by Cassie Miles
“The reason Kate and Wayne Silverman disappeared in the mountains.”
“Which is?”
“I don’t know,” Liam said.
“If you uncover any clues,” Briggs said, “you’ll be turning them over to Detective Clauson. Right?”
Liam nodded. He knew the police were better equipped to follow up on investigation. His only real goal was to keep Kate safe.
Outside Shelby’s Café in the Governor’s Park area of Denver, where many of the beautiful, old mansions had been preserved as office space or condos, Briggs parked illegally in a loading zone. “Molly and I will stay with the car,” he said. “Liam, are you armed?”
He shook his head. It was warm today, and he wore only jeans and a white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up. There hadn’t been a place to hide the Glock.
“Glove compartment,” Briggs said.
Liam reached inside. There was a .22-caliber automatic pistol in an ankle holster.
“You’re not licensed to carry this weapon,” Briggs said. “But I don’t want you to walk into a possible trap unarmed.”
From the back seat, Kate piped up. “I’m sure Mickey would never do anything to hurt me. He thinks I’m his meal ticket.”
“The reporter doesn’t worry me,” Briggs said darkly. “But you’ve already been attacked once by a professional. Remember that, Kate. Keep your guard up.”
Liam remembered all too well. She was in danger. Everywhere she went. Every move she made. Danger.
Though the ankle holster felt clumsy, he was glad to have the firepower. He glanced through the passenger window toward the restaurant, where sidewalk tables were filled with patrons on this sunny Colorado day. “I don’t see Mickey.”
“A bad sign,” Briggs said. “If he set you up, he might not want to be present for the attack.”
Oh, yes, he would. Liam couldn’t imagine Mickey passing up a scoop. Another attack on Kate? He’d be here with eighteen cameras hanging around his scrawny neck.
Kate pointed. “That’s Rachel Robertson.”
“Where?”
“The redhead with turquoise jewelry.”
A tall woman stood in the shadow of the awning. Tucked under one arm was a large folder.
“You’ve mentioned her before,” Liam said. “Who is she?”
“Rachel oversees three different shelters in the downtown area. The woman is a saint, completely dedicated to her work with the homeless. RMS has been funding her for years.”
Rachel impatiently checked her wristwatch. She ap peared to be waiting for someone. Liam wondered aloud, “Could she be Mickey’s source?”
Briggs said, “There’s only one way to find out. Approach her.”
Leaving the car with Kate at his side, Liam scanned the outdoor tables. It was a casual, urban crowd. No one stood out. No one sat at a table alone. His gaze darted toward the shop on one side of Shelby’s Café. A health food store. Could there be an assassin lurking among the herbal tea and homeopathic remedies?
As they came closer to Rachel, the red-haired woman gave them a warm smile and came forward to hug Kate.
“I was worried about you,” Rachel said.
“You know me,” Kate said. “I may take a tumble, but I always land on my feet.”
“After all these years planning fund-raisers, I should have known that.” Rachel cocked her head to one side as she studied Kate. “You look different.”
“Well, I lost a lot of weight. And the hair—”
“It’s something else. I’ve never seen your eyes so bright. It looks like you swallowed a jar of lightning bugs. You’re…happy.”
“I’ve been happy before,” Kate said.
“Not like this.”
Liam immediately liked this natural-looking woman with her tan made up entirely of freckles. Heavy turquoise-and-silver bracelets circled her bare, well-toned arms. Her smile and handshake showed a firm, unflappable strength. “Were we supposed to meet you?” he asked.
“Mickey said to come here. But I don’t see him anywhere around.” She shrugged and placed her folder in Kate’s hands. “Here’s the information he requested.”
“What is it?”
“Accounting records,” she said. “Of course, I refused to hand over this confidential data to a reporter.”
“Of course,” Kate said. As she glanced to the left, she saw three people at an outdoor table eyeing her curiously. Her photograph was all over the newspapers and television. It was only a matter of time before somebody recognized her.
Though she was accustomed to being noticed, this scrutiny was different. She felt freakish. “I’m afraid if we stay for lunch, the reporters are going to descend.”
“I understand,” Rachel said. “You’re the flavor of the week, and everybody wants a taste.”
“Do you have any idea why Mickey wanted this information?”
“He just said that you needed it.” She clasped Kate’s hand. “If there’s anything else I can do to help, let me know.”
As she met Rachel’s calm, blue eyes, Kate saw an honest concern. With everything else this woman had to worry about—finding shelter, food and medicine for disenfranchised citizens—it seemed impossible that she could squeeze out another drop of compassion.
“Someday soon,” Kate said, “you and I are going to establish that camp for kids. I learned so much while I was in the mountains.”
“In the meantime, I’ll see you on Saturday at the summer gala.” Rachel hugged her again. “I love that you plugged the event at your press conference. You’re a good person, Kate. Never forget that.”
If she was such a stalwart, upstanding member of the community, why was someone trying to kill her?
AT THE CARRADINE MANSION, Briggs maneuvered his car through a veritable parking lot of news vehicles. Liam counted five broadcast vans from television outlets. Apparently, Kate’s return had become national news. Mickey ought to be thrilled. And where was that little weasel? The fact that he hadn’t showed for their appointment was worrisome.
Briggs got as close to the front door as possible, and Kate made a mad dash inside. Though the police kept the reporters at bay, there was a lot of shouting for attention. Long-range lenses aimed over the shrubs. Liam wondered if anyone was patrolling the rear entrance to the property, where he and Kate had parked the day before. “You’d think they had something better to take pictures of.”
“I’m not anxious to step out there,” Briggs said.
“Don’t worry,” Molly said as she exited the car. “I’ll distract them.”
She climbed out of the car on the side facing the reporters. Tossing her hair, Molly posed and waved like a prom queen.
Briggs turned to him. “I wanted a private word with you, Liam. Without Kate being around.”
“Shoot.”
“Are you withholding information from the police?”
Liam met his gaze. He couldn’t lie to Briggs. “I haven’t told Clauson everything. I promised Kate that I wouldn’t.”
“You know better,” Briggs said. “You used to work for the D.A.’s office.”
But he wouldn’t betray her. No matter what.
Briggs continued. “This is a missing-person investigation. A probable homicide. You need to come clean with Detective Clauson.”
“I need to respect Kate’s wishes,” Liam said. “She comes first.”
“Does she feel the same about you?”
“I don’t know.” Liam wanted to believe she did.
Briggs’s steely eyes narrowed. “Kate is the kind of woman who always gets what she wants. Be careful she’s not playing you.”
Molly tapped on Briggs’s window. “Are you guys coming, or what?”
Briggs retorted, “Are you done acting like a starlet at the Cannes Film Festival?”
“They’ve got telephoto lenses,” she said. “I might as well give them something to shoot.”
Under his breath, Briggs muttered, “If she wasn’t so good at her job, I’d fire h
er ass.”
“That would be a damn shame,” Liam said. “Molly has a fine ass.”
He grabbed the oversize envelope, containing maps, and the financial folder from Rachel Robertson. Together with Briggs and Molly, he hurried inside the Carradine mansion.
In the marbled front foyer, Kate stood waiting. With the efficiency of a traffic cop, she directed them. “You two men take over the study. You’ll want to spread out those maps and the information from Rachel. Molly, come with me.”
Liam wasn’t about to be brushed off so easily. Was she playing him? Using him to get what she wanted? If he came right out and asked, would she lie?
He leaned close to her ear and asked, “Is Tom here?”
“No. I already asked Mom. She said that he was staying home today to avoid the reporters.”
“We need to talk to him.”
She gave him a questioning look. “Is something wrong?”
A lot was wrong. Danger hung ever present around them. He had doubts about the police investigation that seemed to be going nowhere. And even more doubt about their own attempts to investigate. “We should talk to Tom right away.”
“I’ll put through a call. I can get him to come here.” She added, “Jonathan’s gone, too. He’s in the mountains, at the Cougar Creek development.”
“The coward left town,” Liam said.
“I think he wants to avoid any negative press on his pet project,” she said. “When the going gets tough, the CEO gets gone.”
She gave him a little kiss on the cheek and swept Molly toward the back sitting room.
When Liam entered the study, with its wall of untouched books and its aura of quiet, Briggs was completing a call on his cell phone. He turned to Liam. “That was Clauson. It seems that Silverman’s Ford Explorer spent some time in a body shop a month ago, for a complete paint and reupholstery job. The guy who worked on it remembered the smell of smoke.”
“So Kate’s memory of the fire was correct.” Liam was relieved. Her remembrance was vindicated by the facts. “Who brought it in?”
“They used Silverman’s name and paid in cash.” Briggs sat in the leather chair behind the antique desk. “The guy who picked it up fits the description Kate gave to the cops of the professional assassin who attacked at her house. He was wearing golfing gloves.”
“Fast work by the cops,” Liam said.
“They started with the upscale shops. The kind of place where the Carradines take their cars.”
Liam wasn’t surprised, since his list of possible suspects were all people close to Kate.
The problem was that they were all high-profile individuals with a lot of money and influence. Investigating them was a nightmare. If Clauson started putting on pressure, these suspects would be quickly lawyered up, safely cocooned by their wealth.
“You know,” Briggs said, “you’re not doing Kate any favors by withholding information. Somebody wants her dead. The longer the police go without an arrest, the more desperate the attacks are going to become.”
“How fast do you think the police would arrest somebody associated with this family?”
“If they’ve committed a crime—”
“Come off it, Briggs. These people aren’t like your average criminals. And this isn’t an ordinary crime. Hell, there isn’t even a body. Do you really think Clauson can waltz through that marble entryway and slap the cuffs on somebody in this house?”
“Who did you have in mind?”
“I don’t know.” He cracked open the financial data handed over by Rachel Robertson. “Let’s start sifting through this stuff. If we’re lucky, we might actually find evidence.”
After half an hour of studying the outlines of operational expenses, income and expenditures for three different homeless shelters, Liam saw no red flags. Everything had been carefully detailed, balanced and audited. This information was useless when taken out of context. What had Mickey wanted to show them?
His mood lightened when Kate whisked through the door into the study. In her delicate sandals, her step was graceful. Her expression, guileless. She looked like a breath of pure, fresh air. How could he think that she was using him?
She beamed at Briggs. “Molly is fabulous.”
“She’s not bad,” he said.
“Not bad? She’s überorganized. All the details are under control, and my mother adores her.”
Liam grumbled, “Things aren’t going so well in here.”
She circled the desk to stand beside him. When she got close, there was still a tantalizing hint of her perfume. Subtly, she rubbed her arm against his. “What’s the problem?”
“This information from Rachel only shows that she’s a conscientious administrator. By itself, it has no relevance,” Liam said. “Check your cell phone, Kate. See if Mickey tried to call.”
She removed her cell from her jeans pocket and scrolled through the message display. “Nothing from Mickey.”
Liam stared down at the pages of the financial statements—neat little numbers all in a row. They had to mean something. “Somehow, Rachel’s accounting documents are linked with Wayne Silverman. His motives. His plans.”
Kate shook her head. “I’m sure Wayne had nothing to do with these accounts. His law firm is exclusive and expensive. They wouldn’t be doing work for Rachel Robertson’s nonprofit homeless shelters.”
“The connection has to be RMS,” Liam said. “Wayne is involved in doing the audits for RMS. And the charitable side of your family’s business donates a boatload of money to this cause.”
“So we need RMS accounting data, for comparison.” She flipped open her cell phone again. “No problem.”
As she strolled away from the desk, he admired her confident gait. She stood at the bay window, talking on her cell and gazing out at the landscaping. Her upraised hand rested on the polished oak of the window frame. Her profile reflected palely in the glass. She was a part of this house, this world.
He caught only a few words of her conversation. “…printout on fund-raisers. Profit and loss…” Her lips pulled back from her pearly-white teeth in a grin. “…immediately, if not sooner. By fax…” She leaned against the frame. Her back arched slightly. Her breasts lifted.
He wanted to make love to her. Here and now. To sweep all the papers off the desk and claim her. He was sick and tired of piecing together an investigation without all the facts, going against the directions of the police, against Briggs’s advice.
All he wanted was to be alone with Kate. Without bodyguards. Without the threat of attack from vandals or assassins. They’d be a hell of a lot better off if he could take her back to the mountains, where she’d be safe.
Briggs stepped away from the desk to greet Peter Rowe, who had glided into the study. “Gentlemen,” he said, raising a tumbler filled with amber liquid. “A drink?”
Both Briggs and Liam refused. Liam moved in front of the desk, blocking Peter’s view of the documents. If he saw this information, he might know where they were headed with their investigation.
Though Kate believed that Peter was blissfully happy with her mother, Liam considered him to be suspicious. Especially if money was involved. Peter’s cash flow depended on Elizabeth. He might be greedy, might want more of his own.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Peter said.
“It’s your house,” Liam responded ungraciously.
Peter’s ready smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I came in here to escape from the world of caterers and florists.”
“I thought you took an interest in the charitable side of RMS,” Liam said. He was thinking of the necklace, and Peter’s supposed trip to the jeweler. How could he work around to that topic? “The fancy dress balls.”
“I take a certain satisfaction in escorting my lovely wife.” Peter sipped his drink. “By the way, Mr. Briggs, your Molly is quite the organizational whiz. Watch out or we’ll hire her away from you.”
“About the summer gala,” Liam said. There had to be some subtl
e way to ask about the necklace. “What do you wear to something like that?”
“A tux,” Peter said. “That’s proper attire for a blacktie event.”
“And there’s all the stuff that goes with a tux. Like cuff links. Diamond cuff links.”
“Perhaps,” Peter said.
Obviously, Liam had lost his touch for interrogation. He never stammered around like this when he’d worked for the D.A.’s office. Back then, he had the authority to ask questions. Now, he was some kind of weird, amateur sleuth. Hercule Poirot in Levi’s.
He tried again. “Will Elizabeth be wearing her diamonds?”
Peter exchanged a look with Briggs. Then both men looked at Liam. Dryly, Peter questioned, “Her diamonds?”
“You know,” Liam continued, digging himself in deeper, “like earrings or a bracelet or—”
“Hey!” Kate had finished her phone call and joined the three men. “What are we talking about?”
“I’m not quite sure,” Peter said. “Liam seems to have developed an interest in accessories for formal events.”
“Will you excuse us for a moment?”
She linked her arm with Liam’s and pulled him into the hallway. She whispered, “What are you doing?”
“I was working up to asking Peter about the necklace. Not very smoothly.” He shrugged. “Who were you talking to on the phone?”
“The chief financial officer of RMS. He’s faxing me the documents.” She directed him through the house, toward the backyard. “Liam, I want to get away from here. There’s too much going on. I can’t think. If I can’t concentrate, my memory is never going to come back.”
They stepped outside. As soon as the sun hit his face, Liam’s brain cleared. He inhaled a deep breath of fresh air.
She glanced over her shoulder at the house. “It feels like I’m being watched every second.”
“That might be because of me.” He linked his hand with hers as they strolled toward the gazebo. “I can’t take my eyes off you.”
“That’s different.” She lifted her chin, ready for a kiss. “I like having attention from you.”
Before he could kiss her, Liam heard a thump and a muffled groan. “What was that?”
The sound was coming from the gazebo. Liam drew the pistol from his ankle holster before charging up the three steps into the filigreed structure.
