by Debra Webb
“I just need to clear up a few discrepancies. Routine procedure.”
Déja vu hit like a blow to her midsection. The blood on her hands, her ex-brother-in-law screaming in agony. The police handcuffing her and forcing her into the patrol car. Routine procedure often included unjust incarceration. She couldn’t afford to miss any more work. The developer would refuse to pay her the remainder of her contract if she failed to finish on time. She had to have these two lofts finished by the end of next week.
She moistened her lips and adopted an outer calm she in no way felt. “I don’t know how I can help you, Agent MacBride, but I’ll do what I can.”
Boomer was watching, his mounting uneasiness radiating clear across the room. She wanted to say something to reassure him, but at the moment she could only stare into the eyes focused so intently on her. Those haunting memories from the past she’d worked so hard to put behind her kept clawing at her shaky determination.
“According to Harrison’s appointment book, you were scheduled to have dinner with him at seven the evening he was murdered.”
It wasn’t a question. He already knew the answer. So did the detectives who’d interrogated her on two different occasions. But he wanted to analyze her as she answered. This was a man who checked his facts carefully, made his own measured evaluations. He would never take anyone else’s word for anything. He wasn’t like the two detectives who’d interviewed her already.
Judging by the set of his broad shoulders and the intensity of his gaze, he already knew more about her than she wanted him to know. Far more than the other detectives had bothered to glean. He’d read her file, made calls, had her pegged as a suspect. Had known exactly who she was when he approached her in the church. Dammit she didn’t need this right now. Didn’t want to go through this kind of emotion-twisting investigation again.
Once in a lifetime was more than enough.
Why had she lost control during the service? She’d never convince anyone that it had nothing to do with Ned’s death and everything to do with fear for the life she’d worked so hard to build here. Selfish she knew but the truth. It must have looked as if she’d been overcome by grief—or guilt. And the video... what if he’d found the video? The other two men hadn’t mentioned it. Maybe Ned had thrown it away or locked it up somewhere.
“Miss Young?”
“That’s right.” The words were hers but the voice sounded as if it came from someone else. “But Ned—Dr. Harrison—never showed up at the restaurant.”
MacBride slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and inclined his head, his relentless gaze never deviating from hers. “The maître d’ confirmed Harrison never arrived. Where did you go when you left around eight?”
Breathe, she instructed. In and out “Like I told the other gentlemen,” she explained, her impatience showing a little, “I went home.” She tried not to sound curt but it was hard not to. She hadn’t done anything wrong and she hated being made to feel as if she had. How could this man or anyone else see her as a suspect? Just because of a broken dinner date she hadn’t even wanted to accept? Apparently Ned, the bastard, had screwed her one last time before getting his.
No, she decided on second thought, that wasn’t it. MacBride was basing his theory on her past. You can never outrun it.
He took a step closer. She drew back a step, feeling intimidated by the idea of why he was here and somehow overwhelmed by him. The intensity in his eyes pressed against her, made it difficult to breathe.
“Can anyone vouch for your whereabouts?” His tone was calm, but she could feel the fierce determination beneath the innocuous words. “It would be very beneficial to you if someone could corroborate your statement.”
“What’s up, Elizabeth?”
Boomer planted his long lanky form right between them. She hadn’t even heard him climb down from the ladder.
“Who’s the suit?” His voice was calm but his body was braced for battle.
“It’s all right,” she said quickly in hopes of heading off any trouble for the kid. He was loyal to a fault. Always her protector, especially when they worked in rougher neighborhoods, which she’d had to do a lot of in the first few months of getting her business off the ground. But he needed to stand clear of this one. “Agent MacBride is with the FBI. He has some questions about Dr. Harrison’s death.”
Boomer didn’t appear impressed. He folded his skinny arms over his chest and continued to blatantly size up the agent. “Just let me know if he gives you any trouble. He doesn’t look too friendly to me.” He gave their guest a final glare before stalking back to his work.
Elizabeth almost sagged with relief. Things were bad enough without Boomer getting involved. From the unyielding expression on MacBride’s face, she was pretty sure he felt nothing that even remotely resembled relief. Indifference or disapproval quite possibly, but definitely not relief.
“The answer to your question is no,” she said to the agent. “I don’t have anyone who can verify my whereabouts. I’m sure that was in the detectives’ report. My landlady was out that night and I live alone.”
Of course he knew all that, but rather than comment, he jerked his dark head in Boomer’s direction. “Do you know your assistant has a significant criminal record?”
Oh, yes. Condescension, as well as disapproval. He not only knew it all, he was above it all. A blast of indignation melted some of the ice paralyzing her from the inside out. “I’m not as naive as you apparently think, Agent MacBride,” she replied sharply but low enough that Boomer wouldn’t hear. “I did a thorough background check before I hired him.”
One dark eyebrow climbed upward a notch. “You don’t mind that he’s had a half-dozen drug charges, including possession with intent to sell? Or that he’s done time in one of our less pleasant prison facilities?”
Rather than bank her temper, she allowed it to shore up her courage. “Everyone deserves a second chance.”
He nodded knowingly, something new, primal, in his eyes. “Of course. You would be a heavy supporter of second chances, wouldn’t you?”
Elizabeth looked at him then, really looked at him. She no longer saw the cocky, handsome man in the thousand-dollar suit, who was perfect from the thick black hair he wore in that short, spiky style that drove women crazy all the way down to the expensive leather shoes. What she saw, instead, was a man who’d had his whole life handed to him on a silver platter. Money, the best schools, probably had never worked a day in his life until he signed on with the Bureau. And now he shone like a new penny, chasing bad guys and making the world a safer place. A hero... who didn’t know the first thing about what it was like to be down on his luck.
Guys like him didn’t need second chances. His world was perfect. He probably worked murder cases just to keep life interesting.
“I’m not ashamed of my past, Agent MacBride. I did what I had to do.”
“I see.”
She didn’t miss the effort it took for him to keep a patronizing smile off his face. “Sure you do.” He had no idea what her life had been like, and he sure as hell didn’t know how she felt. “How could you possibly have a clue?” She was the one who sounded condescending now.
“Of course the drugs weren’t really yours,” he suggested, a bitter edge to his words. “But then, are they ever when an addict gets caught?” He smiled knowingly and it wasn’t amusing or charming. “And taking a butcher knife to your brother-in-law was certainly a clear case of self-defense. Am I right, Miss Young?”
A new burst of fury flamed inside her. She would not justify herself to him. She’d done this song and dance twice already. He shouldn’t even be here. He knew nothing about her. “Golly, mister, you must be psychic. How else could you read my mind so well? Or maybe you’ve got a crystal ball in your pocket.”
He leaned toward her, the briefest flicker of anger in his eyes before he reined it in. The man was a master at concealing his emotions. He’d likely spent his entire career building that level of control
.
“Did Harrison do something that made you take that dagger to him?” he murmured harshly. “Were you about to be dumped again?”
Maybe he wasn’t so good at restraining his emotions. His voice, his posture, warned he was not nearly as calm as he wanted her to believe. She resisted the urge to flee and held her ground. “I told you I went home when he didn’t show,” she repeated, emphasizing each word and praying he wouldn’t see the lie in her eyes. Before good sense stopped her, she tacked on, “And, for your information, I stopped seeing him weeks ago.”
He leaned closer still. Her breath caught. His nostrils flared, a feral glint in his eyes. “As a patient or as a lover?”
His cold, lethal tone made her want to draw away. Her lungs refused to draw in another breath. That clean, masculine scent of his had invaded her lungs and, combined with his accusation, sent her off balance. How could he know unless he’d seen the video? Her heart banged painfully against her sternum. No one knew. No one but Gloria, and she would never tell. Elizabeth struggled for equilibrium. Maybe he was guessing. “We weren’t—” she said but he cut her off with a slow shake of his head.
“Don’t lie to me, Elizabeth,” he warned, the use of her first name only adding to the unbearable tension humming between them. “I saw the video.”
She stumbled back, barely missing her freshly painted wall in her effort to get away from the words she hadn’t wanted to hear. Oh, God. Ned had promised to give her the video. That night. At dinner. He claimed he was sorry. He hadn’t meant to hurt her—he’d really liked her. He swore that he would make it up to her. But he’d lied. He refused to give her the video, and then...
She blinked back the tears stinging her eyes. She had believed him one last time and he’d lied to her. And now this man knew. He’d seen her.
As if he actually could read her mind, that relentless gaze traveled slowly down her body, and in spite of everything, heat stirred deep inside her. Damn her traitorous body! Her pulse reacted as he retraced that path, then looked directly into her eyes once more. “You can’t hide from me, Elizabeth. I’m very good at what I do. You don’t want me for an enemy.”
“I’d like you to leave now, Agent MacBride.” Her voice sounded oddly devoid of emotion and far steadier than she’d believed possible. She had to think. Had to talk to Gloria. Probably needed a lawyer.
“Have it your way.” He reached into his pocket.
She gasped.
A grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. “Don’t worry, Elizabeth. I’ve never shot a suspect who didn’t shoot at me first.”
The urge to slap that smug expression from his face was almost more than she could restrain. He handed her a business card.
“I’ll see you in my office at five. Today. Don’t be late.”
Before she could argue, he turned and strode away. She watched, stunned, until he’d left the loft, then she stared down at the card. Her hand shook.
This couldn’t be happening. Not again.
Her heart thundered violently. Dizziness swamped her. Her body flooded with adrenaline.
She couldn’t breathe. Oh, God.
The trembling that had started in her hands quaked through her suddenly unsteady legs. She closed her eyes, took a long, deep breath and let it out to the count of ten, then repeated.
This was supposed to be behind her. She hadn’t suffered a panic attack since her third session with Ned. At least he’d been good for something.
Then he’d seduced her. Elizabeth forced her eyes open and banished those painful memories. She had to move, had to walk off the excess adrenaline.
Back and forth. Back and forth. From one end of the loft to the other. Boomer probably thought she’d lost her mind, but he didn’t say anything—just did his job. Breathe in... hold it... breathe out. Again.
Ned had taken advantage of her, used her. Now he was dead and it looked as if he was taking her down with him. Why hadn’t she stayed until he’d given her the video? She should have done whatever he asked, anything for the video. But no, she’d stormed off, knowing she’d have no choice but to go crawling back when he called again. She’d been angry. She’d had no way of knowing she would never see him alive again.
~*~
Mac braked to a stop in the empty street. His gaze drifted up to the fourth floor where he’d left Elizabeth. He pounded the steering wheel. He’d done a bang-up job of recovering the ground the detectives had lost. He called himself every kind of fool. Cool, he was supposed to have played it cool. Given her space, let her tell her story. Gently guiding her as necessary.
Dammit.
He’d failed on all counts. If he could have kicked himself in the ass, he would have. His body hummed with anticipation. He gritted his teeth and denied the other sensation the sparring had elicited. It was that very reaction that made him push harder than he’d intended, to cross the line. He’d shaken her. The hell of it was, he was just as rattled.
He hissed a disgusted breath.
By five o’clock when she arrived at his office, and she would come, she’d have an attorney at her side. Then he’d get nowhere even faster. He had to find a way to regain some of the ground he’d lost, attorney present or not.
His attention settled on a dark sedan parked on the opposite side of the street in a neighboring alley. But just in case the lady decided to cut her losses and make a run for it someone would be watching.
His cell rang at the same time a horn blared behind him. Mac pressed the accelerator and started forward while retrieving his phone.
“MacBride.”
“You’re going to love this.”
Duncan. “What’ve you got?”
“We traced the dagger to an antique shop over on West Fifty-fifth.”
“Yeah.” There was more. He heard it in his partner’s voice. A new kind of anticipation spiked.
“It was purchased as a gift for Harrison by a Miss Elizabeth Young.”
Mac’s tension eased marginally at the news that at least one loose end was tied up. “Good work.” He ignored an uncharacteristic twinge of regret that followed close behind the relief. She’d already lied to him, so he shouldn’t be surprised by this latest development. Yet he was. She’d gotten to him on some level. He didn’t like it. Not in the least. “See you in thirty,” he told his partner.
The news would certainly work to his advantage. He couldn’t wait to see how Elizabeth planned to talk her way out of this one. He shook his head as he thought of the pretty lady who could win herself an Oscar for her portrayal of innocence and suffering.
“Gotcha,” he muttered.
Chapter Three
Elizabeth waited in Chico’s Cantina. She pressed a hand to her knee to stop her foot’s tapping. She rolled her head side to side to relieve some of the tension in her neck. Didn’t help.
One-fifteen. Gloria was late. Elizabeth let go an unsteady breath and fiddled with the straw in her cola. She had to get hold of herself. She couldn’t let MacBride get to her this way. He’d been worse than those two detectives put together. Something was different about him. More intimidating. A subtle ruthlessness that frightened her. This was a man who wouldn’t give up until he knew everything.
She hadn’t done anything wrong. Sure, there’d been moments when Ned’s actions had made her want to kill him, but she hadn’t. Thinking about it wasn’t against the law. Probably dozens of women, especially former patients, had probably thought about it more than once.
Maybe one of them had actually done it.
Elizabeth went rigid. Could one of the women who’d come to his funeral have been his killer? Was that why MacBride was there?
He suspected her. That was the reason he’d put in an appearance. Something frigid seeped into her bones. He’d discovered the video of her and Ned and he’d put it together with the dinner date on Ned’s calendar and come up with murder. She sipped her cola to wet her desperately dry throat. How long would it be before he found out about the two huge arguments they’d had
? Very public arguments, one in the lobby of Ned’s office and another at that party. She’d slapped him during the second one. He’d grabbed her by the shoulders and shaken her and she’d slapped him again.
And she’d... God, she’d told him he would be sorry. Had anyone heard her rant? She’d made a threat against him, there was no other way to interpret the words, but she hadn’t really meant it. Everyone said things like that in the heat of anger. She wouldn’t be the first or the last—except maybe where Ned Harrison was concerned.
Had she been the last person to threaten him out loud? In front of dozens of witnesses?
But she hadn’t killed him.
Elizabeth pressed a hand to her lips and closed her eyes long enough to pull herself together. The evidence would be stacked against her. She was an outsider. It would be much easier and certainly less messy to pin the rap on her. She could barely afford her rent at the moment. A high priced attorney was out of the question. And if she was stuck in a jail cell, she’d lose her contract on the rest of the lofts and any prospects of future income.
She had no family who could help. Her sister, Peg, would sympathize, but it was all she could do to keep a roof over her three kids’ heads. Too bad that scumbag she’d been married to hadn’t had any life insurance. Then when he’d careened off a bridge and into a river while intoxicated, at least he would have been worth something. Instead, her sister’d had a tough time scraping together the money to bury the worthless bastard.
Elizabeth swiped her eyes and forced herself to think calmly. She wasn’t guilty. Surely the real murderer had left some sort of evidence. She knew Ned had been with someone else. It was why he hadn’t shown for their dinner date. Had that woman returned later and killed him, or was it someone else entirely? Maybe she’d even been hiding in the apartment while Elizabeth was there. There was no way to know. She’d thought he was alone when she confronted him. But someone had definitely been there shortly before her abrupt arrival. She’d seen the tousled sheets, smelled the musky scent of sex.
