by Lori Ryan
Now Jarrod was silent for an entirely different reason. She’d captivated him once again. He looked down at his notes, then back at her, trying to shake himself out of it and get back on track. “Can you tell me about the donors who funded the clinic for you when it was built?”
Her eyes went wide. “There are hundreds of them.”
He smiled. “Just the big ones. Anyone who gave a large chunk either at the beginning when you were building the clinic, or any time since then.” He liked to begin any interviewing with wide open questions. Once he had information, then interviews became about nailing down the information. Getting the person to commit to the information. For right now, all he wanted was as much as he could gather.
“Well,” she said “our biggest donors are Tyvek Technologies and the Victoria Tyvek Staunton Foundation.” Her face clouded. “The foundation wasn’t one of our initial funders. It didn’t exist until Victoria’s death. At that time, her father began to look for organizations he could donate to under her name. We were lucky to be one of those.”
“And that was how long ago?” Jarrod knew the answer but he wanted to know what she remembered.
“Three years ago.”
“But before that, Tyvek Technologies was a donor?”
“Yes. I’d have to check my records to see the exact amount of their donation, but I believe it was nearly a million.”
“A million? Dollars?” Jarrod shut his mouth realizing how he sounded. Then he opened it again. “I guess I didn’t realize it cost that much money to open this place.”
Carrie nodded. “People don’t realize what it takes. We needed money for the building, insurance, the small staff we keep, equipment, supplies. Don’t forget, very few of our patients pay anything for the care we give them. It takes a lot of money to run this place.”
“So your major donors not only gave money to build the clinic in the first place, they also have to keep giving if you want to keep it open?”
“If we can’t find new donors to replace their money, yes. We’ve been very lucky to have our donors stick with us. Especially, in this economy. Charitable giving goes down whenever the economy takes a hit.”
“Okay so we’ve got Tyvek Technologies giving about $1 million. Who else gave money during the founding stage?”
“Simms Pharmaceutical donated about $750,000 and Branson Medical gave about $500,000. The remaining money came from a total of,” she seemed to search her memory, “I’d say, 200 donors. Some of those were in the 25,000 to 200,000 range, while others were twenty-five or a hundred dollars. Whatever people could spare.”
Jarrod realized they probably couldn’t look exclusively at the big four donors. They probably needed to consider those people or companies who had only given about $200,000. And this was just the segment of people who had given at the start-up. There were more who’d been keeping the place up over the years. The enormity of the task hit him and he made a mental note to see if they could get some asses in chairs looking at this stuff.
“And then you said there were some people that didn’t give at the beginning but have given since then?”
“Yes, the Memorial Foundation being one of those. Like I said, William Tyvek gave us a large donation in his daughter’s name. I believe that was one million. And then we have our gala each year, where we usually raise $1 million. Some of that goes to the clinic and some goes to the shelter.”
“Tell me a little bit more about Simms Pharmaceutical.”
“I’m not sure what you want to know. They produce all kinds of medications. I’m not overly familiar with what types of medications they produce, but I would guess it’s all on their website.”
He knew it was. He’d looked. “Tell me about the people at Simms who have any kind of interaction with the clinic.”
“Well, there really isn’t anyone that interacts with the clinic. Warrick Staunton and Jonathan Simms attend the gala each year. They were, of course, at the ribbon cutting ceremony when the clinic first opened. Other than that, they don’t have any day-to-day involvement. It’s the same with Meredith and Edward Ball. With Mr. Tyvek.”
Jarrod nodded. “And do any of them know one another? Do you know if they’re social together or have any business affiliations?” He saw a flash of something in her face. “What were you thinking just then?” He asked.
“I …” she waived her hand. “It’s nothing.”
He waited. She had been thinking something, and he wanted her to give voice to that thought. It didn’t take long.
“I’m sorry. I don’t like gossip. I try not to repeat it.”
“Think of it as background information. Any little thing can help us figure something out, even if it seems like nothing more than gossip to you at the time.”
“But I don’t know if it’s true.”
He smiled. “That part’s my job. I’ll find out what’s true and what’s not. I don’t take anything at face value.”
She nodded, relenting. “I don’t know the exact connection, but Meredith Ball and Jonathan Simms have a past, I think. They knew each other before she married her husband. I know they’re friends now, but I think for a long time, there was some tension there. I don’t know the precise details.”
“Tension, how?” Jarrod studied Carrie’s expression. Whenever a witness pointed him at someone, he had to figure out if they were being genuine or if they were trying to lead him off the trail of themselves or someone else.
“Meredith likes to flirt. A lot. Her husband never seems to mind, and I’ve always heard they have a very good relationship. Their marriage seems to be strong despite her flirting. But I did overhear them arguing one year at the gala. They were in a hallway and he was—well, he wasn’t yelling, but his words weren’t soft.”
“And what was he yelling about?”
“He was saying something like, ‘not him. Not Simms.’ That’s all I heard. Like I said, I don’t like to gossip so I tried to get out of there. It was clearly a private moment.”
“How long ago was that?” Jarrod asked.
“About a year. Last year’s gala.”
“And this year’s gala is coming up?”
“Yes. in three days.” She didn’t sound overly thrilled and he imagined that might have to do with the work load, but also the fact they’d just lost the doctor under some very violent circumstances.
“And what can you tell me about Alan Sykes?”
She frowned. “I’m sorry, who?”
“We were told by some of your staff that he visited Dr. Coleman from time-to-time and that he works for Simms Pharmaceutical.”
She seemed taken aback. “I don’t know him. I can ask Reggie if he knows anything.”
“That’s okay. Cal is talking to him.” She nodded and he stood. “If you think of anything you think could help, no matter how small, just shout.” He handed her his card. “My cell phone and office numbers are on there so you can always reach me if you need something.”
Jarrod had to forcibly shut down the thoughts flooding his brain. They were pornographic and not even remotely okay. All he could think about was satisfying Carrie’s needs. Hell. This was all sorts of wrong. He needed to get away from her and find a lead he could chase in this case that would bring them to the end.
Because then …. Damn. Not going there. Without another word, he turned and left her office. He needed to put distance between himself and this woman fast.
Chapter 4
“Well, that’s interesting.”
Jarrod looked across their back-to-back desks to Cal. “What’s that?”
“Alan Sykes did work at Simms. As in past tense. His employment seems to have ended about eight months ago.”
“How do you know that?” They had a few ways of finding out if Sykes worked at Simms. One was to call and ask. He knew his partner well enough to know he wouldn’t do that. It was too easy for someone at Simms to mention the call to the wrong person. No way they wanted to tip their hand this early. Not when they didn’t h
ave a hope or prayer of getting a warrant yet.
They could find out from the IRS but that took time. Social media gave them hints, but Jarrod doubted Cal could pinpoint that so quickly.
Cal’s smile stretched wide. “Because NHPD responded to a call at Simms Pharmaceutical the day he was fired. He had to be physically removed from the building. The report says he was trashing one of the labs and refusing to leave. He was arrested, but the company later dropped the charges. Said they just wanted him out.”
“Didn’t one of the nurses say he started visiting Dr. Coleman six or seven months ago?”
“Yeah,” Cal said, a question in the tone.
“So, if he didn’t work for Simms when he started visiting the clinic, why do people there think he did?”
Cal made a sound of agreement and started flipping through the notes he’d taken during their interview. He shook his head. “No one mentions why they thought he worked for Simms.”
Jarrod opened his phone and added the question to his list of follow-up questions for their next trip to the clinic. “I wish we had a better sense of all the players involved in this. The people at all these companies.”
Cal nodded. “Agreed.”
Jarrod knew he didn’t have to explain his thinking. Investigating companies with faceless names at the head of them didn’t work as well as when you were able to see a person. Talk to them. Read their expressions. Read the silences between the words. What people didn’t say was often as important as what they did. Sometimes more.
“You should call Jack,” Cal said, catching Jarrod off guard.
“Why would I call Jack?” Jack Sutton was a good friend, but Jarrod didn’t see what the connection was to this conversation. Jack was the CEO of Sutton Capital, not a cop. Jarrod couldn’t imagine why Cal thought he could help them.
“The gala.” Cal looked smug, like he’d just said something brilliant.
Jarrod shook his head. “I got nothing. What the hell are you talking about?”
“The shelter’s gala is Saturday. I bet Jack has tickets. It’s the kind of thing he’d go to. Or Chad?” Chad was Jack’s cousin, and also a good friend of Jarrod’s. Cal was right. They’d both likely have tickets.
“You want to go to the gala?” Jarrod couldn’t believe Cal would suggest this. The thought of Cal in a tuxedo had a grin breaking Jarrod’s face. In fact, he’d pay money to see it. Cal was constantly bucking the detective squad’s dress code, choosing short sleeved dress shirts rather than a full suit.
“No, dumbass. I want you to go to the gala.”
The humor was gone. “Are you nuts?” Jarrod couldn’t tell if his partner was joking or not, but he was beginning to think the man really meant he should attend the shelter gala.
Cal folded his arms, the stupid grin on his face firmly in place.
Carrie froze as she caught sight of Jarrod Harmon in a tuxedo. She’d like to say she only froze because she hadn’t expected him at the gala. Because she was seeing him out of context. That wasn’t remotely true. It was the tuxedo.
If she’d thought Jarrod Harmon was handsome in the everyday cheap suit of a detective—and she did—a tuxedo that seemed to have been cut just for him took the picture to all new levels. Drop dead gorgeous.
Why on earth am I thinking about how he looks?
Reggie caught her attention from a few yards away, a question in his eyes. She shook her head, giving him a your-guess-is-as-good-as-mine look.
Her eyes flew back to the detective. He stood calm as can be, eyes locked on hers, the tiniest whisper of a smile on his face, as if he knew he’d surprised the hell out of her.
He smiled at her and she wanted to kick herself over the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. What a ridiculously juvenile response.
There wasn’t time. He was moving toward her, holding her in place with those dark eyes. A single lock of his brown hair lay across his forehead, tempting her to reach out and tame it. She pressed her hands tight to her sides.
“Detective, to what do we owe the honor of your attendance this evening?” She put a cold edge in her voice she’d perfected over the years. You didn’t grow up a Hastings without knowing that move. Carrie loved her mother, but the woman could go from warm and welcoming to frosty and closed up with frightening speed when it suited her.
She wasn’t even sure why she was doing this. She should be cooperating in every way with the detectives on this case. But he’d knocked her off guard and she didn’t like the feeling. It flustered her. When she was flustered, she went back to her roots, walls in place and false smile on display for the world.
Jarrod leaned toward her, speaking close to her ear, and the stupid butterflies went into a swirling tizzy. She could hardly blame them. There was something downright erotic about the man. “Maybe I just wanted to see you in that dress.”
Carrie could feel her cheeks heat at his words. Her mom had convinced her to wear the one-of-a-kind design this evening. It was a more daring look than she was used to, but she knew the ice blue color of the floor-length gown brought out the color of her eyes. It was the deep cut of the back of the dress that she was uneasy with. She raised her chin and glared at his teasing.
He smiled back, eyes dancing as he seemed to laugh at her discomfort. “It was worth the price of the ticket.”
Now she shook her head at him. “We’ve been sold out for weeks. You didn’t buy a ticket.”
He shrugged. “And, yet, here I am.”
She stared him down until he leaned in to whisper in her ear again. “Information,” he said. “You’re going to provide me with some information, Carrie.”
That put a damper on the overgrown aphids in her belly.
“Excuse me?” She leaned back to look him in the eye. Her palms were sweating and she resisted the urge to wipe them on her dress. Her mother would keel over if she saw that. And yes, her mother was in attendance this evening. The Hastings attended every gala worth attending in the city, whether their daughter was the one organizing it or not. “Haven’t I already done that?”
“You have. And I appreciate that. But I want to see all the players. Meet them. See how they interact with each other. You’re going to help me do that,” he said with a smile that reminded her of a wolf.
She tilted her head. “Tell me the truth. How did you get in here?” She let her eyes travel down his tuxedo. It took some effort not to stop and study some areas more than others, but she succeeded. If he’d shown up without a ticket to the event, he would have been turned away at the door. Security wouldn’t have let him in without contacting her about it, and she was reachable. She wore an earpiece that let all the catering staff, her assistants, and security reach her instantly.
His eyes flashed and she knew she’d insulted him. “I have friends in high places.”
His tone was flippant, and she immediately regretted her question. This wasn’t how she wanted this to go. She needed this man on her side.
Carrie scanned the crowd, then realized he was doing the same, only he had his cop face on.
“Stop that.” If he kept looking at everyone like that, she’d have people leaving for sure. “You can’t look at people here like they’re suspects in your interrogation room.”
He slowly turned his eyes toward her and she wanted to stomp her foot at him. Partly because of the challenge she could see in his gaze, but mostly because of her body’s response to him standing so close to her. Somehow, standing next to him in this setting felt more intimate than it ought to.
“Can’t I?” He smirked as he asked the question.
She took his hand. “No. You can’t.” With a tug, she moved toward the dance floor. She saw the moment he realized where she was headed and she could see the professional in him begin to object. She raised a brow. Carrie had a feeling he couldn’t back down from a challenge.
She was right. He followed her, taking over when they hit the open area where other couples had already begun to dance. He took control with a confidence tha
t startled her, one hand on her lower back, leading her. What had she done?
“You told me about your biggest donors. Show me them.” His command cut through the fog he’d wrapped her brain in with his touch
“My — my biggest donors?” She looked up at him and found him watching, the corners of his lips curved into the slightest of smiles, as if throwing her off guard was amusing him.
“Yes. Your biggest donors. You know, Simms Pharmaceutical, Branson Medical, Tyvek?” He pulled her closer, but kept an inch of space between them, and she had the crazy urge to step forward and close the distance. To press against him, hip to hip, thigh to thigh. She realized her breathing was not quite as steady as she’d like it to be. In fact, nothing was as steady as she’d like it to be.
Not two minutes ago she’d been in control of the entire room. She’d been running the show, making sure every little detail went off without a hitch. Not anymore. Now she was completely off balance. If there is one thing Carrie didn’t like, it was not being in control.
She took a deep breath. She could get her balance back. She’d just take everything that came at her one at a time. Solve one problem, move on to the next.
Give Jarrod what he wants and move on. She felt her cheeks heat at the thought of giving him what he wanted. For some reason, erotic thoughts ran through her brain as fast as those little butterflies had whipped in her stomach earlier. “Turn me,” she said.
