by Debra Webb
He smiled, but it was not understanding or even polite. “Do you recognize this?” He tossed a photograph to her side of the desk.
Gingerly she reached for it. Her breath stalled in the farthest recesses of her lungs when she recognized the object pictured in the eight-by-ten print.
The dagger.
The one she’d found at the junk store on Fifty-fifth. The one she’d bought Ned as a thank-you for helping her with her panic attacks. The gift she’d given him before she’d recognized him for the monster he was.
“I thought you might,” MacBride said arrogantly.
Her gaze shot to his. “So what if I do?” Her words were shaded with mounting dread. Somehow some part of her knew this was bad. Very bad. She pitched the photograph back to his side of the desk as if merely holding it would further condemn her.
“That’s the murder weapon.” He picked up the picture and pretended to study it. “It was buried to the hilt just left of the victim’s sternum.” He shook his head solemnly. “Slid right between the ribs, punctured a lung and nicked the pericardium.” He shrugged then. “He couldn’t have lived more than a few minutes. Not even long enough for help to arrive had someone called for it.”
A wobbly sensation spread through her entire body. She stared at her fingers as if she could still them by sheer force of will, but she couldn’t. Her stomach roiled and for one beat she was certain she’d be sick.
“Except no one called for help. Whoever plunged this dagger,” he tapped the photo, “into Ned’s chest left him there, naked and dying.”
Elizabeth lifted her gaze to meet his. “I didn’t do it” She struggled to swallow back some of the desperation tightening her throat. “I swear I didn’t kill him.”
Those blue eyes bored more deeply into hers, that relentlessness she’d recognized yesterday flashing like a neon sign. “All I want from you, Elizabeth, is the truth.”
The truth.
How could she hope to fool this man?
Gloria’s words echoed in her ears. Stick with your original story. Don’t tell the cops anything else.
She drew in a ragged breath. “I’ve already told you everything I know.”
Lights pulsed behind her eyes. Nausea burned bitter and hot in her throat. She’d never before had a migraine, but the abrupt chord of pain in her skull now was no ordinary headache.
He didn’t even blink, just kept watching her. “I don’t think you have, Miss Young.”
Unable to sit there another second, she lurched to her feet. “I’ve told you everything. This... this harassment is pointless. I can’t help you, Agent MacBride.”
She whipped around and headed for the door. She had to get out of here. The pain was excruciating, the trembling almost violent. If she didn’t leave now, she might not be able to do so under her own steam. She would not give him the pleasure of seeing her collapse beneath the pressure.
Before she could jerk the door open, he was standing next to her, one broad palm plastered against the slab of wood that stood between her and escape.
“If you think of anything you need to tell me, my cell number is on the card I gave you.”
She closed her eyes and struggled to hold herself steady. “I won’t think of anything.” Forcing her eyes open, she met that blue gaze. “You shouldn’t be wasting your time on me, Agent MacBride. You should be out there looking for the killer.”
“What is it you’re afraid of, Elizabeth?” he asked softly, the gentle tone a vivid contrast to the fierceness in his eyes.
Shaking her head in denial, she glared at him with all the disdain she could marshal. “I’m innocent.” She’d meant to hurl the words at him with all the anger smoldering inside her, but she’d fallen well short of the mark. All she’d managed to do was sound desperate.
“Then you won’t mind submitting to certain tests,” he suggested in that same smooth baritone.
Tests? Her mind raced with the possibilities. Had she touched anything? Left prints or some form of DNA that would tighten the noose already around her neck?
She remembered slapping Ned. Maybe she’d scratched him. He’d grabbed her brutally. Shaken her. Had she lost a loose hair on his sleeve?
Her heart slammed mercilessly against her rib cage. That was it. She’d watched enough CSI episodes to realize what he was up to.
“Elizabeth? Is there a problem with my request?”
Her gaze locked with his once more and she shook her head. “Call my attorney.” She rattled off the name of the legal eagle Gloria had given her. “You can discuss it with him.” She couldn’t take any more. Couldn’t do this. Not again. Not alone.
He leaned in closer, square into her personal space. “I’ll call him, Elizabeth, but that’s not all I’m going to do.”
She swallowed, hard. Grasped the anger that swelled just enough to give her the strength to demand, “Is that a threat?”
He smiled and her foolish heart skipped a beat. This close she could feel the pleasure it gave him to have her trapped so firmly in his net of suspicion. She wanted to pound on that broad chest of his and rant at him. She wanted to shake him until he realized she was telling the truth. She did not kill Ned Harrison. She was innocent. Why couldn’t he see that?
But she couldn’t do any of those things. All she could do was stare into those intense eyes and fight the urge to admit defeat.
“No threat” he said on something that could have been a sigh but sounded more like a scoff. “Just fair warning.” All signs of amusement or gentleness vanished then. That chiseled jaw hardened like granite. “I’ll be watching you, Elizabeth. If you make one mistake, I’ll know it.” The corners of those firm lips tilted upward, hinted at a smile. “And you will make a mistake. They all do.”
For two long beats she stood frozen, staring into those accusing eyes, and then he moved. The instant he backed off she flung open the door and hurried to the elevator.
By the time she reached the street the panic had gripped her in its vicious talons. The pain in her skull all but blinded her.
And she understood beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he knew.
He knew she was lying.
Chapter Five
Elizabeth had little choice but to work sixteen-hour days for the next two. She’d fallen seriously behind on her schedule with the funeral and the interrogations related to Ned’s murder. Not to mention the worry and guilt slowing her usual pace. She’d never survive as a criminal. She just wasn’t cut out for a life of deception.
It was Saturday and she hadn’t heard from Agent MacBride since their meeting on Thursday evening. She hoped she never heard from him again. A little shiver chased over her flesh, reminding her that she might not have heard from him, but she’d seen his people watching her. The moment she pulled out onto the street each morning a dark sedan slid in behind her and followed her to the job site. Even Boomer had noticed the feds hanging around.
MacBride had warned her he’d be watching.
But what if it wasn’t him or his men? What if it was whoever murdered Ned? The thought had an icy chill sinking deeper into her bones. Just stop. Borrowing trouble wasn’t going to do her any good. She’d worried enough for several lifetimes during the past week. Besides, Boomer was certain her tail was “fibbies,” as he called them. He swore he could spot a federal agent from a mile away—they all looked the same. Same fancy suits, same designer sunglasses and the same superior attitude.
Boomer was right about the attitude, she decided as she put the lid back on the fresh bucket of paint she’d had to open an hour or so ago. MacBride had enough cocky male attitude for a dozen men. That much testosterone in one guy could be unnerving. She shivered. Only this time it had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with awareness.
Okay. Time to call it a day. Whenever she started fantasizing about the guy attempting to pin a murder rap on her, it was definitely time for a break. It was late. She was tired. She’d have to work tomorrow. Working on Sunday was her least favorite thin
g to do, but finishing up this loft was essential. She’d just have to grin and bear it come morning. She glanced at the time on her cell. It was well past ten and she’d obviously gotten punchy. Too little sleep and far too much pressure, not a good combination under any circumstances. A decent night’s sleep would do wonders for her ability to think straight. The final finishing touches could wait until morning. But she wouldn’t ask Boomer to help on Sunday. He probably still had a social life.
“I’ll finish up here,” she said to Boomer when he noticed her putting away her tools. “You go on. I’ll see you on Monday.”
A frown creased his brow. “I’ll just hang around and walk you out,” he offered, ever the protector.
She shook her head. He’d already put in far more hours than his meager salary covered, but he’d insisted on helping her catch up. “No. Really. I’ll be okay.” She shrugged. “Who’s going to bother me with my very own federal agent watching?”
He crossed to the opposite side of the room and peered out the window. “He’s still out there, all right.” Boomer muttered a couple of inventive curses. “I don’t know why you put up with it. They got no right watching you like this.”
“It’s okay.” She ushered him into the dimly lit hallway and pointed to the elevator. “Now go. I’ll be fine.”
Reluctance slowing his step, Boomer shuffled to the only exit. He hesitated before boarding the antique lift. “Don’t let ‘em see you sweat, Elizabeth.” His gaze settled on hers. “We both know you didn’t kill that prick.” He pushed open the iron bars that served as a door to the elevator, then paused to look back at her once more before boarding. “But he deserved exactly what he got.”
Boomer stepped into the elevator and pulled the bars closed before setting it in to motion. His gaze remained steady on hers until he was out of sight. A new worry nagged at her as she shuffled back into the loft.
How often had she complained about Ned in front of Boomer? She hadn’t told him everything, but she’d gone on and on about how he’d used her, how he’d hurt her.
Surely Boomer hadn’t—
No! She refused to believe any such thing. MacBride’s innuendo about Boomer’s past was messing with her head. She knew Boomer. He wouldn’t kill another human being any more than she would.
Elizabeth made quick work of putting away the tools of her trade. She refused to dwell on a concept as ridiculous as one involving Boomer and murder. The whole idea was just another indicator of how badly she needed a good night’s sleep.
When she was ready to go, she glanced out the window to see if the sedan was still there. Yep. Right there in the alley across the street. The driver had backed in so he could pull out behind her without any real effort. She wondered if cops and agents were trained to do that to ensure they didn’t lose their surveillance target while turning around. Probably.
As the old lift lowered to the still-under-construction area that would eventually serve as a sophisticated lobby for the building, she couldn’t help thinking what a monumental waste of time the surveillance of her movements really was. If the feds expended half as much effort on finding the real murderer as they did on watching her, they might have solved the case by now.
By the time she exited the building, she’d worked up a pretty good head of steam. Instead of climbing into her old beat-up truck, she marched across the street and right up to the sedan parked in the alley.
She banged on the driver’s window. “Why do you keep watching me?” Any good sense she’d possessed was now lost to exhaustion and fury.
For a few seconds she wasn’t sure whoever was on the other side of the tinted glass intended to respond, then the door opened. She fell back a couple of steps. What if Boomer had been wrong? What if this wasn’t one of MacBride’s pals?
Agent MacBride himself emerged from the vehicle. He towered over her with only the car door between them. The usual elegant suit jacket was missing. A crisp white shirt stretched over his wide shoulders. The top two buttons were open and the navy tie hung loose at his throat. His short hair looked as if he’d run his hands through it repeatedly, leaving it tousled in a manner that could only be called sexy.
Why would she notice that? What in the world was wrong with her? She was losing her mind. That was the only reasonable explanation.
“I told you I’d be watching, Elizabeth.”
Damn her treacherous emotions. The very sound sent a quake through her. She wrapped her arms around herself and glared up at him, determined not to allow him to see another indication of weakness. “This is ridiculous. Why aren’t you chasing the real bad guys, instead of harassing me?”
He eased around the door and shoved it shut behind him, putting his body mere inches from hers. “We both know why I’m watching you, don’t we?”
Anger flamed inside her. “Did you call my attorney?” She definitely had, as much as she’d hated to—the retainer alone had set her back two months’ rent, but her landlady had been understanding and offered to allow her to pay the rent a little late. Thank God there were still a few compassionate people left in this world.
“Do I need to call your attorney?” he countered smoothly. “I thought maybe we could settle this between us.”
Her breath stilled in her lungs as that fierce gaze came to rest on her lips. What was he doing? Was this a new strategy? Had he noticed her attraction to him physically and decided to play on it? Was he that desperate to pin this on her? Or maybe he actually thought she was guilty.
“I’m tired, MacBride,” she admitted, too exhausted to fight this battle now. “Just leave me alone, okay? I don’t need this crap.”
She gave him her back and headed toward her truck on the other side of the street. Damn him. She was sick to death of being accused. What was it about her that made people believe she could commit a crime so heinous? Even the sheriff back home, a man who had known her since the day she was born, had initially believed her sorry-ass brother-in-law over her. But, with her father’s desperate prodding, he’d dug more deeply, finally discovering the truth. She was innocent. Just like now. Only that time she actually had stabbed her no good brother-in-law. It was either that or let him beat her pregnant sister to death. Unfortunately the bastard had survived to torment Elizabeth and her sister a while longer.
Who knew? Maybe it was a guy thing. Maybe they had to side with each other, protect the brotherhood at all costs. If there was a woman anywhere nearby to blame, that was the preferred route.
“Did he help you do it? Will he go to jail for you?”
MacBride’s voice stopped her dead in her tracks midway across the street. She turned slowly, afraid to ask what he meant by that statement and equally afraid not to demand an answer.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Your assistant, Boomer. Did he talk you into it? Maybe the two of you have something going on and he got jealous of your relationship with the good doctor. Younger guys are like that, you know. Is he the one who tied up Harrison?”
No matter that she was exhausted, white-hot fury exploded inside her. She clenched her hands into fists and shook with the effort to restrain the outrage when she spoke. “This isn’t going to work, MacBride.” She scarcely recognized the voice as her own. “I didn’t kill him and neither did Boomer. If you have some kind of evidence that leads you to believe I’m guilty, then arrest me. If not, leave me and my assistant alone.”
She spun away and started forward again. This just kept getting worse and worse. He was like a dog with a bone. He just wouldn’t let it go. All she had to do was reach her truck, climb in, and she was out of there. She would not waste another moment of her time on this man or his silly suppositions.
“But you can’t prove you actually went home after being stood up at the restaurant.”
The words were spoken softly, yet there was no denying the determination in his tone. He wasn’t going to stop scratching around until he uncovered everything.
She hesitated once more and su
mmoned the necessary courage to face him yet again. “That’s right.” She looked straight at him. Between the streetlights and the moon, she could see all she needed to—more than she wanted to. “I don’t have anyone to vouch for my whereabouts. I can’t prove anything. You’ll just have to take my word for it.”
Enough already. If he had evidence he would arrest her. But this intimidation had to stop. She’d had all she could take.
“I can do that.”
Startled, she wasn’t sure what to say for a second or two. “You believe me?”
He laughed, a low, sensual sound that made her want to scream at herself for being such a fool. Why was she always, always attracted to the wrong kind of man?
“You said I’d have to take your word for it. I can do that if,” he paused, “you’re willing to repeat those words during a polygraph.”
Fear paralyzed her. She couldn’t take a polygraph. He would have proof of her lies then.
“Why the hesitation?” He shrugged. “If you’re telling the truth you have nothing to lose and everything to gain.”
“I thought polygraphs weren’t admissible in court,” she retaliated. Her heart thundered. This was it. She was done. He had her. He would never in a million years believe her story now. She’d lied. He knew it. She was doomed.
“You say you’re telling the truth. I’m simply offering you an opportunity to prove that assertion.”
“I’ll... I’ll have to speak to my attorney.”
He moved closer, one deliberate step at a time until he was back in her personal space. She couldn’t have moved had her life depended on it. The fear had nailed her to the spot. She couldn’t think what to do or to say next.
“All I want from you, Elizabeth, is the truth. If you’re really innocent as you say you are, then you must know your uncooperative actions are slowing down this case. You’re essentially helping a murderer to continue walking the streets. If you want to clear your name and get this investigation pointed in the right direction, then help me.”
“I... can’t help you. I don’t know anything.”
