by Debra Webb
“Because around that time, just a few blocks away from where I found you, Marissa Landon was being murdered.”
Chapter Ten
Mac drove for almost ten minutes without speaking. Elizabeth’s tension escalated with every passing second. She felt certain he planned to take her to his office, but he didn’t. Then she figured he planned to take her to the police station to face those two detectives again, Brannigan and the partner whose name she couldn’t recall. But he didn’t do that, either.
Instead, he just drove, finally stopping in front of a well-maintained, older building located in the vicinity of Ned’s office. The recently renovated architecture was ornate with intricate detailing around the windows and porte-cochere. For another trauma filled minute he sat without moving, forcing Elizabeth’s pulse rate into the danger zone, in spite of her best effort to focus on anything but his silence. She mentally listed the various elements of the structures looming just beyond the sidewalk and patches of grass, but every breath she drew was a struggle. Her heart pounded so hard she couldn’t imagine MacBride not hearing it.
Just when she thought she couldn’t take anymore, he spoke. “You see that center window on the seventh floor?”
Elizabeth looked upward to the floor he’d indicated. She knew where they were, knew what he was trying to do. When her eyes focused on the center window, she answered, the hollow word a mere whisper, “Yes.”
“That apartment belonged to Marissa Landon.”
As Elizabeth stared at the dark window with its flower box overflowing with a bright spring mixture of blooms, the reality of what Annabelle had told her settled on her like a ton of bricks. Who would water those flowers now? Marissa was dead. Murdered.
“Do you know what arterial spray is?”
A hard knot formed in Elizabeth’s stomach. “I don’t want to hear this.” The shaking that had plagued her in Annabelle’s office started again.
“It’s usually found near the victim of brutal violence,” he went on cruelly. “The perpetrator has to inflict a wound that involves an artery. Like with Marissa. The slashing wound almost completely severed her head from her body. The carotid artery, as well as the jugular, were sliced clean through. Imagine the kind of evil it took to inflict that level of violence on another human being.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block the gruesome images his words evoked. “Please, just take me back to my truck. I don’t know anything.”
Without a word he swerved away from the curb and merged into the traffic again. Her body was ice, her senses numb. She fought back the tears and silently screamed at the indignity, the senselessness.
How could she know anyone—have cared about someone—who would do something so heinous? Surely Brian couldn’t be responsible for that kind of horror. But what if he was, and what if she did know something that would make a difference?
Could she live with herself if one more person died?
When MacBride parked once more, they were at Ned’s office. Elizabeth blinked as confusion amplified the painful mixture of emotions twisting inside her.
“Why are we here?” Fear raced to the forefront of all else, and she turned to face MacBride. His blue eyes were dark with emotion. “Why did you bring me here?”
“Get out,” he ordered. “We’re going inside.”
She reached for the door handle, but her hand shook so badly it took two attempts to open the door. Her head spun, making her movements awkward, unbalanced. What if MacBride had found the hidden door? What if he knew why she’d come here last night? She glanced quickly from side to side as he ushered her toward the front entrance. Had her being here last night somehow caused that brutal murder? Was Detective Brannigan waiting inside to interrogate her? Her chest ached with the floundering of her heart. She couldn’t drag in a deep enough breath. She wanted it to stop—the murders, the suspicions, the fear. She just wanted it to stop.
MacBride used a key to open the front door, then locked it behind them once they were inside. Elizabeth sucked in a shallow breath and tried to calm herself. She couldn’t let the panic take over now. She had to stay in control.
The reception area was only dimly lit by the sparse sunlight filtering in through the half-closed shades. The air smelled stale already. The owner was dead, whatever kind of jerk he’d been. Whatever good he’d done in his life, if any, it was over. He was dead and so were four of his patients. And somehow she was a part of it.
She had to sit down. Elizabeth stumbled toward a chair and collapsed into it. “I don’t want to be here,” she murmured for all the good it would do. MacBride apparently wanted to punish her, to make her tell him what she knew, which was nothing that would matter. She was certain of it. If she’d thought for one second that anything she’d seen or heard or done would matter...
Except that one thing.
Mac wrestled back the sympathy that rose immediately as she crumpled beneath the weight of fear and guilt. He gritted his teeth, bracing for the charge that would accompany touching her, and took her by the arm to haul her to her feet “This way, Elizabeth.”
She lurched forward, having little choice but to go with him or be dragged behind him. He took her into Harrison’s private office, the one where he saw his patients, and herded her toward the leather chaise. He leaned against the edge of the massive desk and crossed his arms over his chest, cranking up the intimidation as he glared down at her.
She sat like a statue except for the fine tremor she couldn’t hide. Before he could stop his traitorous eyes, he’d taken in every last detail of the way she looked today. She wore faded jeans and, unlike the overalls she usually donned for work, the jeans fit snugly, hugging her slender figure. The blouse was soft cotton, short-sleeved and buttoned up the front. One sneaker was about to come untied. But it was the way she wore her hair that unsettled him the most. It hung unrestrained over her shoulders. Her amber eyes stared up at him from behind those delicately rimmed glasses. She was scared to death, sick with dread at what she feared lay ahead.
By God, he intended to have some answers. Five people were dead. One might damn well have deserved a bad end, but the others were victims in the truest sense of the word. Whatever Elizabeth knew, whether she considered it relevant or not he would have it before they left this room.
“What do you want from me?” she asked, her voice unsteady.
“Is this where you spent all those hours with him?” The question was issued sharply, and Mac wanted to bite off his tongue when he recognized the emotion behind it. Jealousy. Dammit all to hell. He was jealous of a dead man’s relationship with the woman who could very well be his killer. Except he didn’t really believe that last part. He clenched his fists and fought the ridiculous feelings.
“Yes,” she replied softly. Her fingers twisted together as she wrung her hands nervously. “Always right here,” she volunteered to his surprise. “The first time I came he,” her eyes took on a distant quality, “he insisted that comfort was of primary importance. I needed to relax and speak freely, knowing that anything I said or did in this office would never go any further.”
Silence screamed for three beats as Mac realized how telling her final statement really was.
“But he lied to you, didn’t he?”
She nodded. “His sessions were helpful at first. The panic attacks went away.” She took a steadying breath and looked up at him. “But then he took our relationship to another level. He knew I needed more work to make it financially, so he offered to let me decorate his office. He was very kind to me.” She blinked as if attempting to reason out the unreasonable. Her voice sounded machinelike, flat and emotionless. “That’s when he...” She lapsed into silence, unable or unwilling to go on.
“He seduced you,” Mac said from between gritted teeth.
She moved her head in what he took for a nod. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. But he knew all the right things to say and... I needed to hear them.” She stared at her clasped hands for a time. “It w
as a mistake. I should have seen through his machinations.”
The blast of fury that roared through Mac forced him to his feet. Harrison had used her, just as he had all the others. But for Elizabeth it was different. The playing field hadn’t been level—she was too naive to have any clue about the kind of world she’d allowed herself to be lured into. She wasn’t like the others. Another jolt of anger shook him when he considered that he was falling for that same sad Cinderella story he’d predicted she would use to rationalize her actions.
He’d taken the bait hook, line and sinker.
“So you killed him.” He hurled the accusation at her, even though, at this point, he was pretty sure she was innocent—of murder, anyway.
Her head came up and her face flushed. “No! How do I get that through to you, MacBride? I didn’t kill him! We argued. I wished him… dead.”
His name on her lips sent something like desire coursing through him, which only increased his fury. “But you know something about his death, don’t you.” He moved nearer to her, towered over her to achieve the effect he desired. It worked. She retreated as far as her position on the chaise would allow.
“I don’t know.” She shook her head, her brow lining in bewilderment. “I don’t know who killed him.”
“You went to his place that night, didn’t you?” Mac outlined the scenario that had been forming in the back of his mind. Her startled gaze connected with his. “He stood you up and you were angry.” She looked away guiltily and he knew he’d hit the mark. “Did you have a fight? Is that how he got those scratches?”
She shook her head.
“Was he using the video for blackmail? Is that how he got to you?”
She bolted out of her seat, putting herself toe-to-toe with him. Anger glittered in her eyes. “Yes! Gloria and I found out about the videos and what he’d been up to with... with all of us.” She blinked once, twice, clearly shocked she’d said so much.
“And how did Gloria feel about that?” He’d already checked out Gloria’s alibi. It was airtight. She’d been at dinner and the movies with her niece. But then, he supposed, the niece could be lying. “Did she want him dead, too?” What woman wouldn’t after what Harrison had done to them?
“How do you think she felt?” Elizabeth spat. “But we didn’t kill him,” she countered, some of the bravado going out of her. “We were victims. Don’t you get it?”
That was the trouble. He did get it. It took all his willpower to restrain the impulse to take her in his arms. He urged her back down onto the chaise, then sat beside her. “Just tell me what happened, Elizabeth,” he said gently. “That’s all I want from you.”
For a long time she simply sat there staring at her hands. Mac wished he knew the right words to say to somehow make her feel at ease. But no words could make any of this right.
“I’d sworn I wouldn’t ever speak to him again,” she began wearily. “He’d hurt us too much. Almost cost Gloria and me our friendship. But he kept calling. He sounded so desperate. Finally he said he would give me the video if I’d have dinner with him one last time.” She shrugged with the same weariness he heard in her voice. “I was desperate to get that video. We knew he had one on each of us. Gloria found out somehow.”
Gloria seemed to know a lot of things. He’d read Brannigan’s report on his interview with her. Maybe he needed to question her himself. But Brannigan had been thorough and he’d verified all statements. Funny they hadn’t found a video of Gloria Weston. Mac wondered how she’d managed to get hers from Harrison.
“Anyway, I went to the restaurant. Like a fool.” Elizabeth laughed, a dry, humorless sound. “Of course he didn’t show up.” She shook her head. “I was so angry. I wanted to tell him just what I thought.”
“So you went to his place.” Mac had hoped that wasn’t the case, but deep down he’d suspected as much. That was what had her running scared. She’d been so close to the murder without even knowing it.
She nodded. “I had to knock several times before he answered. When he did, it was obvious he’d been in bed with someone.” She pressed her fist to her mouth as the tumultuous emotions shook her again. “I didn’t think. I was furious. I just pushed past him and went straight to the bedroom. The sheets were tousled. The whole room smelled of sex. I screamed at him. I couldn’t believe he’d kept me waiting while he had sex with someone else.”
The idea that Harrison may have threatened her physically or even hurt her in some way tore at Mac’s gut. Before he could prompt more answers, she went on.
“I demanded the video. He wouldn’t give it to me.” She exhaled a ragged breath, then chewed her lower lip for a moment. “We argued and he grabbed my arm and tried to make me listen to what he had to say.”
Mac tensed as fresh rage gripped him.
“I fought him.” She frowned. “I may have scratched him.” She splayed her hands. “I don’t know. It all happened so fast.” A defeated sigh slipped past her lips. “He wouldn’t give me the video, so I gave up. I warned him to stay away from me. Then I left.”
His jaw ached from clenching it so tightly. “But no one saw you come or go?” He already knew the answer to that. Brannigan’s men had questioned everyone in the building.
“I don’t think so.”
Mac scrubbed a hand over his face, the receding adrenaline leaving him weak.” “Why didn’t you tell me this in the beginning?”
“I was afraid you’d think I killed him.”
Well, she’d been right to think that, although he’d considered her a prime suspect, anyway. “You’re sure no one else was there with Harrison, when you left?”
She mulled over the question for a moment. “I’m pretty sure. I mean, I didn’t go into the guest room or bathrooms.” She closed her eyes, most likely retracing her movements in her mind. “I didn’t go in the kitchen, either, but you can see beyond the island from the living room and I didn’t notice anyone. I was pretty upset though.”
Mac considered all she’d told him. There definitely could have been someone else there. “I still need that DNA sample from you. It’s the only way I can prove you weren’t in bed with him that night.”
“Fine.” She stiffened slightly. “Does it have to be...?”
He knew what she was thinking and he let her off the hook. “No. It can be as simple as a saliva swab.” The pubic hair wasn’t the only DNA evidence they’d eventually collected from Harrison’s bed.
Her relief was palpable. “Okay.”
“Tell me about last night.”
Elizabeth had known that was coming. She’d made it through the initial part of her confession, but this part was going to be a little trickier. Her story would sound so farfetched. But what the hell? She had nothing to lose at this point and she was definitely out of options. Besides, MacBride wasn’t going to give up until he had the truth. She had to respect that about him. He was trying to bring at least one murderer to justice. And if she could help, she wanted to. The murders had to stop.
“We had a kind of conference,” she began.
“Who?” he interjected.
“Gloria, Annabelle and I.”
“Annabelle Ford? Harrison’s attorney?”
She stole a quick glance at him and almost shivered at the intensity in his eyes. And he was close. Closer than she’d realized. She resisted the urge to scoot away. Being afraid was over. She had to do this right. If anyone else died and it was in any way her fault for not telling all she knew... she couldn’t live with that.
“Yes, Ned’s attorney. Gloria called her when the third woman was murdered. We decided to see if we could put our heads together and figure out who was doing this.”
MacBride sat perfectly still, his head inclined as he listened to her relate the details of her first meeting with Annabelle and Gloria. When she mentioned the Gentlemen’s Association and the secret room, something changed in his eyes, but he masked it so quickly she wasn’t sure exactly what she’d seen.
“I guess Brian was w
atching me,” she suggested for lack of any other explanation. “We hadn’t really seen each other except at an occasional party in months. I can’t imagine how else he would have known. Even Annabelle and Gloria didn’t know when I planned to make the attempt at getting in.”
“Did he threaten you in any way?”
Elizabeth could feel the tension vibrating in the man sitting beside her. Something she’d told him had hit a nerve. She shook her head in response to his question. “Not at first. But then he started to make me uneasy. He tried to force me to admit I’d killed Ned.” She quickly gave him the condensed version of the conversation. “It was like he thought he could make me say what he wanted to hear.”
Mac couldn’t stop himself. He had to touch her. He placed his hand atop her clasped ones. “Listen to me, Elizabeth. I can’t elaborate much on the Gentlemen’s Association, but I can tell you that the people involved with that group are not to be trusted or taken lightly. They’re dangerous.”
She looked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise behind her glasses. “Who are they?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out. Did Novak say anything else about the Association? Something maybe you thought was insignificant?” Mac would damn well have Novak picked up this very day. His mention of the Gentlemen’s Association to Elizabeth was enough for probable cause.
After some consideration she shook her head. “No. That’s all he said before I hit him.”
He couldn’t help the smile that broke loose at the idea of her crowning Novak. The self-serving bastard. “Okay. Shall we try and locate that secret room?”
She nodded jerkily and his protective instincts surged. Their eyes met and he knew in that instant she was without doubt completely innocent. He reached up to touch her face. He heard her breath catch, but she didn’t draw away.
The ring of his cell phone shattered the moment.
It took a second ring for him to pull himself together enough to answer. “MacBride.”
“Mac, it’s Duncan.”
He stood and moved away from the temptation she represented. “What’s up?” The urge to loosen his tie had him reaching for his throat. The room was suddenly too damned hot.
