by Alicia Scott
She was rewarded by him shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably. His blue-striped shirt wasn’t so sharply pressed this morning. Shadows marred his eyes, and his short-cropped hair was actually rumpled. So Jack Stryker was suffering a bit. Good.
“Josie—”
“Don’t you have someone else to go frame?” She turned away as he recoiled. The tin lunch tray was set down with a clatter on the passing shelf.
“What exactly do you mean by that?” She heard the beginnings of temper in his voice. It filled her with despair and delight. She had always liked getting his goat—ruffling cool Straight Arrow Stryker. Watching his eyes darken as his gaze fell to her lips, watching his temper turn to other, more compelling emotions.
Now, what was the point?
“Josie, dammit, you can’t just state allegations like that and then clam up!”
“Oh? What are you going to do, Jack? Arrest me?” She smiled sweetly and watched him count to ten, then drag a hand through his hair. She took back her earlier thought. She felt only delight. Tormenting Stryker was the first bit of enjoyment she’d had in days.
“I do not plant evidence,” he said firmly. “And I resent that accusation.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” She couldn’t help herself. She clambered to her feet and crossed to the front of the small jail cell where she could glare at him up close and personal. He was wearing that tie again, the maroon one with little blue diamonds. And dammit, he looked sexy as hell. She clenched her fists at her side. “You resent that accusation? You resent that accusation? You’ve accused me of murder! How the hell do you think I feel?”
“Well, you had a murder weapon in your possession, Josie. I couldn’t exactly tell you to run along after discovering a thing like that!”
“Exactly!” she fired back. She was close to him now, just the bars separating the heated exchange. “And since I know I didn’t tape a syringe or bottle of potassium to the bottom of my bureau, I can only assume that one of you cops did!”
“What? Why would we do something like that? That’s ridiculous!”
“I don’t know. Why would I do something like kill my best friend? Now, that’s ridiculous!”
“Josie, you cannot make such allegations,” he warned darkly.
“Jack, you could not be denser about all this if you’d had a full frontal lobotomy!” She whirled away, too angry to continue. And her eyes stung again. She knew he was a cop, and cops were by definition low on imagination and cleverness, but his distrust still hurt, dammit. She didn’t want to be hurt by him anymore. “Go away, Stryker. And don’t come back unless you’re ready to really listen.”
“I came here to listen!” Abruptly, he scowled. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught him raking his hand through his hair again. That was twice in ten minutes. She’d never seen him so distressed. “I’m yelling again, aren’t I?” he asked finally.
“Trust me, officers on duty in Boulder have gotten to hear this conversation.”
“Well, I don’t usually yell. That’s not what I came down here for. You just…you have a way of provoking me, Josie, and we both know you do it on purpose so don’t look so damn innocent.”
“I wasn’t looking innocent. I was looking smug.”
“Oh, my God,” he said in clear frustration. “You are trying to drive me to kill you.”
“Frankly, Stryker, it’s the only entertainment I have left.” Her shoulders came down. She didn’t mean to suddenly sound so defeated, but her own words depressed her. In the beginning, she’d thought this whole thing was a horrible misunderstanding, at worst a case of bias against her criminal father. But as Finnley had shown up with more and more updates, she’d begun to realize just how strong the case was against her. Maybe she’d even begun to understand why Jack would have trouble believing in her innocence. Someone was doing quite a number on her. And she had no idea who or why.
And no one to turn to for help.
“Go away, Jack.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. You’re Straight Arrow Stryker, Boy Scout extraordinaire. You can walk away from a murder suspect with no problem.”
“Maybe, but my father would kill me.”
“Really?” Now he had her attention. “Ben believes I’m innocent?”
“Ben believes the sun and moon rise and set at your feet. I, on the other hand—how did you put it?—couldn’t be denser about this if I had a full frontal lobotomy.”
“Your father,” she assured him, “is a very smart man.”
“He certainly thinks so.” Jack regarded her steadily for a moment. “You know some of the people you helped are really on your side, Josie. They’re gathering a defense fund for you and everything.”
For a moment, she swayed on her feet. Edward Finnley hadn’t told her this. No one had told her this. She’d spent the last forty-eight hours feeling unbearably alone. “R-r-really?” she whispered.
“Really,” he said quietly.
She had to sit down. Her hands folded on her knees, she blinked back more tears. “That’s…uh…that’s really nice of them.”
It was more than nice. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her, and now she wanted to cry. In the dark solitude of her jail cell, Josie had discovered there was one thing in the world she wanted more than any other—to belong, to feel like she had a home, with neighbors and friends and peers who loved and respected her. For a while, she’d felt like she had that here. Then in a blink of an eye, it had seemed gone.
She finally risked looking at Jack. “Do you think they’re crazy, Stryker?” she whispered thickly. “Are you telling me this because you hope it would make my conscience feel guilty enough to admit to murder?”
He shifted from foot to foot. “I don’t know why I told you,” he admitted roughly. “I just…I just wanted you to know.”
“You do think I did it, don’t you?”
“The evidence tells me that.”
“Of course,” she murmured. “Of course.”
She turned away so he wouldn’t see the first tear fall from her lashes. Had it been only three nights ago he’d shown up at her house, telling her how much he wanted her? Had it been only two days ago she’d slept curled up at his side, feeling warm and safe and happy?
She wanted him to go away now. No, she wanted him to tell her that he believed she was innocent. She wanted him to pull her into his arms and tuck her head against his shoulder. She wanted him to stroke her hair and whisper words of nonsense. Then she wanted him to kiss her until no more troubled thoughts filled her head.
“Josie—”
“If our positions had been reversed, Jack, I would’ve believed in you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do. Because I’m willing to believe my gut, I’m willing to trust my instincts.” I’m willing to follow my heart. She took a deep breath and lifted her chin. “I would’ve believed in you, Jack. And I’m not sure I can ever forgive you for not doing the same.”
For a moment, he appeared uncomfortable, even ashamed. But then he determinedly shook his head. “Josie, we found the murder weapon taped to the bureau in your bedroom—”
“Why would a murderer keep incriminating evidence for three months, Jack? Better yet, why would she keep the evidence in her bedroom when a local cop was already sniffing at her heels and had spent a night in her room—”
“You didn’t know I was coming over.”
“I didn’t exactly kick you out.”
“But what were the chances of me looking beneath your bureau drawer?”
“But why didn’t I at least get rid of it, then? We’d already talked about getting together in the evening. You…you were going to go to the pharmacy. Come on, Stryker, we both knew you were going to spend Saturday night at my place. Why would I even chance it?”
His brow crinkled into a frown. “Well, if you didn’t put it there, who do you think did, Josie? Has anyone broken into your home recently?”
&nb
sp; “Well…no.”
“Does anyone have an extra key?”
“No.” Her voice had gone soft and troubled.
“Has anything been out of the ordinary lately? Have you felt like you were being watched? Have things in your house been missing?”
She hung her head. “No,” she admitted at last. “Nothing comes to mind. But—” she lifted her chin back up for battle “—that simply means the person was very, very good. Can’t professionals pick locks? Would a layman notice?”
“Maybe. All right, all right,” he amended, catching her look, “probably not.”
“Did you fine, upstanding officers of the law examine my doors and windows for signs of tampering?”
He shook his head and she gained momentum. “Exactly. So you haven’t done all your homework, either. Suppose for a moment I’m not the killer. Then, who would know my schedule? Actually—” her brow furrowed “—everyone would know when I was out because all the town’s events are in the Community section of the newspaper, and I’m listed as head chairperson of most. So see, opportunity would be easy to come by. I don’t have a sophisticated lock system or alarm system, so entry isn’t that hard, either. I’m never home, we’ve both established that, and generally I’m home just in time to sleep. So there, it’s pretty darn easy to frame me. Hah.”
Jack didn’t look convinced. “Those are a lot of assumptions.”
“Welcome to real life.”
“Oh, don’t be so glib, Josie. I am listening, but police work isn’t about assumptions. It’s about facts. If you’d noticed anything awry, reported a break-in recently, then I could give your theory more credit—”
“Gardenias,” she said abruptly. “When I came home after the Band, Bingo, Bake Sale fund-raiser, I opened my bedroom window because I swore I kept smelling gardenias. I hate that scent, Jack. Last time I smelled it was when I found Olivia collapsed on her floor.”
Jack was very still. “Gardenias?”
“Gardenias.”
His gaze seemed to have grown very watchful. “You don’t have any potpourri or floral perfume or candles or anything like that?”
Josie arched a brow. “Heavy floral scents and me? Nice powers of observation from a cop.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I had to ask.” At least she’d finally etched uncertainty onto his brow. What was it about the scent of gardenias that bothered him so much? Abruptly, he squared his shoulders. “You match the description of the woman we’re looking for,” he said doggedly.
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, Edward Finnley told me about this. With all due respect to Jessica, how much weight can you give a ‘vision’ of a tall, possibly blond woman dressed head to toe in black with long red fingernails. For her and Stone’s sake I hope the D.A. doesn’t intend to put her on the stand because Finnley would eat her alive.”
“Your name can be abbreviated to Jo. We have Randi’s testimony that two men said, ‘Jo will take care of the broad—it’s her specialty.’”
“Stryker, no one calls me Jo. And if I was going to bump someone off, wouldn’t I at least use another name? How do you even know that statement had sinister intent—”
“They pursued Randi with pretty sinister intent when they realized she’d overheard it.”
“Maybe they just like to chase brides. I don’t know. But I’m not Jo.”
Jack shook his head. “If it were only one or two things, Josie, maybe I could believe you. But you put them all together…”
“And Jack Stryker, who always gets his man, figures he’s done it again,” she filled in for him tiredly. “Way to go, Jack.”
He didn’t refute it and he didn’t look away. She wanted to throttle him, she understood him too well. His unwavering principles at once attracted her to him and made her want to kill him.
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. She took a deep breath and gave it one last shot.
“Jack, how did I benefit from Olivia’s death?”
“We’re still looking into that.”
“So you have your theories?”
“A few.”
“Come on, Jack. Toss them out. Impress me with your brilliance. Tell me how I became better off by killing the woman who was a second mother to me.”
His jaw tightened. “Maybe you wanted her job—”
“Mayor of Grand Springs? Hardly. But if I had, I imagine Olivia would’ve considered me a worthy successor.”
“Maybe you wanted it now.”
“I see. So risking a murder charge was smarter than waiting out another term and gaining increasing community recognition and goodwill. Geez, Jack, are all criminals so stupid?”
“Maybe you were afraid she’d tell people about your father.”
“She hadn’t told anyone in a year and a half. Why would she tell someone now?”
“We have only your word that you told her anything. Besides, we’re still auditing the town books.”
She winced, she couldn’t help it. That accusation hurt her the worst, and they both knew it. Her reputation was shattered. Years of clean living and hard working eradicated just like that. Even if by some miracle she was found not guilty, people would always wonder. Town treasurers couldn’t afford that kind of doubt.
Her career was over. Damn, and damn it all again. She was going to cry once more.
She hung her head, studying the scuffed-up floor of her cell while she fought for composure. “They won’t find anything when they audit the books,” she murmured at last. She knuckled her eyes. “I called the EMTs,” she whispered hoarsely. “You would think a murderer wouldn’t do such a thing.”
“Pure potassium induces immediate cardiac arrest,” Jack said quietly. “The murderer would know that and understand that calling the EMTs didn’t matter—there is nothing they would be able to do.”
“I see.”
“Josie—” He gave up. Neither of them could take it anymore. “I’m going to go now. Your lunch is still here.”
“Lucky me.”
“If you need anything…”
“I’ll call my lawyer,” she supplied. “Because he’s the only one here who believes in me.”
Jack flinched, then turned and walked away. She didn’t try to stop him.
Chapter Eight
Jack worked until the sun fell, the department calmed down and the reporters gave up and went home. Stone was out working on another case, which was just as well. Jack had too many conflicting thoughts to face Stone’s perceptive questions. For now, he wanted time alone.
No, he wanted to stop thinking of Josie sitting in a jail cell.
A little after nine, Jack left. The night was cool, but not bad. Streetlights gave the city a friendly look, and a few other pedestrians wandered around. He nodded to them and they nodded back.
He kept walking until he found himself at Vanderbilt Park. Then he just stood, staring at the empty park bench. Eve Stuart liked to come here to sit. She’d told him once it was Olivia’s favorite place. Now he stared at the fine wood-and-wrought-iron bench and willed it to speak to him.
“Rough night?”
Jack half bolted out of his skin before he realized the voice wasn’t coming from the bench, but from the man walking up the pathway toward him. “I gotta get more sleep,” he muttered to himself.
“I would think you’d be happy,” the man said. “After all, you’ve finally made an arrest in Olivia’s case.”
The man stepped into the wash of the park lights and Jack instantly relaxed. It was Martin Smith, Grand Springs’s resident John Doe. He’d been found almost four months ago, during the storm and power outage, wandering the mountain roads alone with a lump the size of a baseball on his forehead. He had no memory of his name or where he’d come from and carried no ID. For almost four months, he’d stayed in Grand Springs, trying to find some clue to his identity. Jack and Stone had researched it all they could, but neither Martin’s face nor fingerprints had yielded any information.
At six-three, with intense bl
ue eyes and a lean, rugged build, Martin at least wasn’t lacking in companionship. Most single women in Grand Springs were dreaming up the man’s future for him, regardless of his absent past. Every town needed a mystery man, and the women of Grand Springs thought Martin filled the bill quite nicely.
“How are you, Martin?”
“Just fine. Having a grand time cruising memory lane.” His flashing smile was at once ironic and wry. “And you? Judging by your expression, I’d have to say, what’s her name?”
Jack grimaced. “It shows that much?”
“Josie Reynolds,” Martin said after a moment. For a man with no past or future, his blue eyes were clear, intelligent and knowing. “Tough arrest. A lot of people think very highly of her.”
“Yes, there’s that.”
“I happened to notice you two together at the fund-raiser. I would say you think rather highly of her, as well.”
“Yeah,” Jack said at last. “I suppose I did.”
“Did or do?”
Jack shook his head. “Are you sure you weren’t with the CIA, Martin? You have a flair for questions.”
“Possibly. At this point, I could even be head of the Russian Mafia, controlling a vast empire of money, intrigue and murder. I might also be a poor idiot whose wife just ran out on him for the pool boy.” Martin shrugged. “I don’t mean to pry, Stryker. I just have a habit of observing a lot of things, being the resident amnesiac—”
“You’ve been following Olivia’s case,” Jack filled in bluntly. “Stone and I know you’ve been pulling up a lot of things in the library on her.”
Martin was silent for a moment. “Think I’m a suspect?”
“If I thought that, I would’ve hauled you in and questioned you. For now, we consider you someone who’s just taken a great deal of interest in the case.”
Martin frowned, nodding slowly. “Yes, the case does fascinate me. I wish I could tell you why, but I have no idea. Maybe I just have too much time on my hands. Maybe it’s because Olivia died the day I appeared and I wonder if there might be some connection.”
“Find anything?”
“No. Not at all. My own identity remains the biggest riddle.”
