by Rachel Grant
Libby followed him through the living room to the front door. He opened the door, and then stopped. He turned and grabbed her waist, pulling her to him. “I almost forgot one thing. This.” Then Jason kissed her.
She nearly lost her balance and placed her hands on his chest to steady herself. The kiss had caught her completely off-guard. Stunned, she barely managed to remember this man was her client’s son—she couldn’t blithely shove him away, to hell with the consequences. Instead, she gently pushed at his chest and stepped back. “Jason, I can’t.”
“You’ve told me about your client’s brother. I’m not like him. This won’t affect the project.”
She could use her relationship with Mark as an excuse, but that would be tantamount to saying, I’d be with you if I wasn’t with Mark, which wasn’t true, and given their rivalry, was the kind of thing that could lead to more trouble between them.
“I’m sorry, Jason. This isn’t what I want. I’m flattered, but I can’t get involved with you.”
His face was unreadable. She worried her words were too harsh.
“You don’t sound likely to change your mind.”
“I won’t.”
“I can still hope.”
“Don’t.”
He nodded and disappeared through the door.
What the hell was that about? She’d still bet her business the man was really interested in Simone. Maybe he already knew of her involvement with Mark, and the rivalry between them went deeper than Mark was willing to admit.
MARK COULDN’T BELIEVE WHAT he’d witnessed. Jason had kissed Libby. And she didn’t shove him away. Shock and hurt didn’t begin to describe how he felt as he drove aimlessly across town, away from the scene he couldn’t get out of his mind. His knuckles on the steering wheel were white. He needed to get his emotions under control.
Aaron’s words echoed in his head. They’d been the reason he’d gone to the Shelby house—to talk to Libby. Not to confront her. No. He’d managed to close the door on doubt, and just wanted to see her. He’d forgotten about her lunch meeting with Jason until he saw the gold Lexus parked out front, and then he’d been reluctant to interrupt, so he’d waited.
Jason. Again. The old wound opened, ten times more painful.
Back at the station, he escaped into his office. A message from Bobby waited on his desk. He called his ex-partner and close friend. He needed to talk to someone, and Bobby was the sharpest judge of character he knew. “What’s going on, Bobby?”
“Brady’s not our guy. Not for Thursday, anyway. He used his ATM card in Seattle at 11:30 that night. We’ve got video from both the machine and the convenience store.”
“Brady called me today. He must’ve known he was in the clear. He’s pissed and wanted to rattle me.” Mark didn’t add he’d been successful.
“I don’t like him, but we haven’t got anything on him. I’ve talked to Internal Affairs. They’re dropping their investigation. Brady may have stalked her before, but he didn’t attack her Thursday. In fact, I’ve got a few questions about her myself.”
A wave of unease washed over him. When Bobby followed his gut, he was the best investigator there was. “What?”
“Her friend Atherton. I caught her spying on Brady this weekend. I was doing a drive-by, to check up on him, when I saw her staked out by his apartment.”
“She’s worried about Libby.”
“Maybe, but I’m not sure. She was sitting in her car, in front of his building. So I climbed in the passenger seat, uninvited. I scooped some papers off the seat before sitting down. One of those papers was Brady’s work schedule.”
“How did she get his schedule?”
“She claimed she got it from a contact in his precinct. But there’s more. She had a camera. I asked her if she was the one who altered the photos used as evidence against Brady before. She admitted she was.”
“Some people don’t know what the right to remain silent means.”
“Thank God, or we’d never have anything to work with. Anyway, she said she was just checking up on him and had purchased a new camera for the dig. She claimed she was trying the features on the new camera while she waited to see if Aaron was home. I don’t buy it. Her story was too pat. Seems these women are too willing to cheat to get what they want.”
“Could just be Atherton. Libby said she didn’t know about the photos being altered until a few months ago.”
Bobby paused. “Don’t tell me you’re screwing Libby Maitland.”
He exercised his right to remain silent.
“What the fuck are you thinking? She’s a victim and a potential suspect.”
“I took her off the suspect list a week ago. My gut says she’s on the level.”
“That’s your dick talking. Usually I’m the one who makes that mistake. You’ve got to end any relationship you have with her. Now. Jesus, do you want to lose your job?”
“I won’t lose my job because of Libby.”
“Didn’t you tell me she tampered with evidence in your murder case?”
“She opened one box and copied some cassettes for her report. If she’d opened all the boxes before we identified Angela, it wouldn’t have been an issue.”
“You’re in deep, buddy, if you’re making excuses for her. Think about this. With Aaron Brady no longer a suspect, who else have you got? Libby has spent the last week trying to convince you he’s our guy, but we know he’s not the one. Her buddy Atherton has gone to some length to keep tabs on him. Why? Why was Maitland so eager to implicate Brady? She’s the best suspect you’ve got.”
If anyone else had asked those questions, Mark could ignore them. But he trusted Bobby’s judgment implicitly. Cold dread ran through him. “I’ll think about it,” he said, and hung up.
He rested his forehead on his fingertips, shaken to the core. Had he made a huge judgment mistake? Hell, it wasn’t nearly so simple.
He’d fallen in love with her.
But Bobby was right. He had to consider her as a suspect. Aaron’s claim he’d slept with her had been convincing. If she lied about whether or not she had sex with him—when she could easily have told him the truth—what else had she lied about?
After seeing her in Jason’s arms, her guilt seemed…possible. She could be playing Jason for financial reasons. Just like Brady claimed.
Luke knocked and then poked his head inside. “Chief, we need to finish going over the results in the Maitland investigation.” He entered the room and shut the door. “You aren’t going to like my findings. It’s no secret you’re involved with her.”
“Don’t make assumptions about my feelings or my ability to do the job, Officer Roth.”
Luke’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Sorry, Chief.” He placed a stack of papers in front of Mark. “First of all, I obtained copies of all of her phone records for the last month. As Simone Atherton claimed, the phone call that was made to her at two a.m. Tuesday morning originated from the Shelby house. That could mean the stalker was there, in the house with her, but I’m inclined to think Maitland made that call herself. Atherton doesn’t have a landline, so the call came on her cell phone, which is not an easy number to obtain.”
Mark nodded, not liking the scenario, but aware he’d asked for trouble when he got involved with a woman connected to two active investigations.
“I’ve also followed up on the two gas jugs left at the Shelby house Thursday night. We found one empty jug inside the kitchen and a second full jug on the back porch. Libby Maitland bought two gas jugs and duct tape from Doug’s Hardware two weeks ago. They have surveillance camera footage and a credit-card receipt.”
In his role of devil’s advocate, Mark said, “Those are both reasonable purchases. There are two gas-powered generators at the site.”
“There’s more.”
Mark steeled himself.
“There was a price sticker on one of the cans. The sticker indicated the jug was purchased from Doug’s, which means they are probably the same jugs purchas
ed by her. Furthermore, we got partial prints off the cans, and we have a thumb and ring finger match with her prints, which she provided Thursday night for comparative purposes with the prints we lifted from the kitchen in her house.”
“Go on.”
“We’d talked to the neighbors Friday morning, asking if they’d seen the prowler the night before, but we hadn’t asked about Maitland’s activities. So yesterday I questioned the neighbors again. The next-door neighbor said she returned home from work Thursday sometime between noon and one o’clock. She was wearing dirty field clothes—including a blue T-shirt with some sort of white design or logo.
“The neighbor said she unloaded two large red plastic gasoline jugs from the back of her Suburban and left them on the porch. Our witness states that her movements indicated the jugs were heavy. The neighbor, Eli Banks, said he thought it was odd that she’d leave full gas containers on her porch. He’s eighty-seven and doesn’t get around very well. He spends much of his time on the upper balcony in the back of his house, or on his front porch.”
He had to listen to Luke’s evidence as a cop. As a cop, her activities bothered Mark. “It’s reasonable to assume she filled the gas jugs on the way home, then placed them on the porch so the fumes wouldn’t fill her vehicle. Her attacker could have made use of the jugs when he found them.”
“Then why didn’t she tell us she brought the jugs home herself?”
“That’s the first question we need to ask her when you bring her in.” Officially she was a suspect. If he didn’t treat her like one, the repercussions would be enormous.
“I don’t think she was hit with a Taser at all, Chief.”
“She has wounds on her shoulder from the probes.” He’d seen those small scabs repeatedly over the weekend.
“I think she pricked herself with the barbs then tossed the Taser in the backyard for us to find. We downloaded the firing history from the weapon. It had been fired once, for less than a second. Traceable tags discharge when a Taser is fired. She could have fired it once to scatter the tags we found throughout the kitchen. Those particular tags traced to Maitland’s weapon. She purchased that Taser cartridge a week ago Saturday. Even if the firing log was inaccurate, the jolts she described should have depleted the alkaline batteries in the Taser. The batteries were full.”
“Did you check the batteries for fingerprints?”
“Hers were the only ones on the batteries, and on the Taser. I think she’s a superb actress.”
A surreal emotional detachment descended upon him. Yes, she is.
“There’s more,” Luke said. “Her fingerprints were on the adhesive side of the duct tape that bound her, and her fingerprints were on the Molotov cocktail. We wondered why it didn’t break, how the flame was extinguished before the room went up. The answer is simple. She staged it all.”
“But how could she tape up her own wrists?”
“Her wrists were bound in front of her. So I tried it myself. Taping my wrists was easy. The hardest part would have been ripping off the roll, which is probably why the roll of tape was still attached at her wrists when you arrived.”
“What about the gas? It would be dangerous for her to fill the kitchen with propane when she was coated in gasoline.”
“I don’t think it was such a big risk. You said in your report that the back door was open—letting fresh air in. All she had to do was wait for you to knock. Then she could have turned on the burners and rolled around in the gasoline on the floor.”
He was bloodless. Adrift. The image of her in Jason’s arms came rushing back and he could see the calculation in her stance. The perfection in her understated response.
Had she planned their argument Thursday night? He carefully went over the sequence of events in his mind. She confessed to opening the box unexpectedly, knowing he would be upset. The argument was the catalyst. He’d fallen for it.
There was only one thing missing from Luke’s scenario. “She’s not crazy, and she couldn’t actually believe she’d be able to frame Brady. Too many variables out of her control. She’s smart enough to realize that. So what’s her motive?”
“The project for Caruthers Commercial Development is in serious financial trouble.”
He frowned at the young officer. “We don’t have a warrant to look into her finances.”
“I talked to the reporter who was at the library last week. He’s working on a story about her and the possibility that she’s created a stalker for herself because she seriously underbid the project. I believe she wants to make it look like someone is trying to stop the development by harassing her. Under those circumstances, she can claim to be too scared to finish the project and bow out. Jack would have to release her if she has reason to fear for her and her crew’s safety. This motive lines up with what she attempted with Brady three years ago, which the reporter also knew about. She was losing money on a project when she got involved with him, then tried to use his supposed stalking in the courts to help recoup her losses. She failed. I think she learned from that mistake and is being more proactive this time around.”
Shit. Libby had given him her scope of work but refused to show him her cost proposal. Why all the secrecy if she didn’t have something to hide?
Brady’s words came back to him. She’ll fuck anything to get what she wants.
“Where did the reporter get his information?”
“He didn’t reveal his sources. I called around and learned the Corps of Engineers made several changes to the scope of work for the Caruthers project. Including a recent one that has apparently sent her costs spiraling out of control.”
“Who did you talk to?”
“The Corps archaeologist, Dan Parker. He confirmed that the scope changed after the contract with Caruthers Commercial Development was signed. Each time more work was added, right up to the major addition that happened a week and a half ago. He claims he doesn’t know anything about the project finances or if scoping changes will result in more money to Maitland’s company. That’s between her and the client.
“We’ve got her solid, Chief.” He raised a hand and ticked off the evidence. “The phone call from her house, an eyewitness who places her with the gas cans, the duct tape was hers, her Taser with full batteries, her fingerprints on the tape and Molotov cocktail, and, she knew you were coming back—just in time to rescue her from her imaginary assailant.” Luke paused. “You were her insurance policy.”
Mark supposed that should bother him, but now an eerie detachment kept him from caring. He considered Luke’s theory. In this instance, the evidence, all the facts available to him, pointed in one direction.
If Libby was the woman Aaron warned him against, then she was capable of what Luke described. She’d fabricated evidence when she doctored photos of Aaron. Just days ago she’d tampered with evidence when she opened the box and copied the tapes.
A woman who fabricated evidence would do anything to achieve her goal. Tampering with evidence proved she would do anything to save her business. By standing in Jason’s arms, she showed she was a woman who would do anything to save herself.
Bobby was right. He’d followed his dick. He’d thought he was falling in love. But it had all been an act on her part. For her, it was all about money. Sex with him had been her insurance. She got involved with the police chief so no one would look too carefully at her actions. She could seduce him, and get out of a project she couldn’t afford to complete.
How many times had she said her business would fail if she couldn’t give Rosalie Warren the report she wanted? This was just another way to avoid that.
“Pick her up.”
“Bring her in for questioning, or arrest her?”
“Arrest her.”
“The charge?”
“Start with attempted arson.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
LIBBY RETURNED TO THE ARCHAEOLOGICAL site mid-afternoon. She stood under the canopy with Simone, a site map rolled out on the table between them, arguin
g over where to place the next excavation block. Most of the crew was lying in the grass on a hillside, taking their afternoon break.
Alex paced near the screening station, talking on his cell phone. He looked agitated and Libby wondered what was wrong. He shut his phone and turned to her. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”
She followed him to the gravel lot.
“I was just on the phone with a friend of mine who works for Amy Seaver.”
At the mention of the name, Libby stiffened. To say that she and Amy didn’t get along was like calling the Grand Canyon a valley. Amy Seaver was a competitor with whom she shared a relationship of mutual animosity.
“Amy said you seriously messed up the bid on this project, and that you’re going under.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Seeing the look of concern on Alex’s face, she continued, “Alex, you can’t believe anything she says about me. Your job is secure.”
“I’m not worried about my job. I know she’s evil. I’ve worked for her.”
Libby nodded; so had she, a decade ago.
“But it gets worse. Amy’s telling people you’ve been faking having a stalker so you could get out of this contract.”
“That’s insane.”
“The assault on Thursday was picked up by the Seattle papers when a reporter realized you were the same archaeologist who found Angela Caruthers. That reporter spoke with Amy.”
“Oh crap,” she said, feeling as though she’d been hit in the solar plexus. She remembered the reporter at the library Wednesday night. He wouldn’t hesitate to print Amy’s lies. “She wants this project.” Just like last time. Amy had taken over the project after Aaron’s brother fired her.
Alex nodded.
She sat abruptly, feeling as if a ghost of the Taser jolts ran through her system.
“Libby? Are you okay?”
“I’ve got to think.”
How the hell do I handle this?
Call the reporter? No. Talking to a reporter could only make matters worse. But if the paper printed the story, what would she do with the shreds of her reputation?
