by Mary Burton
Cross lifted his gaze from the badge. “What can I do for you?”
“We’re investigating the murder of Sara Miller. I believe you worked with Ms. Miller on an ad campaign for Fairchild Advertising.”
He frowned. “Ms. Miller is dead?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How?” His voice sounded rough and drowning in emotion.
“I can’t give any more details.”
“I had no idea.” His face tightened with grief.
Garrison stared at him, trying to gauge his genuineness. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you.”
Micah pushed a hand through his dark hair. “She was such a lovely young woman. God, I’m really sorry to hear about Sara. I liked her. She was smart and very efficient.” He extended his hand toward the sofa, and when Garrison sat so did he. “How can I help?”
“We’re trying to piece together the last twenty-four to forty-eight hours leading up to her disappearance. According to her boss you two were scheduled to have dinner on Tuesday night.”
He steepled his fingers. “Yes. Fairchild Advertising was making a big presentation to my board next week and she wanted to meet and make sure she’d covered all the creative bases.”
“Did she seem nervous or upset when you had dinner?”
“Not at all. It was business as usual.”
“Why the switch in advertising companies?”
“What made you ask that? ”
“Mr. Fairchild said that you contacted him about an ad campaign.”
“My father died eight months ago and now that I have complete reins of the company I’ve decided to change elements in the company. Father didn’t embrace change and the company had grown very stagnant in the last five to ten years.”
“Since your brother died?”
“Basically. When Josiah died, Dad was never the same. In the ways of the old world, a son was everything to a man.”
“Where was he born?”
“Kentucky. In the mountains. He was raised by his aunt and uncle. Wasn’t a happy home. He met my mother when they were young. Father did just about anything to make money. And he made a lot of it. ”
“Where is your mother now?”
A hint of sadness darkened his eyes. “She passed away when Josiah and I were thirteen.”
“Must have been hard.”
“We all had each other.”
“Illness?”
“A car accident.”
Garrison let a moment’s pause settle between them. “I’ve read a report on your brother’s death.”
Cross arched a brow. “Do you always dig so deeply into the lives of people you question during a homicide investigation?”
“Not generally. Can you tell me about what happened the night your brother died?”
“Why is this relevant?”
“Humor me. Please.”
Micah shrugged. “I was still at school in Washington, D.C. Even to this day I know only what my father and the police reported to me.”
“You didn’t go to Price.”
“No. Father believed it best that Josiah and I went to separate schools. Twins, especially identical twins, get lumped together a lot. He wanted us to be individuals.”
“You ever visit Price? ”
“Sure. I even met the infamous Eva Rayburn.”
“Really? What was your impression of her?”
“A nice kid. Quiet. Hard-working. To make extra money she helped the sorority house’s maid clean. The day I met her she and another girl were cleaning the house after a big party.”
“You two speak much?”
“Just the customary greeting. And I’ll admit I was curious about her. Josiah had mentioned the fact that she’d beat him in a school-wide debate a couple of weeks earlier. He wasn’t happy about it. Josiah hated to lose.”
“That wasn’t mentioned in the file.” Garrison knew Micah was holding back.
“No, I doubt it was.”
Darius had been careful to sanitize anything that pointed to his son’s temper. “What did your father tell you about your brother’s death?”
A furrow creased the smooth, pale skin of his forehead. “Again, how does this relate to Ms. Miller?”
“Bear with me.”
Cross shrugged. “Father called me weeping the night Josiah died.” He drew in a breath. “Dad didn’t rest until justice was served.”
Garrison checked his notes, flipping pages and pretending to read. “Eva Rayburn confessed to killing your brother after he attacked her.”
Cross nodded. “I remember her testimony. But the rape was never proven. In fact, my father’s attorney uncovered evidence that they were having an affair. ”
“Were they?”
“I don’t know.”
“You were at the trial?”
“No. My father sent me to Europe during the trial.” He sighed. “I do know she’s out of jail and back in Alexandria.”
“How do you know that? ”
“Father had put in a request with the bureau of prisons to notify us when she was released. As the victim’s family we had a right to know. They told me she had moved back to town.”
“How long have you known?”
“They told me days after she returned.”
“You must know that Ms. Miller was one of the girls that testified against Eva.”
He raised a brow. “She never said a word about that to me.”
“You don’t remember her at the trial?”
“I barely remember the trial at all. I was in Europe at the time.” Micah Cross was either a good actor or a great liar.
“Did you know Sara went to Price with your brother?”
“I did not. We never discussed colleges.”
“You know Ms. Rayburn is in Alexandria but you didn’t know Sara Miller went to Price?”
“That’s right.”
“What did you talk to Ms. Miller about?”
“Business. And the fact that she was leaving for Fairchild’s New York offices in a day or two and wouldn’t be back for a few weeks.”
“Did your brother have a history of violence?”
“He did. Father was good about hushing it up, but other girls made claims against Josiah. The judge didn’t have access to that information, but just looking at the list of Ms. Rayburn’s injuries, it was clear Josiah had lost his temper with her.”
“He ever lose his temper with you?”
Darkness settled in his gaze. “Again, what does any of this have to do with Sara Miller’s death?”
“Where were you two nights ago?”
“At a fund-raiser. Surrounded by fifty of my closest friends. Would you like a list?”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“I’ll have my secretary e-mail you a list.”
“Thanks.”
“My brother was murdered as was a colleague of mine. Why do I feel like a suspect?”
Garrison grinned. “I don’t know.”
Humming, Lou sat in the darkened basement in front of the fire that crackled and spit in the hearth. The flames danced and swayed, creating a hypnotic spell too hard to resist. By the firelight, Lou glanced down at the photo of the infant boy, so red-faced and prunelike in his first hours of life.
Stroking the image, Lou remembered the faint scent of milk that had clung to the boy and the way he gurgled when he’d eaten his fill and was ready for a nap.
“I lost you too young. Too young. And I hate them for taking you from me. My sweet, sweet boy.”
Lou’s weary eyes glistened with tears that pooled and spilled down cheeks made ruddy by the hot fire. “But we’re going to show them all they should have left us alone. They shouldn’t have taken you from me.”
Lou glanced up at the flames. The schedule was moving much faster than originally anticipated. The hope had been to draw out this process so that those that remained had time to worry and wonder if they were next. But the schedule had had to be changed because that other woman had planne
d an extended trip. Selfish bitch. So like all those sorority girls to do what they pleased even if it meant stepping on someone else’s toes.
Two had died. But there were more that needed to pay. More that had to suffer the pain of the brand and feel the sharp tip of the knife.
Perhaps if they all suffered and died, perhaps then Lou could finally release the pain that had haunted her for far too many years. Perhaps …
Garrison found Macy LaPorta behind her desk at Firehouse 20. She’d long since been promoted to administration and could have left behind the shift work, but she’d chosen to work ten hours a week in one of the station houses in her district. She liked keeping current, liked remembering what it felt like to battle the blaze head-on.
He knocked on her door and she glanced up from a pile of paperwork. The frown creasing her brow deepened. “What can I do for you?”
Garrison moved toward her desk and dropped a file square in the center. “I’d like you to have a look at pictures taken of a fire.”
She arched a brow, studying him a beat before she dropped her gaze to the file. “This fire happened almost ten years ago.”
“I know.” He gave her a recap of the case.
“I’m not sure what you want from me on this one.”
“I honestly don’t know either. It’s just the more I read the case file, the more I question the results.”
She pursed her lips as she flipped the pages. “Point of origin was near the fireplace.”
“That’s what the report says. I want to know your thoughts after you’ve had a chance to read the file.”
“Do you think this fire is linked to the one on Monday night?”
“I don’t know.” He’d been going nonstop since Monday and, despite a few extra hours of sleep, fatigue nipped at him like a hungry animal. “Just have a look. ”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Garrison nodded his thanks and headed out of the station house. As he slid into the driver’s seat his cell rang. “Garrison.”
“It’s Vic Jones, with the Bureau of Prisons. You called about Eva Rayburn.”
“I did.” Garrison closed his door and loosened his tie. “She’s moved into my city. And we’ve had a couple of murders that I think might be linked to her.”
A chair squeaked as the man seemed to lean forward. “She a suspect?”
“Not now. Two of the women who testified against her are dead. What can you tell me about her time in prison?”
“She was a model prisoner. Took every class she could and read every book she could get her hands on. Worked in the prison library and tutored other inmates in reading and math. Kept to herself.”
“Did she have any visitors?”
“None. Which is unusual. Most of our inmates have someone that visits.”
“Letters?”
“None sent to her, but in the beginning she wrote her share of letters.”
“To whom?”
Papers rustled in the background. “To the same three women: Lisa Black, Sara Miller and Kristen Hall.”
Grim tension fisted in his gut. “I assume they never responded.”
“Not one word.”
“What did she write them about?”
“She kept asking for more details about the night Josiah Cross died. She wanted to remember killing him but she couldn’t.”
The lunch crowd had slowed. Eva had maybe three tables left, which she expected would clear out in the next fifteen or twenty minutes. As she loaded the chocolate dessert on a tray, she checked her watch. By three she and King could take a break before the dinner rush.
She hefted the tray and moved to the table of four women. They’d ordered a couple of rounds of drinks and no one at the table felt any pain. She’d overheard one say it was a divorce party for the tall brunette on the inside left side of the booth.
But like all women, they wanted just a bite of dessert. Hence, the one piece of cake and four spoons. She moved toward the table, which suddenly erupted in laughter. Eva set the cake in the table’s center and laid out clean spoons and napkins in front of each woman.
Smiling, she turned. A quick check on table six and she’d take a break. But as she turned, she noted a man had been seated at table eight. Crap.
Moving toward her newest customer, she raised her gaze. Her greeting died on her lips when their gazes connected. For a moment she imagined a ghost stood in front of her. Time had leaned out his face. His hair was shorter and dark horn-rimmed glasses covered sharp blue eyes. The startling familiar features jerked her breath away and when she did claw in air, she spoke before she thought. “Josiah.”
“Micah,” he said.
Her mind tripped, stumbled and then righted. She realized the sharp blue eyes held curiosity and sadness, not hate and anger. “Sorry. You caught me by surprise.”
A shy smile lifted the edge of his lips. “Sorry, Eva.”
“It’s been a long time.”
His gaze traveled briefly over her frame. “You look great.”
That made her laugh. Micah had been as kind as Josiah was cruel. “I smell like the day’s special and I think I’m actually wearing some of it.”
Absently, he picked up the salt shaker and set it back down with precision next to the pepper. “You wear both well.”
An unexpected softening left her feeling exposed. His family had brutalized her and stolen so much of her life. Only a fool felt anything more than fear for this family. “So what brings you here?”
“The cops told me about Lisa and Sara.”
“Very sad.”
He knitted his long fingers together and rested them on the table. “I’d think you’d still hate them both.”
“I carried the hate for a long time, but it just got to be too heavy.” She glanced around, not comfortable discussing any of her past, especially here, where no one knew about her. “I’ve been back about six months.”
“I wished you’d called me and told me.”
That caught her short. “Would have been kind of weird, don’t you think? Considering the history.”
His expression darkened. “I always wanted to tell you how sorry I was. I never realized Josiah would ever go so far.” The last word held an edge of anger that she’d never heard from him before. “I should have seen it coming. I should have known he was up to something.”
There’d been a million warning signs of Josiah’s behavior and they’d been ignored or covered every step of the way.
He tapped his fingertips together. “I was his twin. At times, I could just about read his mind. I knew he had a thing for you.”
She remembered how Josiah stared at her when he visited the house. His gaze would linger so long her skin would itch. She glanced around and, realizing none of her customers needed her, she sat across from Micah. “Why me?”
“You were smart, strong and you were helping Kristen succeed. The stronger she became, the less she needed Josiah. He resented that.”
Anger cut through her. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“Father sent me away during the trial.”
“What about before or after? Your father’s lawyers made it look like I provoked the whole thing.”
“My silence is what I feel worst about. That’s why I’m here. To say I’m sorry.”
She shook her head. “Micah, ‘sorry’ sounds slim and meager.”
“I know, but I’m truly sorry. I’d do anything to make it up to you.”
Bobby rushed down the stairs and bolted into the room. For the first time the kid seemed filled with pure joy. For an instant she marveled. He was acting like a kid. A strong urge to protect Bobby welled inside her. She would safeguard what she could of his childhood.
His close proximity to Micah sent tension coiling around her chest. Micah had done nothing to her, but he was a Cross and as her mother used to say, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
When the boy darted into the safety of the kitchen she finally could say, “The
best thing you can do for me is just leave King’s and never come back.”
“I want to make it up to you.”
“That’s impossible.” A customer yelled “Waitress” and she gratefully glanced toward the group of women who now looked anxious to pay and leave. “Micah, I’ve got to get back to work.”
Before he could respond, she moved to the table of women. She barely registered what they said. Instead, she was aware of Micah’s gaze on her. It seemed to bore into her and leave her skin tingling with worry and fear.
Mindlessly, she handed the women the check and waited as they argued over who was going to pay. When one woman finally pressed a credit card into her hand, she smiled and turned.
Micah had left.
She prayed she never saw him again, but deep in her heart she sensed the Cross family wasn’t finished with her.
Chapter 13
Friday, April 7, 12:15 P.M.
Angie was running late when she arrived at Branford’s Coffee Shop. Another late night. A little too much wine to block out feelings that haunted her. And she ended up with another morning that was too short on time. She’d not had breakfast and now that she was out of court she was starving.
Bells jingled above her head as she dashed through the front entrance past packed tables to the front counter. A tall, slim man with blond hair, ice-blue eyes and pale pockmarked skin smiled at her. “Do you suppose you can cut your day any closer?”
“Brad. “ She dug in her huge Prada purse and fished until she found her wallet. She slapped a ten on the counter. “I’ll get the usual.”
“Afternoon, Ms. Carlson.” He lifted a coffeepot, filled a to-go cup and then dumped two sugars into the hot brew. “So what got you this time?”
“Don’t ask. And instead of a ham sandwich, just make it a plain bagel and toss in a ginger ale.”
“Ginger ale? You mock cola drinkers.”
“Today, I take back every smart-ass comment I’ve ever uttered about cola drinkers.” Just the smell of the coffee sent her stomach tumbling. She’d not have bought a coffee at all if he’d not poured it.
He nested the lid on top of the cup. “You feeling all right?”
Angie wrinkled her nose. “Just got a bug. I’ll live.”
Brad nodded. “I hear there’s one going around.”
