Grave Danger

by Rachel Grant

“That’s what I’d like to know. We’ll get to the bottom of this. Tonight, spend some time writing down everything that’s happened since your truck was stolen. Maybe a pattern will appear.”

  She nodded and tried to smile, but her life had taken on the surreal quality of a Warner Brothers cartoon. She was the hapless victim of a cunning trickster. This couldn’t be happening to her. She was the type of person who put money in parking meters on Sunday, just to be sure.

  The reality of her situation hit her with a clarity she’d missed up to now. She’d focused on Mark and her personal devastation, but this was so much worse than that. She’d been arrested. She could face trial. For a felony. “I don’t know how I’m going to pay for your counsel, Jason,” she said dully.

  “Didn’t you just say you’re taking my dad to the cleaners?” he asked lightly.

  She tried to give him a token laugh. All she could make was a dry choking sound.

  He lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his warm brown eyes. “Listen, Libby, I’m certain the cops are building a case against Jack and he’s going to be charged with my mother’s murder. He didn’t do it, and we’re going to need you as a defense witness. You’re no good without credibility. I will restore your credibility before he goes to trial. Pro bono.”

  “How can you be sure I’d be useful for his defense?”

  His hand dropped from her chin while his eyes remained fixed on hers. “You would speak the truth. If he had buried my mom there, he would never have paid you to do the excavation. He knew your methods. He knew the scope. He’d have known she’d be found.”

  She nodded. “I said the same thing to Mark.”

  “A man who doesn’t listen to reason. But a jury will.”

  That Jason believed her without hesitation when her lover was ready to toss her ass in jail caused her to crumble. She couldn’t stop the tear that escaped. Not now. Not here. She breathed deeply and wiped her eyes. She hoped no one on the other side of the mirror watched.

  Jason looked at her sympathetically. “Listen, I’m going to post bail and get you out of here.”

  Relief made her spine lose its starch. “Thank you.”

  He pulled her to him and supported her. His hand cupped the back of her head and stroked her hair while his body heat gave her the strength to stand.

  “If I go home, and somebody attacks me again, will anyone come to my aid?” she asked against his chest.

  “The alarm system is top of the line. The alarm monitoring company will notify emergency services. They have to respond. But even so, you shouldn’t be alone. Have Simone stay with you. She can be useful. For a change.”

  OF COURSE JASON HAD RACED to Libby’s side. Mark had known he would. Jason’s surprise at learning they were lovers was as damning as all the evidence Luke had outlined, and only confirmed Mark’s suspicion that Libby was using them both.

  The interview was over and Sara waited for his feedback, but he was transfixed by the sight of Libby in Jason’s arms. Again. He couldn’t turn away. Jason slid his fingers through her silky hair as though he had the right. Mark’s stone façade developed fractures.

  “We need to see the cost proposal,” Sara said.

  “Get a warrant. And make sure it covers all her financial records. I want to know how she runs her projects. See if she’s in trouble all around.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  That he was jealous of Jason was insane. She was playing Jason, too. Just like Sheila, she used the lawyer for her own ends. He ought to feel sorry for the man.

  At this point, he should feel nothing but contempt for Libby. He remembered the soft panting sound she emitted just before orgasm. The way she looked at him as though his body was a masterpiece. He felt hollow. A shell.

  She emerged from the interview room with her spine straight, head up, eyes cold. His gaze met hers, causing a break in her rigid demeanor. She looked victimized; her eyes revealed pure, raw pain. She took a deep breath, collected herself, and followed Jason down the hall. Mark’s own façade slipped. A chink opened in the armor he’d built around his heart. What if she really was the victim?

  Then he’d just savagely destroyed the woman he was hopelessly in love with.

  He turned abruptly and crossed the station to his office, where he closed the door and leaned back against the panel. Only hours before he’d pinned her to this very same spot. He could almost smell her, taste her.

  He slowly went over all the evidence Luke had outlined. He remembered Brady’s words. Jason’s kiss. Bobby’s suspicion. He matched each of those things with the conversations he’d shared with Libby. Her reluctance to provide her budget information. Her panic over the change in the scope of her project. Her insistence Aaron was stalking her again—right down to her impossible claim he was at the library on Wednesday. She’d said she was wary of Jason’s interest in her, and even stated the man wanted Simone, all while accepting date after date and then not pushing Jason away.

  She was guilty as sin. Only after going over the evidence again and again could he breathe normally. That single moment, the idea she might be innocent, nearly destroyed him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  SIMONE WAITED IN THE LOBBY of the police station. With Jason’s help, she’d paid Libby’s bail. She was grateful Coho was a small town and the process was swift; any minute now Libby would be released and she would find out what in the hell was going on.

  At last Libby and Jason stepped through the security door. One look at Libby’s face and Simone knew her questions would have to wait. Libby had been…shattered. She hadn’t looked this devastated, this afraid, even when Aaron was at his scary-worst. Libby was barely holding herself together.

  “You’re almost out of here,” Simone said.

  Libby nodded and made a beeline for the door.

  Outside, Libby climbed into Simone’s car. Simone faced Jason and then flinched at the look in his eye. Jason would never respect her, but at least she understood his scorn. “Thank you. For everything.”

  “Take care of her. But don’t do anything stupid. Leave her legal defense to me.”

  Any other time, any other situation, she’d defend herself. But she couldn’t, not with Libby trying so desperately not to break down into sobs in the car. Not with that damn knowing look in Jason’s eyes. She gave him this round. If she had to, she’d give him every round—as long as he helped Libby.

  At the Shelby house, Libby headed directly for her bedroom. Simone watched her climb the stairs, defeat in Libby’s posture, in her slow shuffling steps.

  She unloaded the groceries she’d purchased earlier, and then went upstairs to check on Libby. She found her standing in the hallway, staring into the guest bedroom at the wall that had been sprayed with blood a week ago. It had been a mistake to bring Libby here, but she had insisted because the security system was the best money could buy.

  “Someone was here,” Libby said. “Someone used a pickaxe to destroy Angela’s mask. Someone sprayed blood on the wall.” Her voice became more emphatic with each word. “It wasn’t me.”

  “I know,” Simone said.

  “He came back on Thursday night and hurt me.”

  “Yes.”

  “He tied me up. He tried to kill me.”

  “I know. I believe you, Libby.”

  She kicked the wall. “Dammit. Why doesn’t Mark?” Libby’s razor-thin veneer of control broke as she bent down and cradled her foot. “Why is this happening?” She dropped to the floor as sobs shook her entire body.

  This breakdown was exactly what Libby needed. Simone slid down the wall and settled on the floor next to her.

  “I think I broke my toe,” Libby complained.

  “Really?”

  “No. Not really. But it hurts. I suppose it’s better than the pain the rest of me feels.”

  Simone patted her leg. “I’ll be right back.” She returned a moment later with the bag of groceries, a corkscrew, and two wine glasses. “Before going to the station, I ran to the store
to get us dinner.” She dug through the bag and handed Libby a box of chocolate-covered cream-filled cakes.

  Libby laughed at the processed, hydrogenated treat, just as Simone had hoped she would. She’d have picked up a pint of Chunky Monkey but had a feeling that flavor of ice cream had been forever ruined for Libby.

  “And, because I’m a classy woman, I got us wine to go with this gourmet meal.” She opened the bottle and poured them each a glass.

  They sat in the hall and sipped their wine in silence for a while, as early evening shadows shifted toward twilight. Finally Simone said, “So tell me what happened.”

  Libby sighed. “Well. Let’s see. Last Thursday someone tried to kill me. Then I had the most incredible weekend of my life. We talked. We laughed. We made love. Then today he had me arrested.”

  “Hmm. You must be awful in bed.”

  Libby burst out laughing, even as she swiped at tears. “No. Well, not this time anyway. I’m pretty sure I wore him out.” Her voice faded. “Damn, I can’t believe I was arrested. How much was my bail?”

  “Five thousand. I pulled it from the business account. We can get a cash advance from one of the credit cards if we need to cover it.”

  “Dating cops is seriously bad for my finances.”

  She smiled, relieved Libby could still make a joke. She was a strong woman; she’d get through this. “Did you talk to Mark?”

  “Yes. He thinks I faked everything. I can’t believe the man I spent the weekend with ordered my arrest without even talking to me first.” She swirled the wine in her glass. Simone watched as she held her drink up to the light. The deep burgundy color gave a warm glow. “He tried and convicted me in his own mind.” She looked Simone in the eye. “You know, he never even asked if I did it.” She set the glass down and swiped at more tears. “Part of me wants to hit him, just to make him hurt as much as I do.”

  “I’m pretty sure he already does.”

  “You didn’t see him—”

  “I didn’t need to. If he’s been convinced you’re guilty, he’s as much a victim as you are.”

  That silenced Libby for a few minutes. Finally she said, “Last night I was this close”—she held up her hand, holding her thumb and forefinger millimeters apart—“to blurting out that I love him. That seems ridiculous now. We’ve known each other for a little more than a week. What was I thinking?”

  “Maybe that you love him. Do you?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably.” She twirled the wine glass again, more interested in the light and color than in drinking it. “All I know is, I didn’t hold anything back. I lived in the moment without reservation. You would have been proud of me. I put all my old fears aside, all my stupid abandonment issues. I was totally open. I gave everything away.” Her voice cracked. “Then he heard the rumor Amy Seaver started and believed that over me.”

  “How could a dumb rumor be this damaging? One look at the scope and budget would exonerate you.”

  “Not completely. We haven’t finished negotiating the scoping changes with Jack, but that’s not really the issue. They have evidence against me. To start with, my fingerprints were on the Molotov cocktail bottle and on the sticky side of the tape that was used to bind me.”

  “What?”

  “I think the goal of the attack was to frame me.”

  “It worked.”

  Libby nodded. “They’ve also got a witness who says they saw me bring the gas cans home and put them on my back porch. It must be the old guy next door. He spends his days alternating between his back balcony and front porch. I wave every time I see him. He has yet to wave back.”

  “Why would he lie?”

  “Who knows? Jason said he would have the witness investigated.”

  “Thank God Jason wasn’t in Seattle today.” Thank God he’d been willing to help Libby. Lord knew that if Simone had been the one arrested, he’d have let her rot in jail.

  “Yeah. Convenient that we found his mother’s dead body, so he had reason to stay in Coho this week,” Libby said with rampant sarcasm.

  “Don’t bitch at me. I’m on your side,” Simone said mildly.

  Libby slouched against the wall. “I’m sorry. I want to fight with someone, I guess. I feel bad for Jason. I’m piling my crap on top of his already huge load. He tried to kiss me after our lunch meeting today.”

  So he really did want Libby. Disappointment jabbed her. “What did you do?”

  “I turned him down. Then an hour later I had to ask him to be my defense lawyer. The whole situation is so damn humiliating.” She gazed at the ceiling. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Simone grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Life happens one day at a time. All you have to face is today. Truthfully, tomorrow will be worse—that reporter came by the site this afternoon, so you can expect at least one headline tomorrow—but we’ll deal with it. We can fight this. You haven’t done anything wrong and their motive is pure bullshit. So tomorrow, you hold your head up high and let them say what they want. The truth is on your side.”

  “But what if the truth isn’t enough? My God, I just spent the weekend with Mark screwing his brains out, and even he doesn’t believe me. Your opinion of my sexual talents aside, one would presume he’d be a sympathetic audience.” She slipped her hand from Simone’s and cradled her head. “He was my rescuer that night. If this goes to trial, the jury would see the chief of police—who found me bound and covered in gasoline, and who also happens to be my lover—testify for the prosecution that I faked the whole damn thing.” She shook her head. “No one is going to believe me.”

  “Libby, there’s no motive.”

  “They can claim I’m trying to frame Brady to get the Anti-Harassment Order reinstated. I’m actually shocked that’s not the motive they’re going with.”

  “You can’t frame someone who lives so far away. You’d have to track his every movement and only stage incidents when he was without an alibi for several hours. It would be ridiculous to attempt such a thing.”

  “They seem to think I’m pretty stupid.”

  “And Mark knows you’re not. They have no motive.”

  “What if they don’t need one? What if they just claim I’m crazy? What if they say I’ve got some sort of weird variant of Munchausen’s Syndrome, but instead of faking illness, I fake being a crime victim? No one believed me about Brady before, so I’ve got a history they can use against me. With everything that’s been going on, I’m starting to wonder if I’m crazy!”

  “But you’re not. You’ve been set up. Now we’ve just got to figure out why.”

  That silenced her. Finally she shook her head. “I haven’t a clue.”

  “What about Brady?” Simone said.

  “I don’t think he could pull off something this sophisticated. The only thing I can think of is that this relates to the Cultural Center.”

  “Someone wants to stop the project?”

  Libby shrugged.

  “Aren’t there better contractors to go after? The architect and engineering firm is making ten times what we are.”

  “Yeah, but we’re here now. The architects and engineers have been here and gone, and it’ll be months before they’re back. I’m the best target if someone is crazy mad about the Center.”

  “But you aren’t even at the site every day. I’m running the excavation. Why not go after me, or the dig directly?”

  “They must think that if I go down, so will the rest of you. It’s more subtle to go after me. If they directly sabotaged the dig, then the police would track them down. This way the police come down on me and only me. The question is, are they going to ruin the contractor Jack hires to replace me?”

  “There won’t be another. Jack won’t fire you. You’re innocent.”

  “Simone, I could go to jail.”

  “With one lying eyewitness and no motive? Jason’s a better lawyer than that.”

  “Lord, I hope so.”

  “He is. Your case is going to be tossed out so
fast, and then Jason’ll hit ’em with a wrongful arrest suit. Your chief’ll be lucky to keep his badge after the lawsuit Coho will have to settle. He was involved with you and he used his position against you. He’ll pay with his career.”

  “But he loves his job,” Libby said softly.

  There was no doubt in Simone’s mind; in spite of everything, Libby loved Mark with every fragile piece of her shattered heart.

  MARK IMMERSED HIMSELF in the Caruthers investigation, staying at the station late into the night. He didn’t want to think about what happened earlier in the day. He used every ounce of his will to focus on the evidence collected two decades ago. For brief periods, none lasting longer than a few minutes, his efforts were effective. He would have searched through Angela’s boxes, but he couldn’t look at them without thinking of Libby.

  He reread the transcript of an interview with Jack conducted in early 1980. Did Jason know, then or now, that Angela had an affair with her grad school officemate? Jack had lied repeatedly before admitting the truth—that he’d known about the affair for months before her disappearance. Did Jason also know that at the time of his mother’s disappearance Jack had been sleeping with a woman who worked for him? Would Jason be so eager to defend his father if he were aware of these details?

  At one in the morning, the pages blurred before his eyes, and Mark accepted the inevitable. He needed to sleep. He left the station and headed home.

  He braced himself before entering his bedroom for the first time since that morning. There he faced tangled sheets, the blankets half on the bed, half on the floor, and a pillow lodged between the bed and the headboard. In his mind, he saw Libby on the bed, tousled. Beautiful.

  He lifted a pillow from the floor, held it for a moment, and then ripped off the pillowcase. He turned to the bed and yanked off the sheets. Downstairs, he tossed the bedding into the fireplace, went out back, and found an old can of lighter fluid. By the time he went to sleep in the guest bedroom, the sheets had been reduced to cinders.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN