by Debra Webb
Elizabeth was pretty sure she wouldn’t soon forget Mac’s goodbye kiss. If the desperation behind it was any indication, he was as deep in this as she was.
And she was in way over her head.
~*~
Around lunchtime loud voices erupted in the corridor outside the loft. Boomer and Elizabeth exchanged questioning looks. But then Elizabeth recognized the voice railing at Duncan.
Annabelle.
Elizabeth put her paint roller aside and rushed into the corridor to intervene. In one glance she summed up the situation. Duncan was hell bent on doing his job protecting Elizabeth, and Annabelle was equally determined to see her.
“It’s okay, Agent Duncan,” Elizabeth said quickly. “Annabelle’s a friend.”
Giving the resigned man a triumphant glare, Annabelle stormed past him and into the loft with Elizabeth.
“We have to talk,” she whispered from the corner of her mouth. Her gaze flicked to Boomer on the other side of the loft.
“Sure.” Nerves jangling, Elizabeth ushered her toward the one area that was separated from the main part of the loft—the bathroom.
Once within the confines of the smaller room, Annabelle blurted her statement in what was probably an attempt at whispering. “Brian Novak is dead.”
Elizabeth nodded solemnly. “I know.”
Annabelle took her hands in hers. “I’m so sorry, Elizabeth. I had to be sure you were all right. I know how close the two of you once were.” She glanced toward the open door. “I don’t want you to worry, dear. I didn’t tell them anything about the other night.”
A frown of confusion worked its way across Elizabeth’s brow. “You didn’t tell who?”
Annabelle rolled her gray eyes in impatience. “That brutish Detective Brannigan. He spoke to me and to Gloria. She called, extremely upset. I rushed over here immediately, since you weren’t answering your cell.”
Dammit. She’d totally forgotten her phone. Mac had consumed her thoughts. “I appreciate that you wanted to protect me, but you didn’t have to worry or hide anything about the other night in Ned’s office.”
Annabelle squeezed, her hands knowingly. “Oh, but you’re wrong. That ridiculous detective thinks you killed Brian. He thinks you killed Ned, too!”
A little jolt of shock rumbled through her. “What makes you think that?”
The older woman huffed in exasperation. “Why, the imbecile said as much. He was rambling on about how the FBI had been watching you from the beginning and how they’d taken the case away from him.” She released Elizabeth so she could throw up her hands. “He was furious with MacBride for horning in on his prime suspect. But MacBride told Brannigan he couldn’t handle you so he was taking over.”
“When did MacBride say all this?” This didn’t make sense. Mac wanted to protect her. Brannigan was wrong. He had to be.
“Talk to Gloria,” Annabelle urged. “She came away from the meeting with the same feeling. You’ve got to call that criminal lawyer you put on retainer before you find yourself appearing before a grand jury.”
“I will.” Elizabeth’s words were thin. It took all the strength she could rally to hold back the misery mushrooming inside her. “I’ll call him today.”
Apparently satisfied with that assurance, Annabelle warned her again to be careful and left in the same rush she’d arrived in. Agent Duncan looked none too happy about the visit, but Elizabeth didn’t care. Right now the only thing she cared about was confirming the worst.
If Mac was using her to close his case... she squeezed her eyes shut and fought the tears. She couldn’t believe that just yet. Mac had protected her. Made love to her as no one else ever had. She’d opened up to him, been the wanton woman she’d secretly longed to be with the right man. It couldn’t have been a lie.
She wouldn’t let it be.
Annabelle was upset. She’d probably taken it all out of context. Elizabeth knew from experience that Brannigan could be a brash SOB. He could be trying to make Mac look bad.
She would not lose trust in Mac—not without solid proof, anyway.
~*~
Elizabeth got another hour of hard work behind her before she lost the war with her emotions. She couldn’t ignore what she had to do any longer. She gave Boomer instructions for the rest of the day. Not that he really needed any. He worked well on his own and was good to take the initiative.
Now came the hard part. She exited the loft and found Duncan propped on the window ledge at the end of the corridor, sipping coffee from a thermos. The window’s view wasn’t anything to write home about, just the uncommonly wide alleyway between this old industrial building and the next, but at least it allowed sunlight into the otherwise dark corridor.
“I need to go to Gloria Weston’s office.”
Duncan stood abruptly. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. We’ll have to check with Mac on that.”
Elizabeth wasn’t about to be thwarted. “You can either take me now or I’ll use Boomer’s van.”
“Let me give Mac a quick call.” Duncan withdrew his cell and entered the number. After thirty seconds or so it was obvious he wasn’t going to reach Mac. “He must be on another call.”
“I’d like to go now, please,” she informed him, leaving no room for argument. She was going to Gloria’s office one way or another. Something wasn’t right. Whatever it was hummed just beneath the surface. Elizabeth couldn’t quite grasp it but the bad feeling wouldn’t let go. She kept replaying the conversation she’d had with Annabelle. Something felt off.
Duncan finally relented. “All right. I guess it won’t hurt.”
Half an hour later they were on the elevator headed toward the eighteenth floor and Gloria’s office. Duncan fit right in with all the suits and ties. Elizabeth, however, stood out like a sore thumb. Her jeans and tee-shirt, both dappled with white paint looked vastly out of place.
“You can wait here,” she said to Duncan when they reached Gloria’s door.
“I’ll need to check it out first.”
Blowing out a puff of frustration, Elizabeth stood back and allowed him to knock and then enter Gloria’s office.
“Miss Young would like to see you.” She heard him say. Wow, finally, she had her own secretary, as well as bodyguard. All it had taken was a few unsolved murders.
He stepped back into the corridor as Gloria peeked out from her office, her eyes wide with surprise. “What’s going on?”
Elizabeth shot Duncan a look that told him to stay put and quickly followed Gloria into her office, then closed the door behind them. “You know Brian is dead.”
Gloria nodded grimly. “I can’t believe it. Do you know they think he’s the one who’s been killing all the women?”
Elizabeth didn’t remember Annabelle saying that. “They do?”
“It’s hard to believe, I know. But that’s the impression Detective Brannigan gave me.”
“But he didn’t say that?” Elizabeth pressed. She had to know how this was going down. Had to understand her position in all this.
Gloria frowned thoughtfully for a moment. “No, he didn’t exactly say it. I just got those vibes from him and the slant of his questions.”
“Did he say anything about me?” Elizabeth held her breath, not sure she could cope with the answer if it matched what Annabelle had said.
Gloria flipped her hands palms up in a noncommittal gesture. “He did mention you.” She dropped onto the edge of her desk. “It was odd. He didn’t exactly accuse you of anything, but I got the impression he somehow thought you and Brian were in on this together.” She pulled a cocky face. “But I set him straight on that one. You and Brian hadn’t been in on anything together in months.”
Her words warmed Elizabeth. “Thanks.” She moistened her lips, then gnawed on her lower one for a second. “Annabelle came by. She was extremely upset. She said Brannigan considered me the prime suspect in Ned’s as well as Brian’s murder. And that he’d gotten the impression the FBI thought so, as well
. She...” Elizabeth shrugged. “I don’t know. The more I think about it, the weirder the conversation seems.”
Frowning, Gloria shook her head slowly. “He didn’t say anything like that to me, but he did ask a lot of questions about you and Ned and you and Brian.” Her frown deepened. “Now that you mention it, he did lean heavily toward tying you to both men. He kept bringing up your name each time he talked about Ned or Brian’s murder.”
That too-familiar chill crept into Elizabeth’s bones. “But he didn’t mention the FBI’s thoughts on the matter?”
“No. I’m sure he didn’t.” Gloria shrugged. “Then again, I made it clear that you and I are friends. Maybe he held back, knowing I’d likely tell you whatever he said.”
That was true. Since there was no reason for him to suspect Elizabeth and Annabelle had any sort of relationship, he would likely speak more freely around her. Anxiety coiled in her stomach. Still, she had no real proof against Mac.
“And don’t sweat Annabelle. I’ve gotten the occasional creepy vibe from her, too. She is a lawyer, after all.” Gloria rubbed her forehead with her thumb and forefinger. “I just wish this were over.”
“Me, too.” Elizabeth leaned against the corner of the desk next to her friend. Maybe that was what had been digging at her. A creepy vibe was a damned accurate description. But she supposed Annabelle couldn’t help how she was. Besides, Elizabeth had bigger problems than trying to figure out the woman. “There’s something I have to ask you, Gloria.”
Her friend turned to look at her, her gaze expectant. “You know you can ask me anything.”
Elizabeth had sworn to herself she wouldn’t visit this place, but she needed all of this over and done with. No secrets. No lingering questions. “When Brian confronted me at Ned’s office, he said some hurtful things.”
Gloria harrumphed. “Well, I hate to speak ill of the dead, but there’s no surprise there.”
Elizabeth moistened her lips and worked up the nerve to say the rest. “He said you recommended me to Ned after he told you to. That you were in on the whole thing. His using me and then Ned doing the same.”
Gloria’s expression had gone from calm and patient to outraged in less than three seconds. “You’re kidding, right?”
Elizabeth gave her head a little shake. “I didn’t believe him, but I wanted you to know—”
“What do you mean, you didn’t believe him?” Gloria demanded, her tone filled with hurt. “You’re asking me, so you must have believed it to some degree.” She threw up her hands and pushed away from her desk. “I can’t believe you would even consider his lies as having any basis whatsoever.”
Duncan stuck his head inside the door. “Everything all right in here?”
The two severe glowers thrown his way sent him ducking back into the corridor.
“Gloria,” Elizabeth urged, “I didn’t believe him. I—”
“You didn’t?” Her friend was angry now. A flush had turned her pale skin a deep crimson. “Well, you could have fooled me. Why would you bother bringing it up if you didn’t?”
She was right. Elizabeth stared at the floor, ashamed of herself for believing Brian even for a second. “I’m sorry. I don’t know—”
“I do,” Gloria snapped, her arms folded over her chest in an unyielding manner. “You have that little faith in our friendship.” Mouth set in a grim line, she skirted the desk and began to shuffle through the mound of papers lying there. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
“Let’s not leave it like this, please,” Elizabeth pleaded. “I was wrong to let him get to me, but I—”
Gloria held up a hand and fixed her with a hard glare. “I can’t talk about this right now, I’m too upset. Please, just go.”
Elizabeth admitted defeat. She moved to the door, but hesitated before going through it. “Just remember one thing,” she said softly. Gloria didn’t even look up. “This isn’t your fault. It’s mine. I’m the one with the trust issues. I jumped the gun here and I’m sorry. No matter what happens with all this insanity, you’re still my best friend.”
Elizabeth didn’t wait for a reply. Gloria was too hurt right now. But they would work it out... somehow.
She sat numbly in Duncan’s car as he headed back toward SoHo. His cell rang and she jerked at the sound. Swiping the infuriating tears from her cheeks, she forced a deep breath and kept her gaze straight ahead. She tried not to think, but it was impossible. The events of the past ten days were spinning in her head, crashing down on her with a sense of finality that threatened her tenuous grip on composure. Ned’s deceit. His murder. The police. The murdered women. Brian’s preposterous accusations. His murder. Making love with Mac.
God, please let her be able to trust him. To count on that one thing. She couldn’t live with another letdown.
“It’s Mac,” Duncan said. “He needs to talk to you.”
Her hand shaking, Elizabeth took the phone. “Hello.” She cringed at the quaver in her voice. Strong. She had to be strong.
“Elizabeth, listen to me.” The sound of his voice was reassuring. “There’s been another murder. I’ve instructed Agent Duncan to take you home and to stay with you until I can get back there.”
She listened, too stunned to reply. Some part of her brain niggled at her, reminding her that she really needed to work, but she couldn’t quite grasp the initiative.
“Brannigan is sending another man over to keep watch on Gloria.”
Her friend’s name startled her out of her trance. “Annabelle said there’s still one more before he gets to Gloria and me.” God, she prayed her information was correct. What was she thinking? She was wishing the danger on someone else, someone just as innocent as they were. “Whoever she is, she’ll need protecting, too.”
Silence roared between them for a moment that felt like an eternity. Why didn’t he say something?
“If Harrison had another female patient whose name comes alphabetically after the latest victim and before Weston, I can’t find it in his files.”
Fear broadsided Elizabeth.
If that was accurate, Gloria was next.
Chapter Thirteen
Elizabeth retraced her steps across her suddenly too-small living room. She’d never noticed before that the old wooden floor creaked in a certain spot about three feet from the rear wall. It squeaked smack-dab in the center, too. Guess she’d never really had time to pace the floor that much or to be aware it made any sounds. Or maybe she’d simply been too exhausted by the time she dragged herself home at night. Whenever her panic attacks had struck at home, she’d done her walking off of the excess adrenaline outside. It worked better that way. Now that she thought about it, this apartment had really served as nothing more than the place she slept and showered. It hadn’t really been a home.
Her life had been in too much of an uproar and she’d been far too busy attempting to make ends meet to worry about anything else. The worn area rug and meager furnishings had been included with the place, for which she’d been immensely thankful. She’d had nothing of her own.
Nothing but a boxful of mementoes from the life she’d once lived in a small Maryland town. It felt like a dozen lifetimes ago now.
She hadn’t even bothered calling her sister, the only family she had left, and telling her about the murders or her connection to any of it. Her only sibling had enough troubles of her own. Fortunately for the kids, Peg had straightened out her life since becoming a widow. No more drugs or drinking. She even had a job. While working at the local Walmart might not sound like much to most, it was a huge step for Peg. Elizabeth’s little sister had never been much for responsibility, and she hadn’t really grown up until her third child was born.
But then, Elizabeth couldn’t blame it all on her sister. With a mother who deserted them and a father who’d been too busy working to keep a roof over their heads to influence their raising to any degree, what else could one expect?
She knew she was rambling down memory lane, as frui
tless as it was, to avoid facing reality.
In the past a situation this stressful would have thrown her into full-scale panic, but strangely she felt an odd sense of calm. Her concern for her friend had overridden all else. Elizabeth turned and started across the room, once more silently willing the telephone to ring. She needed to hear from Gloria. She’d called her office as soon as she arrived home, but her assistant had informed her that Gloria had gone for the day. She’d called Gloria’s cell a dozen times and gotten no answer. Then she’d called Gloria’s sister’s house, and there hadn’t been any answer there either.
Uneasiness ate away at Elizabeth, but she stayed strong. She should have heard from Mac by now. What was going on with the latest victim? Had he gotten in touch with Brannigan about Gloria?
Elizabeth deviated from her usual route and pushed the curtain aside just far enough to see Duncan’s car outside. She didn’t see him in the fading daylight, but she knew he was around, watching the grounds, checking the doors and windows. She’d offered him some coffee, but he’d declined, saying that his wife always made him a thermos full each morning. Elizabeth wondered vaguely what it would be like to have that kind of relationship. Taking care of each other’s needs, always knowing someone to depend on was there. She closed her eyes and thought about making love with Mac. Long nights, cradled in his arms, sated emotionally, as well as physically.
Never count your chickens before they hatch, darling, her daddy had always said. She, of all people, should know that adage was true. She knew better than to start thinking about forever where Mac was concerned. They’d shared one night, nothing more. When this case was over, assuming she survived it, they would probably never see each other again. He could have a girlfriend... or a fiancée.
The bottom fell out of her stomach. They really hadn’t talked that much. What did she actually know about him? He’d been born and raised in Washington, D.C. Had a degree from Columbia. He was thirty-five and he’d been with the FBI for ten years. She had no idea if he had any family or even what foods he liked or what his favorite color was.
