by Debra Webb
“Of course, Mrs. Clayton.” Dylan cut Jana off. He scooped her purse from the floor and handed it to her. Better to let the woman think she was fooling them. “There’s no rush at all.”
“Thank you for understanding.” Camille studied Dylan as he and Jana moved into the hallway, and then she pulled the doors shut behind her.
Exchanging quick farewells, Dylan noticed Camille only headed for the family side of the house once Helen was escorting him and Jana back to the front door.
Just what was the lady hiding?
Chapter Six
Jana couldn’t shake the uneasiness crawling under her skin. She’d never been treated as an outsider in her childhood home. Helen had hovered, and Camille was definitely in an odd mood. Her stepmother’s eyes had been clear despite the display of tears, the clouds of sorrow gone. Her voice had held an abrasive edge Jana hadn’t heard before. When she’d hugged Camille, the perfume was all wrong for a trip to the boutique. Jana knew her stepmother’s routine far too well.
Then again, maybe Jana was grasping at straws? Giving herself a mental jog to dispel this abrupt and increasing distrust, she turned to Dylan as he drove away from the house. “Was that weird, or was it just me?”
“Which part?”
“Camille.” Although Helen had been off, too. “She was exactly the way I used to imagine she would be,” she said absently.
He drummed his fingertips on the steering wheel. “What do you mean?”
Jana looked at her purse on the floorboard and thought of the book and its secret hiding place filled with hate mail. Too bad reading in the car made her queasy or she’d be digging in right this instant. “Like I told you before, when Camille first came into the picture I had the normal wicked stepmother issues. I was certain I’d be sent away and pushed out of Dad’s life. But it wasn’t like that.”
“So the type of conversation the two of you just had isn’t normal?”
“Not even close.” The estate would be in probate for months, and according to the will the house belonged to Camille. After her odd behavior Jana wondered if she needed to claim the artwork and sentimental things her dad had earmarked for her before her stepmother changed the locks. Or worse.
“The aftermath of death brings out the abnormal side of people,” Dylan said. “I noticed you didn’t cry while we were there.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Abnormal,” he said, taking his eyes off the road long enough to emphasize his point.
“Are you trying to be insensitive?”
“Maybe,” he agreed. “Humor me. I expected the visit to your dad’s study to be harder on you. What changed?”
Confusion twisted her thoughts. “I’m not sure.” Wouldn’t it be nice if she’d run out of tears? “I went in there expecting to be the rock for my stepmother.”
“Because Camille is so devastated?”
“Yes.” Her stepmother had looked quite good today, but a trip to the boutique would require her best presentation, no surprise there. What did surprise Jana was that if she’d gone to the boutique, why had she suddenly returned to the house? More importantly, why wasn’t she wearing her signature Camille scent?
“You do a pretty impression of a rock.”
Warmed by his words, she turned to the man behind the wheel. “Is that a compliment?”
He nodded and shot her a grin. “It is. Don’t get used to it. I give them sparingly.”
She wasn’t sure how to react to his admission. Jana felt more secure sticking with the case. These other feelings—about him—made her nervous and unsteady. “Camille mentioned visiting the boutique, but I’m not so sure. How long do you think we were there before Camille caught us?”
“Half an hour maybe. What are you thinking?”
“I think Helen called Camille. The drive times would’ve been right, but I don’t think Camille was at the boutique.”
“Because,” Dylan prompted.
She hesitated, bracing for his skepticism. “She didn’t smell right.”
“Go on.”
Jana couldn’t believe he wasn’t laughing at her. “You believe me?”
“I’m open to a full explanation,” he clarified.
“During the holiday season, Camille wears a spicy fragrance for visiting the boutique. She claims it puts people in a buying mood, and it’s named after her. She had it created in France exclusively for her. She has others, but she always wears that one in November and December when she goes to the boutique. Always. The scent she wore today was her power scent. The one she wears when having meetings with powerful men. She swears by it.”
“You’re thinking about the rumors.”
“I am,” she admitted, her chest heavy with the idea. “It’s a big leap. Huge. But what if she was the one having an affair? I thought she and Dad were happy together. There’s never been an inkling of trouble.” What if she’d been wrong? The notion hurt more than she wanted to say out loud just now. The idea that her dad might have been betrayed by the woman he loved was... unthinkable.
“It’s hard to shift an opinion of someone you care about without strong evidence. Sometimes it’s tough with plenty of evidence.”
“Is that the voice of experience talking?” Jana turned to him. Was that why Dylan Parker didn’t like answering personal questions? Wondering about him certainly allowed her to put her own worries out of her mind for a moment.
He raked his fingers through his hair. “Let’s get back to the perfume.”
For reasons she refused to own, she wanted him to open up. Would that be a mistake for both of them? Uncovering the truth about her dad’s death was too important to risk mistakes. Still, she wanted to know more. She might like the man beneath the bodyguard-investigator hat. Jana, you are really going off the deep end.
Setting aside the unsettling musings, she concentrated on what she knew about her stepmother’s methodology. “Camille uses every tool she has. Brains, clothing, fragrance, connections. She brings out whatever the situation requires and applies it liberally to get what she wants.”
“Is that how she landed your dad?”
Jana instantly regretted the way she had framed Camille. “She isn’t cold or as calculating as I made it sound. She has her business side and it’s tough as nails, that’s what I meant.”
“Whichever side she was showing, she wasn’t giving off warm fuzzies back there.”
“We were in a space she considers hers.” The defense might have been automatic, but Dylan had a point. Jana had to stop evaluating people based on the past. It was difficult to imagine someone she loved was capable of murder or even conspiracy. Be that as it may, she had been in politics long enough to know people were not always who they seemed.
“Uh-huh.” Dylan cleared his throat. “If it wasn’t suicide, then the killer is someone he knew well.”
And by default, someone Camille knew well. “I understand what you’re saying, but where’s her motive? She’s quite wealthy in her own right. If something is going on with her and she’s somehow involved in this, it won’t be about money.” There was only so much Jana could process without losing her grip on the composure she’d managed so well today. “Whatever else she’s done or hasn’t done, the perfume she was wearing is one she uses when meeting with powerful men.”
“Smart. I’ll bet she slips right past the defenses of the good old boys’ club.”
“She learned to capitalize on being underestimated. If you’re implying she uses sex to get what she wants, I’m not willing to go there.” Yet.
He raised one hand in surrender. “I’m sure she’s terrific when she isn’t grieving.”
“A select few of Dad’s friends and associates earned direct access through the study door when he was home,” Jana said. She couldn’t let him fixate on Camille. There had to be other, more logical suspects. She couldn’t believe Camille would do such a thing.
“Did Camille tell you all her secrets?”
Jana shook off the worry. “What do
you mean?”
“How do you know what she used her various fragrances for?”
“She was the mother figure in my life.” She shrugged. “More importantly, I wanted my dad’s respect and admiration when it came to my career, so I suppose I studied Camille since she had earned both.”
“My sister did the same. She turned into our mother as she got older.” The hint of a smile tugged at Dylan’s lips. “She disciplines her kids the same way Mom did us. Her Christmas dressing is the same recipe.”
“Do you visit your family often?” Jana hoped her topic shift was smooth enough he wouldn’t notice. His entire demeanor changed when he spoke of his family.
“I was glad your gate code worked,” he said, his voice not quite so gentle. “Do you have keys and a personal code for the alarm system at your childhood home?”
“Sure. Why?” She decided not to bother mentioning that he’d ignored her question. He was well aware. She also didn’t mention that she’d felt some amount of relief that Camille hadn’t changed the codes. Maybe on some level, she was more suspicious of her stepmother than she’d admitted even to herself.
“In case we need to go back in undetected.”
Jana realized Dylan had worried about the same issue. “You thought she might have changed the codes.”
Stopped for a traffic light, he leaned closer. “I’ve met her once,” he said. “You’ve known her for years. My job, in addition to protecting you, is to find the truth. You didn’t shoot your dad, so if not Sam or Camille or Helen, who did?”
The bald truth stung, but even her dad had warned her not to trust anyone. “You’re right.” Dylan didn’t have anything to gain beyond a paycheck. That was the whole reason she’d looked for an objective third party and yet here she sat on the defensive, finding reasons for everyone to be innocent. “I guess that’s why I didn’t mention the flat tire or the second attack by those shooters. I just had this feeling that I needed to keep those events to myself.”
“Good girl.” He flashed her a smile of approval. “I was ready to interrupt and change the subject if you started down that path. I should have warned you that we need to keep most of what we discover and experience to ourselves for now. At least until we have a grasp on who the players are.”
“I can see the benefit in that plan.” Mostly she wished this could be over as quickly as possible. “Can you drop me at the capitol, please? There are some things I want to look into while you do whatever it is you have planned.”
“Maybe you’ve forgotten last night already, but I’m not letting you out of my sight. We’ll go to the office together.”
He had to remind her about last night. Her body reacted instantly, heating at the memory of having him pressed intimately against her. “I’m safe at the capitol,” she said. “Security is everywhere.”
“Yet you didn’t ask them to help you with this.”
He had her there. “Okay, but what will you do while I’m working?”
“I’ll be working, too. There’s enough space in your office for both of us. I’ll go through the hate mail as you suggested.”
She disagreed with the assessment that there was plenty of room. It had been tough enough working in the close confines of his hotel room yesterday. After their wrestling match in the dark, after feeling the strength of him stretched out over her body and the lusty dreams...
“Jana?”
She snapped out of it, feeling the heat flooding her face. “My mind wandered. Sorry.”
“Uh-huh.”
She had the distinct impression he knew exactly where her mind had wandered. “What did I miss?”
He shot her another grin. “An opportunity to argue with me about my protective services.”
“That’ll teach me to allow my mind to wander.” Especially along that path.
He turned onto North Congress Street and entered the parking garage. When he’d pulled into a visitor’s space, he cut the engine and turned her way. “The sooner we figure this out, the sooner you won’t be stuck with me following you around.”
“Right.” Sensible. That was exactly what she wanted. He’d rounded the hood and opened her door before she could open it herself. “Thanks.”
She hesitated before getting out, enjoying the eye-to-eye view. His blue eyes were so bright and steady, his unflinching gaze exuding confidence in himself and his abilities. “How did you wind up here?” she asked, knowing he likely wouldn’t answer this personal question any more than he had the others.
“You mean working as a Protector with the Guardian Agency?
She nodded.
“Long story.” He stepped back, giving her more room to hop out of the truck. “If you still want to know when we’ve resolved your case, I’ll tell you.”
“I’ll want to know,” she promised as they started up the long walk. “I’d even take a quick preview now, if you don’t mind.”
He laughed, the low, rusty sound intriguing her. “Things went south in Montana, so I went south, too.”
“Oh, how informative.”
He opened the door for her. “You asked for a preview. Even blockbuster movies only give you a teaser.”
It scared her to realize how much she wanted the entire feature. Was she latching onto the one person who listened to her murder theory? Or was she fascinated by Dylan because something about him cranked up her hormones? Neither option was typical behavior for her. Whatever the reason, she liked this man. He could be brutally straightforward, but he’d done his job—more than she realized she’d hired him to do—and saved her life twice. When she wasn’t on the verge of tears, he listened attentively. All that made her think there were several more layers to Dylan Parker than the superficial one she had noticed that first day.
As they cleared security and found themselves alone in the elevator she asked, “You left Montana because of a woman, didn’t you?”
His eyes were full of lethal charm whenever he smiled, but the scowl on his face now was intimidating. Blond eyebrows dipped low over eyes that were as cold and hard as a frozen lake.
She’d crossed a line, obviously, but while that gaze told her to back off, she realized she wasn’t the least bit afraid. “Forget I asked.”
Dylan knew he wouldn’t forget, primarily because he wanted to tell her the whole story. Surprising and really dumb, but true. Maybe if he made it relevant to her situation she’d be more willing to look at the people she knew as potential suspects.
“You can be pushy,” he said as the elevator doors opened.
Instead of being insulted, she aimed a grin at him. “That’s a big compliment in the political arena.”
Something had shifted since Maguire had ticked her off and the bikers had taken another shot at her. Her stepmother’s behavior this morning had an impact as well. He liked this edge of determination. Even if she wasn’t quite ready to start pointing fingers, she was distancing herself from her emotions so she could think more objectively.
As they returned to the senator’s suite of offices, she introduced him to Rose, the receptionist. Rose had decided to come into the office and go through the mail. After a few exchanged pleasantries, they retreated to Jana’s office.
Dylan had brought in his computer bag from the truck. Between the update he hoped Claudia had sent and the book of hate mail, he had more than enough to keep him busy.
Jana cleared a small worktable for him in the corner near the window. Though she apologized for the lack of space, he considered the position an advantage. Anyone who walked in to speak with her wouldn’t see him right away. A few unguarded seconds often proved informative when sizing up potential suspects.
While his computer booted up, he started with the hate mail, figuring it would be easy to hide his search by just closing the book. The handwritten letters spouting fury, outrageous accusations, withdrawal of support, and worse were nothing out of the ordinary for a politician, in Dylan’s opinion.
At her desk, Jana worked in studious silence until R
ose popped in and asked about lunch. While the receptionist handled the deli run, Dylan used the time to examine the senator’s office again. He made quick work of his second time through the bookshelves. He found another book with a secret compartment, this one empty, but he also noticed a familiar sculpture.
Checking the pictures on his phone, he realized the two star-shaped statues were identical. He picked up the small piece and examined it closely. It was exactly like the one at the senator’s study at home. A panel on the base popped loose and he discovered an odd shaped key.
He was about to go share the news with Jana when he heard Maguire’s voice in the outer office. Pocketing the key, he pulled one of the senator’s philosophy books off the shelf and eased himself into one of the visitor’s chairs in front of the big executive desk.
“Glad I caught you,” Maguire was saying. “I just came from a meeting with the governor.”
“Has he decided who will finish Dad’s term?”
Dylan hoped Jana, or someone smart enough to keep her around, would be chosen. Much as he ignored politics, spending time with her was giving him a view of the positive, effective side of things.
“With only a year left, the governor went with the obvious choice.”
“Really?” Jana’s voice brightened with anticipation.
“Oh, not me,” Maguire said. “Though I would’ve been honored.”
What a jerk, Dylan thought. The man had to know Jana considered herself the obvious choice. He leaned a bit toward the door hoping to catch a peek at Maguire. Sure enough, the chief of staff rocked back on his heels, his chest puffed out, looking as smug as he sounded. Dylan had been involved in nasty cases, done some things that would make most people cringe, but few things turned ugly as quickly as money and politics.
Holding the book, Dylan stood and stepped into Maguire’s view. “Did you come to tell Jana the job’s hers?”
Maguire might’ve given himself whiplash as his head swiveled toward Dylan. “What are you doing here?”
He held up the book. “The university library. According to my notes, Senator Clayton enjoyed philosophy.”
