago to prove she was hiding something, but to follow up on what she and John had learned.
Detective Mylinski shook his head. “It was a bit more involved than I’d bargained for.”
Andrea’s head ached with tension. “What happened? What did you find?”
“It’s not what I found. It’s what the Chicago cops found.”
She stared at him, willing him to continue.
“They found Hank Sutcliffe. Dead.”
Shock ripped through her like an electric charge. “He can’t be.” Tonnie’s accusation rose in her mind along with Ruthie claiming she and Sutcliffe hauled a rug out of Wingate Estate. She didn’t know Sutcliffe from Adam. And now if he was dead, he couldn’t tell anyone that.
“Why can’t it be, Andy? Was Sutcliffe a good friend of yours?”
Something in his tone or the narrowing of his eyes made the back of Andrea’s neck prickle. “No. Except for him slamming his apartment door in our faces a couple of days ago, I’ve never seen him in my life.”
“Sure about that?”
“What’s going on, Al?” John’s voice was a low growl.
“The guy offed himself. Ate a handgun.”
Andrea gasped. Even though she didn’t know Hank Sutcliffe, the thought of anyone dying in that horrible way jolted her to the core.
“What makes you think he knows Andrea?” John asked.
The detective’s eyes seemed to drill into her. “He had a briefcase sitting on the bed with him when he blew his brains out. It was filled with evidence.”
“What kind of evidence?”
“Photos of our sweet Andy. Copies of e-mailed love letters asking him to help her kill her husband.”
Andrea gripped John’s hand. Her breath rasped in her lungs. She couldn’t get enough oxygen. “It’s impossible. I don’t know him. I’ve never even seen him until a couple of days ago. I never sent him any kind of e-mails or photos. And I never asked him to help kill Wingate.”
“That’s not all. Your husband’s cousin says you and Sutcliffe were good friends. A little too good for your husband’s comfort.”
“My husband’s cousin?”
“A good-looking brunette. Lives in Kirkland’s apartment in the John Hancock Building.”
“Tonnie,” Andrea breathed. “She’s not his cousin.”
The detective looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Actually, she is. Second cousin. Or first cousin once removed. However you describe those damn family tree connections.”
“Tonnie really is Wingate’s cousin?” She shook her head. She’d assumed they were having an affair, but did she really have any evidence of that? Didn’t she just assume Wingate was sleeping with Tonnie because she was young and beautiful? Didn’t she just jump to conclusions about Tonnie and Wingate the way others jumped to conclusions about her?
She thought of the videotape of Tonnie. “Wingate must have let Tonnie stay in the apartment in exchange for helping him blackmail his enemies.”
John nodded. “Looks that way.”
Nausea swirled in Andrea’s stomach. Her head throbbed. Blackmail and sex tapes. Love e-mails to a dead man she didn’t know. Suicide. Murder.
She wrapped her arms around her middle. She was going to be sick. “I’m sorry. I have to go. I have to—” She ran for the bathroom. She closed the door behind her and hunched over the toilet. Her stomach retched. Her throat burned.
A fist thumped on the bathroom door. “Andrea? Are you all right?” John’s alarmed voice filtered through the door.
She wasn’t all right. She was so far from being all right, she couldn’t find the words. “I—I’m fine.”
“I’m coming in.” The doorknob rattled. The door opened a crack.
The thought of John seeing her this way, clutching the toilet, so overwhelmed with weakness she couldn’t stand up straight, gave her a shiver of panic. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst was that she wanted him with her. She needed him. And right now she didn’t know if she could exist without him.
She swallowed hard and forced her voice to be strong. “No. I’ll be all right. I promise. I just need a minute. Please.”
“Okay. A minute. Then I’m coming in after you no matter what you say.” The door thunked softly closed.
She took a deep breath and tried to quell her panic. She couldn’t go on this way. If she needed John this badly after only a few days, how would she feel after a week? A month? She would be as weak as her mother. As needy. As pitiful.
And what would happen to John? She had already gotten him suspended. What next? Would she get him fired? Would she destroy his life just as surely as hers was being destroyed?
She looked at the little window over the toilet. She didn’t kill Wingate. But if she stayed, she would destroy John. And no matter how much she wanted him, needed him, she couldn’t do that. She wouldn’t.
JOHN WALKED back down the hall to Mylinski. Andrea had said she was all right, but he knew better. Her life had been turned upside down yet again. How the hell could she be all right?
Mylinski searched his face, his brows arching toward his non-existent hairline. “What the hell were the two of you talking about a moment ago? Blackmail?”
John turned back to Mylinski, trying to quell the need to race back down the hall, bust into the bathroom and make sure Andrea was all right. “We found a videotape of Tonnie Bartell in a hidden safe in Kirkland’s study. It will shed a new light on all of this.”
“A tape?”
“A pornographic tape.”
His brows arched higher.
John continued. “It was a set of two. The other was destroyed in the fire at Wingate Estate.”
“And where is the remaining tape?”
“I left it at the office with Dex. Asked him to give it to Kit Ashner.”
Mylinski nodded, but his brows furrowed in a frown. “So you met with Dex. Any particular reason?”
John’s gut ached to high heaven. Mylinski had missed a lot when he’d been on his short trip to Chicago. “He pulled me from the case. Kit’s taking over.”
Mylinski expelled a breath from tight lips. “Sorry to hear that, but I can’t say I’m surprised. Did he suspend you?”
“With pay, pending an investigation.”
“Damn.”
“Gary Putnam is on the tape, Al.”
“Putnam?” The detective’s eyes widened. “How bad?”
“Triple-X. He was under Kirkland’s thumb. Maybe he wanted to free himself.”
“You’re saying Putnam could have killed Kirkland?” Mylinski paused as if he was considering the scenario. Finally he grunted. “I’ll look into Putnam. If he’s dirty, I’ll turn the case against him over to the DA. But after what the Chicago cops found, the case against your girl is pretty tight. It looks like Andy killed Kirkland.”
John dipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a roll of antacids. Peeling off a few, he popped them into his mouth and tried to digest what Mylinski was saying. “What about the tapped phone at Wingate Estate? Have you found out anything about that?”
“It was an FBI tap. It seems they were investigating Kirkland.”
“For what?”
“Fraud tied to Kirkland Development.”
“Might his murder be a result of that?”
“I checked it out. It doesn’t look promising.”
“But it’s possible.” He couldn’t let go, not if there was even the slightest chance.
“I’m sorry, Ace. I really am. The evidence says Andrea Kirkland is our murderer.” Mylinski shook his head. “I could have sworn she was telling the truth when I questioned her the other day. I wanted to believe her. Almost as muc
h as you did.”
John was quiet for a long time. Finally he cleared his throat with a growl. “What happens now, Al?”
“I’ve got an arrest warrant, John. I’m going to have to take her in.”
John sucked in a breath. As the evidence piled up against Andrea, he’d feared an arrest was imminent. But the thought of Andrea behind bars still knocked the wind out of him.
Mylinski nodded in the direction of the bathroom. “Are you going to go in there and get her, or should I?”
“Let me.” He couldn’t explain why it was so important to him to be the one to break the news to Andrea, to hold her in his arms to comfort her, to whisper reassurances in her ear. He didn’t want to think about that too hard. He didn’t want to think about the way he felt when she smiled at him. The strength he felt when she slipped her hand into his. Or the need that surged inside him when he smelled the scent of her skin.
John turned away from the detective and forced his feet to carry him down the hall to the bathroom door. Bracing himself for what he had to do, he rapped on the wood.
No answer.
Fear hummed in his ears. “Andrea? Are you okay?”
Still no answer.
The hum turned to a roar. He turned the knob. Locked. He heaved back and surged forward, laying shoulder to wood. The old lock gave. The door flew open.
An empty bathroom met his gaze. And the only sound ringing in his ears was the wind whistling through the open window.
Chapter Thirteen
Mylinski slipped the cellophane wrapper off a piece of lemon candy and popped it into his mouth. Sucking hard, he watched John with his usual shrewd stare. “This is pretty serious, isn’t it?”
John stilled. Mylinski had taken the news of Andrea’s disappearance much better than he’d expected. Instead of pulling a gun and going after her, he’d merely fixed John with one of his knowing stares—a stare that was making him plenty nervous.
“What are you talking about, Al?”
“You love her, don’t you?”
The words rang in John’s ears with the finality of a guilty verdict. He opened his mouth to protest, to tell Mylinski he was dead wrong. But for some reason, he couldn’t force a sound from his lips.
He couldn’t love Andrea, could he? He’d seen too much, been through too much to believe love existed, let alone to come down with the malady himself. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” Mylinski shot him a crooked smile. “Before you met her you were one of the most cynical SOBs I’ve ever had the pleasure to know. Now suddenly you believe in innocence. You’re willing to put your career on the line to fight for her. You’ve become more idealistic than God, for crying out loud. What do you think is responsible for this personality change? Indigestion?”
“Maybe.” John reached into his pocket for his roll of antacids. His fingers grasped nothing but a few scraps of foil and a paper label. He’d run out. Just as he’d run out of explanations for the charge Mylinski had leveled against him.
Did he love Andrea?
He’d promised himself he wouldn’t expect too much. Not of other people and certainly not of himself. He’d been let down far too many times. Love was expecting way too much. Love was a sure road to disaster.
He shook his head. He didn’t know the answer. All he knew was he couldn’t abandon Andrea now. “Let me go get her.”
Mylinski tilted his head, considering. “I’ll give you twenty-four hours. No more.”
John started for the door. He had a pretty good idea where she’d gone. Where she would feel safe.
The only place that was hers.
Reaching the kitchen door, he stopped and turned to Mylinski. “Thanks.”
The detective nodded and bit down on the candy in his mouth, shattering it between his teeth. “Don’t make me regret this, Ace.”
ANDREA STARED out the window at the pine trees surrounding her little cabin. The snow dusting each green bough sparkled in the moonlit night like diamonds. The rough-hewn logs that made up the walls felt sturdy, solid. The little cabin nestled in the northwoods had always been her sanctuary, the only place she could go to escape Wingate’s world. But tonight neither the beautiful view nor the solid walls lent any comfort.
She wrapped the quilt tighter around her shoulders. She’d set a fire in the oversized fireplace, but she couldn’t get warm.
She might never be warm again.
It had been cowardly to crawl out of John’s bathroom window and steal his car, but she hadn’t known what else to do. She’d felt cornered. Powerless. Desperate. And she’d panicked.
She didn’t want to need him. She didn’t want to hurt him. So she’d run away, just as she had when she was a teen. As if that would make her problems go away. As if that could solve anything.
An engine roared from someplace outside the cabin.
Andrea jumped to her feet. Her pulse picked up its pace, thumping in her ears.
She hadn’t noticed anyone following her on the small, two-lane country highway leading to the cabin. Not a car, not a black truck. But someone was definitely outside. Someone had found her.
The police?
The black truck?
She glanced around the cabin. If it was the police outside, she’d immediately give herself up. But just in case it wasn’t, just in case the black truck’s driver had found her, she needed a plan. She needed a weapon.
Copper pans hung over the tiny butcher-block island in the corner kitchen. She stretched up and took a skillet from its hook. The copper weighed heavy in her hand. Heavy enough, she hoped.
The cabin’s front door faced north. To reduce the chilling effect of winter winds, no windows had been cut in the logs that made up the north wall. The peephole was the only way to see outside. If only there were windows in the front of the house, then she could see what she was up against. She would know whether the black truck or a squad car was waiting outside. She would know whether to come out swinging or with her hands on her head.
She peered through the peephole. The dark shapes of distant pines met her gaze. A shadow loomed into view, blocking the moonlight.
The latch on the door rattled.
She sprang back. Holding the pan in both hands, she braced herself, waiting for the door to swing open.
Chapter Fourteen
“Andrea? Open the door.” John’s voice penetrated the thick wood.
Relief flooded her, making her weak. She lowered the pan and let it clatter to the floor. “John?”
“It’s me. Open the door.”
She drew in a breath of courage. Grasping the wrought-iron latch, she yanked the door open.
And fell into his arms.
His hand came up, smoothing her hair, cradling the back of her head. His other arm wrapped around her and pulled her against him.
His warmth soaked into her. Bolstered her. Filled her. This was what she wanted. What she needed. What she couldn’t live without.
No.
Placing her hands against his chest, she pushed out of his embrace. She couldn’t lose herself in his arms. No matter how much she craved it.
John searched her eyes. He ran a gentle hand down her arm. “There’s no reason to be scared. It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.”
She shook her head. “I heard what Detective Mylinski said, John. It’s not going to be okay. How could it be?”
“Don’t worry. We can fight the charges.”
“Fight the charges?” His meaning dawned on her. “Detective Mylinski came to your house to arrest me, didn’t he?”
“Yes. But we’ll fight. You and I. Together.”
She stepped back, out of his reach. He didn’t understand. She had to make him understand. “No. I can’t— You can’t—”
“If you’re worrying about my career, don’t.”
His career. Her self respect. She didn’t know which to worry about more. “I’m not going to drag you into this, John. I ran away from the pol
ice. They’re going to come looking for me.”
He nodded. “Why did you run, Andrea?”
Her sinuses burned. Tears surged at the back of her eyes. She closed her eyes to keep them from trickling down her cheeks. “I didn’t want to need you. To feel like I can’t live without you.”
The wood floor creaked as John stepped toward her. Although she could feel the energy of him so close, so near, he didn’t touch her. He merely waited for her to go on.
She forced breath through a tight throat and compelled her lips to form words. “I need you. So much it scares me. And I was so worried I’d become like my mother—pitiful and weak—”
“There’s not one pitiful or weak cell in your body.”
She shook her head. Maybe he couldn’t see it, but that didn’t mean the weakness wasn’t there. Waiting to swamp her, to pull her under.
She squeezed her eyes closed tighter. She couldn’t look at him. Not until she told him all of it. Not until she made him understand. “My mother’s need for men eclipsed everything else. Her career, her daughter, even the men themselves weren’t important. It was all about her. Her weaknesses. Her needs.”
“You’re not like your mother.”
She splayed her hands in front of her. “I am like her. I was so worried about myself, I didn’t even consider how you helping me would harm your career. I never thought for a moment about what it would cost you.” She opened her eyes, looking at him through a veil of unshed tears.
He gave her a sad smile. “It’s not going to cost me anything, Andrea. Nothing important, anyway.”
“How can you say that? You’re already suspended because of me. You’re already under investigation.”
“True.”
“Wait until they learn you retained a lawyer for me.”
“I can’t lie to you. It won’t look good. But you’re innocent. I can’t let the system railroad you. I can’t let you pay for something you didn’t do.”
She couldn’t stand here, looking at him and listen to him justify what she’d brought on him. She turned away. “I can’t let you do this. I can’t let you throw your career away on me. Your life—”
Incriminating Passion Page 13
