Incriminating Passion

by Ann Voss Peterson

  “It’s Andrea Kirkland. She wants a deal.”

  “A deal?” John didn’t hear her right. He couldn’t have heard her right.

  “That’s right. She wants to plead guilty to murdering her husband.”

  Guilty? Andrea? Kit’s words hit him like a sledge hammer to the temple. She couldn’t be guilty. He went out on a limb for her. He believed in her.

  Betrayal hummed in his ears. Pain throbbed in his chest.

  Kit’s voice buzzed in his ears. “I’ve had some guilty schmucks, but I’ve never had one ask to plead out this fast. She didn’t even wait until the preliminary hearing. Guess we don’t have to wonder if she did it or not.”

  Could he have read Andrea that wrong? Had he expected too much of her?

  “Maybe she figures she’ll get a break with the judge by saving the taxpayers the cost of a trial.” Kit whistled through her teeth and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “If that’s the case, she’s got one ignorant attorney. Or at least someone who hasn’t been around long.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “The judge was drawn for her case. Didn’t you hear?”

  He shook his head. “Who did she draw?” He held his breath and waited for the knockout punch.

  “The hanging judge himself. Gerald P. Banks. The woman will be lucky if she ever sees the outside of a prison cell again. Hell, she’s lucky Wisconsin doesn’t have the death penalty.”

  JOHN TWISTED the cap off his old friend Jack Daniels and lowered himself into his recliner. The chair that had once molded to his body like a lover felt strange, as if it had been replaced by a new model.

  Of course it wasn’t the chair. It was him. He’d changed. Andrea had changed him.

  He lifted the bottle to his lips. Tilting his head back, he let the booze flare over his tongue, scorch a path down his throat and stoke the pain already burning his gut.

  Before he’d met her his life had been empty, meaningless. He’d been going through the motions, playing his part in the system. She’d given him something to believe in, something to fight for. And now?

  Now, not only was his life empty, he was empty as well. A burned-out shell.

  He looked at the full bottle of Jack. If this one didn’t do the trick, he’d down another. Whatever it took to forget Andrea. Whatever it took to convince himself never to trust another human being as long as he lived. And if it took two pints to do it, what the hell.

  He turned the idea over in his mind and grabbed the bottle. But before he could down a second shot, the bleat of the phone cut through his thoughts.

  He grabbed it. “Yeah?”

  “Hey, Ace. Got a question for you. It’s about the Kirkland case.”

  John kicked the footrest down and sat up straight in his chair. “Shoot.”

  “I just got a hold of the fire investigator’s preliminary report for the Wingate Estate fire, and there’s something that doesn’t add up.”

  “What?”

  “A gas can was abandoned in the front yard. The gas can we’re assuming the arsonist used to torch the place.”

  “Yeah? Makes sense. I told you we smelled gasoline right before the place went up.”

  “That’s not the weird part. It’s what was next to the can that’s strange.”

  John pushed to his feet. “What?”

  “A rosary.”

  At first John didn’t think he heard him right. “A rosary?”

  “You know, the kind they use in the Catholic church. Whoever set that fire must have dropped it. It couldn’t have come from the house. Neither Kirkland or Andy are Catholic.”

  “No.” John’s mind raced. He hadn’t held a rosary since he was a child. But he’d seen one recently. Oyster shell beads clutched in work-worn fingers. “Neither Kirkland nor Andrea are Catholic, but I know who is.”

  JOHN BRACED himself on the dash as Al ignored the phenomenon of centrifugal force and swung his beat-up brown sedan into Marcella Hernandez’s driveway without slowing. He hit the brakes just in time to avoid a collision with the garage door.

  John shot Mylinski a frown. “No wonder the county won’t give you a new car. They’ve seen how you drive.”

  Mylinski looked at him with innocently raised brows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Never mind. Some things are too obvious to be explained.”

  Mylinski threw open the door and heaved himself out of his seat. John did the same, and soon they were following the winding walk around the garage to the front door.

  Mylinski reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a piece of Jolly Rancher candy. He held it out on his palm. “Want one?”

  The way his gut ached, the last thing John needed was candy. But he took it anyway. Maybe it would mask the scent of the shot of booze on his breath.

  Mylinski unwrapped a piece and popped it in his own mouth. The sweet odor of watermelon blended with the scent of wood smoke, melting snow and wet autumn leaves. He stepped up onto the porch and punched the buzzer of Marcella Hernandez’s little house and waited for the red door to open.

  The drapes cloaking an upstairs window pulled away from one corner then fell back in place. Footsteps rapped down a wood staircase. But the door didn’t open.

  Instead, the faint sound of an electric garage door opening came from the side of the house.

  “She’s trying to get away.” John spun around and dashed down the sidewalk. Mylinski followed half a step behind. As he rounded the house, the garage door reached its full height. And inside the garage, Marcella Hernandez hefted herself into the black truck.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The black truck’s engine growled to life.

  Adrenaline pumped into John’s bloodstream. He couldn’t let Marcella get away. Not again. He dashed into the garage. Grabbing the truck’s door handle, he wrenched the door open. Reaching inside, he closed his hand over the keys dangling from the ignition.

  Marcella’s eyes went wide. She clawed at his hand.

  Blocking her against the seat with his forearm, he killed the ignition, pulled the keys out and slipped them in his pocket. “It’s over, Marcella. It’s all over.”

  She shook her head and grabbed the wheel, as if she was planning to drive away with or without the keys. Tendons stood out in her neck. Her eyes flashed wide like a frightened animal’s.

  Mylinski stepped around John and fixed Marcella with an all-business stare. “Ma’am, please get out of the truck.”

  She shook her head again.

  “We know you were the one trying to kill Andrea.” Though his heart was pumping double time, John forced calm into his voice. “We know you set the fire. The only thing we don’t know is why. We want to understand why. Explain it to us.”

  Marcella glanced from John to Mylinski and back again. A sigh shuddering through her, she let go of the wheel and slid from the truck’s cab. “She had to pay for what she did.”

  Mylinski held up a hand. “Before you say any more I want you to know you have the right to remain silent.” He continued, reciting her Miranda rights. “Do you understand these rights, Ms. Hernandez?”

  She nodded.

  “All right. Now you said Andrea Kirkland deserved it. What did she deserve?”

  “She killed Mr. Wingate. She deserved to die.”

  A sinking feeling descended into John’s gut. The conviction with which Marcella said the words left no doubt in his mind she believed them. And if she truly believed Andrea killed Kirkland, she couldn’t have done it herself.

  “So you were the one who ran Andrea’s car off the road and into the Green Valley quarry?”

  “I heard the missus talking on the phone. She was describing how she did it—how she murdered Mr. Wingate.” A sob broke from her lips. “I couldn’t let her get away with it.”

  John shook his head. So the attempts on Andrea’s life all came down to Marcella eavesdropping on Andrea’s phone call to the police station and misunderstanding what she heard. The tapped phone, the Green Valley polic
e, and the desire to silence Andrea’s emerging memories had nothing to do with it. “And at the hotel. You were the one who tried to run us down.”

  Marcella nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. “She called me to tell me to let in the police. She told me where she was.”

  “And the fire at Wingate Estate?” Mylinski added.

  “Wingate Estate belonged to Mr. Wingate. Not her. I couldn’t let her get it. It’s better it died with him than for the missus to have it. Or Joyce.” She clenched her fists. Her eyes flashed, fierce with indignation. “They didn’t deserve anything he gave them. They didn’t love him.”

  “Not like you did?” John guessed.

  Her tears flowed harder. “He was everything. He was my life. And she took him away from me.”

  John nodded. It all made sense. Her attempts on Andrea’s life. Her destroying the estate. But one thing still bothered him. One thing didn’t add up. “How did you send the street thugs after us in Chicago? Did you know those kids? Were they friends of yours?”

  “Chicago?” She held back a sob. Puzzlement creased her brow.

  “You didn’t send those kids after us?”

  She stared at him as if he were speaking gibberish.

  He could press the question, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Marcella may have been the driver of the black truck, she may have tried to kill Andrea, she may have burned down the estate, but she hadn’t killed Wingate Kirkland.

  And she wasn’t the only one who wanted Andrea dead. Or in prison.

  John stood back and closed his eyes as Mylinski fastened handcuffs over Marcella’s wrists. So many things had turned out differently than he’d originally thought. So many things that he didn’t know what to think anymore.

  But despite all the surprises, he knew one thing to be true. Andrea Kirkland was no murderer. And he wouldn’t believe she was. Not until his dying day. He’d expected too much of people in the past, but he wasn’t expecting too much this time. Not with Andrea. She was everything he knew her to be. Everything and more. It wasn’t just his gut that told him that. This time it was his heart.

  And his heart would never let him give up on her.

  JOHN PUSHED his way through the glass door and into the steamy heat of the Easy Street Café. The usual lunch crowd of cops and assembly aides from the capitol turned to look at him. Probably wondering what this outsider could want. Or what would possess him to risk eating in this dive.

  He spotted Kit from across the room. She sat at a scarred table with a blonde. As he approached, the blonde turned her head and greeted him with a smile. “Hi, Cohen.”

  “Hey, Britt.” Britt Alcott was one beautiful woman and a hell of an ADA. She’d even done a stint as the head cheese when Dex had been forced to step down for a short time before the election. And on top of it all, she probably made a great mother. She had three kids now, if he remembered correctly. But as much as he liked Britt’s company, he hadn’t come to see her.

  He focused on Kit Ashner’s pixie face.

  “Hey John, pull up a cup. Britt says this place has the best coffee around.”

  “I need to talk to you about the Kirkland case.”

  Kit grinned. “You mean my first big murder conviction? Sure. I’ll talk all day about that one. Easiest case I’ve ever won.” She threw him a wink.

  John tried not to cringe at her cheery tone. He glanced at Britt. “I need to talk to Kit alone, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not a problem.” Britt pushed back her chair and stood. She held up her coffee mug. “I need another cup of coffee anyway. And a bagel to go. I promised Dillon I’d bring one back for him. He has a jury that should be coming back any time now, and he’s afraid to wander too far from his office.”

  As soon as Britt stepped to the counter, John zeroed in on Kit. “When are you meeting with Andrea Kirkland to talk about her plea bargain?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  “I need to be at that meeting.”

  She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “I don’t know, Cohen.”

  “You’ve got to do this for me, Kit.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she didn’t kill her husband.”

  “What? Are you nuts?”

  “She’s innocent, Kit.”

  “How do you know that?”

  He swore under his breath. What was he supposed to tell her? That he could see it in Andrea’s eyes? That he could feel it in his heart? “I just know.”

  She pressed her lips into a line and stared out the steamy window at the bustling street beyond.

  “Kit?”

  She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “I didn’t zone out on you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m just racking my brain trying to figure out what the hell I ever did to deserve this. I finally land a high-profile case, a homicide no less, and you tell me the defendant who is begging to plead guilty is actually innocent.”

  “Life’s a bitch.”

  “And then you die. Tell me about it.”

  He leaned forward. “So you’ll let me sit in?”

  Kit took a sip of coffee. Making a face at her cup, she set it on the table. “This coffee is worse than Mylinski’s. I knew I shouldn’t have listened to Britt. The woman has cast-iron tastebuds.”

  “Kit?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You know I’m a sucker for your charm. Meet me in my office at eight. You can explain on the way over to the Public Safety Building. And Cohen?”

  “Yeah?”

  “This had better be good.”

  JOHN SUCKED in a breath as the deputy led Andrea into the small interview room at the jail. She looked pale. Every protective instinct in him clamored to help her, to save her. He couldn’t let her accept a plea for a crime she didn’t commit. He wouldn’t. And that’s why he had talked Kit into letting him attend this meeting.

  Andrea’s gaze landed on him. Her eyes went wide.

  Kit stood and held out a hand. “Hello, Andrea. I’m Kit Ashner. I’m the assistant district attorney in charge of your case.”

  Watching John from the corner of her eye, Andrea shook Kit’s hand and the two women sat.

  Kit glanced from John to Andrea. “John asked to sit in on this meeting. He wants to talk to you.”

  “That’s not necessary. I’ve made up my mind. I know what I’m doing.”

  “That may be so. But we like to make sure we have things right.” Kit shoved to her feet. “I’m going to let the two of you talk. I’ll be right outside if you need me.” She stepped into the hallway. The deputy standing outside swung the door closed behind her.

  John focused on Andrea. She was strong, but jail had already taken its toll. She seemed smaller. More vulnerable. Truly fragile for the first time since he’d known her. His gut twisted into a knot. “Kit said you’ve asked for a plea bargain. Why, Andrea?”

  She pressed her lips into a line and kept her eyes glued to the table in front of her. “I don’t want to discuss it.”

  “I need to know.”

  She shook her head.

  Clearly she wasn’t about to open up to him. He took a deep breath. Maybe if she knew all that had happened since she’d turned herself in. Maybe if she knew all he’d learned. “The black truck was Marcella’s. She tried to kill you. She burned the house down.”

  A small line creased between Andrea’s eyebrows. “Marcella? Marcella doesn’t have a black truck.”

  “Yes, she does. It was a gift. From Kirkland.”

  “Marcella.” She shook her head as if she couldn’t believe it. “But Marcella couldn’t have killed Win.”

  “No. She didn’t kill him. And she didn’t send those street thugs after us in Chicago. Someone is still out there. Someone who wants to keep you from remembering. Or make you take the fall for Kirkland’s death.”

  Andrea crossed her arms over her chest.

  “You’re playing right into his or her hands by asking for a plea bargain.”

  “Why are yo
u doing this?” She didn’t move, except for the flinch of a muscle right below one eye.

  He reached out and took her hand in his. “You’re not still trying to protect my career, are you?”

  Her fingers were cold, lifeless, and she refused to meet his eyes. “Let them send me to prison. I just want this to be over.”

  “There’s no way in hell I’m going to let you go to prison for the rest of your life.”

  She pulled her hands from his. Her eyes pleaded with him.

  There had to be more that he wasn’t seeing. “It’s not just my career you’re protecting, is it?”

  She looked down at the table.

  He was on the right track. He could feel it. “Did someone threaten you, Andrea?”

  No. That wasn’t it. She’d been threatened before. Hell, she’d almost been killed. A mere threat wouldn’t cause her to lie about killing her husband. A mere threat wouldn’t force her to throw away the rest of her life. It had to be something else.

  Or someone else. “Did someone threaten me?”

  Her eyes focused on his face, the fear in their blue depths as loud and clear as a scream.

  Chills spread over him. By pleading guilty, she was giving her life for his. He shot to his feet. “I won’t let you do this.”

  “I’m not going to let them hurt you.”

  “Hurt me?” He leaned forward and slammed the table with an open palm. “Don’t you see? By agreeing to spend the rest of your life in prison, you’re hurting me more than anyone else ever could.”

  She narrowed her eyes, as if she wasn’t following.

  “I love you, Andrea. I don’t want to live without you.” As soon as the words left his lips, he knew they were true. He loved her with his whole heart, his whole being. And he would as long as he drew breath. “I can protect myself. Better yet, once we get you out of this place, we’ll protect each other.”