by LENA DIAZ,
Chapter Ten
The metal loop bolted to the tabletop in the interview room made Hayley shudder. Thank goodness she wasn’t wearing handcuffs right now and that she wasn’t chained to that loop. But her orange jumpsuit was a daunting reminder that she wasn’t free yet.
She straightened as the door opened. Dalton and Mason entered, setting off a spark of panic inside her. She hadn’t expected that. After seeing Dalton at the vet’s office, and then listening to him tell her stories about his dogs and family, she’d begun to think of him almost as a friend, or at least someone she was no longer afraid of.
But she’d been exhausted and hungry during his jailhouse visits. Last night the dinner that had been served had been unexpectedly appetizing. She’d eaten every bite and had slept soundly for the first time since being locked up. Breakfast this morning had been equally savory, most likely due to pressure exerted by Dalton. She was feeling almost like her old self again. Her brain was firing on all synapses, which had her fears coming back to haunt her and make her second-guess...everything.
Could she trust him? Was he guilty or innocent in Bethany’s murder?
Even if he hadn’t made her feel uneasy today, his boss, Mason, did. He was just as tall and muscular as his employee, but where Dalton’s eyes were kind and compelled her to want to believe him, Mason’s were frosty enough to make her shiver.
A detective she’d never met before, Olson, followed them inside. The gun holstered to his belt seemed like a joke when the other men dwarfed him in both height and bulk. What were the chances he’d be able to use that gun before they could overpower him in this tiny room?
She drew a shaky breath and pressed back against her chair. Doubting Dalton, after essentially bonding with him, seemed like a form of betrayal, especially since he’d promised to get her out of jail. But she couldn’t stop the swirl of images in her head, the memories of what she’d read in her friend’s journals, the pictures she carried in her purse everywhere she went since beginning her research into Bethany’s death.
Dalton dipped his head in greeting, once again minus his Stetson. Did the police make him take it off whenever he came here? Or was it part of his plan to make him seem more approachable? She hated that she was having these doubts.
“Good to see you again, Hayley.” He offered her a friendly smile and took the seat directly across from her. The detective sat to his left and his boss sat to his right. “I don’t think you’ve ever been formally introduced to my boss even though you’ve seen each other before. Meet Mason Ford.”
His indirect reference to their little arrest party on the side of the road had her face flushing hot. That was a memory she’d love to forget.
“Ma’am.” Mason set a thick manila folder on the table in front of him and rested one hand on top of it. His muddy-brown eyes mirrored suspicion and distrust, where Dalton’s seemed full of empathy.
Rubbing her sweaty palms on her orange jumpsuit, she tried to smile but was pretty sure that she’d failed when Dalton’s brows drew down in concern. “I ate like a queen yesterday afternoon, and slept really well for the first time since coming here. I’m pretty sure I have you to thank, Dalton. My roommates were mysteriously moved to a new cell after you left. And the quality of the food went way up.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have any kind of influence in this place.” He winked.
Her smile was genuine this time. But when she noted the detective frowning at them, she sobered. Whatever Dalton had done, he’d done it to help her. And she didn’t want him or whoever he’d bribed or cajoled to get in trouble over it.
“I understand that once we talk, you’ll drop all charges.” She ran her hands up and down her arms. “I’ll get to go home. Today, right?”
“That’s the deal. As to whether you can go home today, Detective Olson, what do you think?”
“If you drop the charges, there’s no reason to hold her. After we leave here, I can take her to booking, get her personal belongings back, let her change clothes. She can leave after filling out some paperwork.”
His declaration should have made her ecstatic. But her newly refreshed mind was wondering what Dalton and his boss had to gain by letting her go. The case against her was open and shut. Even if she had a great lawyer, or any lawyer at all, she’d be found guilty and go to prison. There was no fighting the video. Or her fingerprints. Or her blood if she’d left any spots on the driveway after cutting her head. Perhaps a lenient judge might sentence her to probation since it was her first offense. But having been in jail—which was probably like a trip to an exclusive resort compared to an actual prison—she didn’t want to even risk the possibility of going to prison. It would destroy her. So she’d agreed to talk. But there had to be something more, something for them to gain, to agree to this deal. What was in it for them? Her gaze went to the thick folder on the table. Maybe the answer was inside. “What’s in the folder?”
He glanced at the detective before answering. “It contains information from our investigation into the events surrounding Bethany Miller’s death. We’re willing to share it with you, in exchange for you answering our questions.”
“Your investigation?” She glanced from Mason to Dalton. “You’re private investigators?”
“Not exactly.” He motioned to Mason, who pulled a piece of paper from the folder and set it down along with a pen. “Before we go any further, you need to sign that. It’s a binding contract with the terms of our discussion.”
“Terms?”
“Conditions. Two of them.”
Disappointment was a sharp twist in her gut. “I knew it was too good to be true. This is a trick.”
“No trick. That’s an NDA, a nondisclosure agreement. In exchange for me dropping all charges, you agree not to reveal anything that we discuss during our meeting without incurring substantial punitive damages. If you break the agreement, the charges against you will immediately be reinstated.”
“I’d go back to jail.”
“Yes.”
She didn’t want to go back to her cell. She really didn’t want to go to prison. But what could they possibly have to discuss that required a nondisclosure agreement? It was all so odd.
“You said there were two conditions. What’s the second one?”
He motioned toward the detective. “The second one you already agreed to the last time we spoke. Detective Olson will step outside the room. This has to be a private discussion.”
His clear blue eyes seemed friendly, his expression open and honest, as if she could trust him with her life. Which was exactly what she’d be doing if she met his conditions. A week ago, she’d have been terrified to be this close to him. Yesterday she would have agreed to anything just for the chance of getting out of jail. Today, rested and fed, she was back to thinking the way she had before, with a heavy dose of suspicion. Was it possible that he was being too nice? Too nice to trust?
She’d heard the joy in his voice as he spoke about his dogs, laughed with him at funny anecdotes about his parents, former ranchers struggling to adjust to the land of gators and golf. He’d drawn her in, like an old friend, making her feel comfortable.
Was that his plan all along?
Had he seen the breaking-and-entering charges as an opportunity to bend her to his will? Fear and anxiety over her future weren’t the best foundations for forming opinions or making important decisions. Could she trust herself, the decisions that she’d made while under duress?
And how much of this feeling of camaraderie with him was due to her physical attraction to him? Even now, part of her yearned to be held in his arms, to believe that he was a man she could rely on and count on to help her, instead of the villain she’d painted him to be for so long.
Risking her life because of hormones or duress was foolish. And she didn’t think of herself as a fool.
She gave him an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Dalton. I really am. But I’ve changed my mind on that point, on being alone with you and Mason. I have to ensure my safety. I do want this deal, even though I don’t see how anything I could possibly say could help you in any way. But I won’t bet my life that my judgment of your character, even though it’s changed drastically over the past few days, can be trusted. Can we come up with some kind of compromise?” She motioned toward the metal loop in the center of the table. “Perhaps you could be shackled—”
“Forget that.” Mason snatched the folder from the table and stood.
Dalton stopped him with a hand on his sleeve. “It’s okay, Mason. If it makes Hayley feel safe, Detective Olson can chain me to the table.”
“No,” Mason snarled, his face reddening. “Not happening. I won’t allow one of my employees, let alone a friend, to be treated like a criminal. It goes against everything I stand for, everything my business stands for. I refuse to let that happen, again, ever, to someone I know is innocent. Forget it. We’ll find another way to get what we...” He clamped his jaw shut, as if realizing he’d said too much.
“Another way to get what we...what?” Hayley asked, feeling as if she was on the verge of discovering the real reason that they wanted to talk to her.
Mason aimed a scathing glance her way but didn’t answer. He didn’t sit either. There was no doubt that he considered their potential deal a no-go.
Panic reared its ugly head, making her want to agree to anything. But her self-preservation instincts were strong. So instead of agreeing to their conditions, she squelched her pride and resorted to pleading. “I really don’t want to go back to jail.” She put her hand on Dalton’s. “Please.”
He stared at her hand on his for a long moment, then cleared his throat and glanced at his boss.
Mason shook his head. “No.”
“Mr. Lynch, Mr. Ford.” Olson’s tone was placating. “It’s just a simple precaution that would make Miss Nash feel safe. It won’t even be that uncomfortable. I could—”
“Absolutely not.” Mason adjusted his suit jacket and tucked the folder beneath his arm. “Forget the deal, Dalton. You’re pressing charges against Miss Nash. And I’ll get my lawyers to push the district attorney to file harassment charges against her like I’ve wanted to all along. Your misdirected sympathy isn’t going to keep me from legally pursuing her anymore. She wants to lock you up. You get that part, right?” He aimed another scathing look at Hayley. “We’re done here.” He flung open the door, then motioned for Dalton to join him.
Hayley pulled her hand back and clasped them both together on top of the table. What his boss had just said had her feeling awful for not trusting Dalton. All this time, Mason had wanted her arrested. But Dalton had refused. He’d given her the benefit of the doubt, patience, respect for her views even though he didn’t agree with them. She was having a harder and harder time believing he could ever do something as violent and ugly as hurt her friend, let alone kill her.
But if that was so, then why had Bethany written all those things about him in her journal? And what did those pictures mean?
From the sympathetic look that Dalton was giving his boss, he must have understood why Mason was so angry at the prospect of Dalton being handcuffed. Something horrible had obviously happened in Mason’s past. And because of it, he wasn’t budging on this issue.
And, apparently, now Dalton wasn’t either. He pushed his chair back and stood.
Desperate to keep her chance from slipping away, she grabbed the NDA and signed it, then tossed the pen on top. “There. I’m ready to talk. All I want is for you to ensure my safety. It’s not like I’m asking for something impossible or even that difficult. There has to be a way to make this happen.”
“Gentlemen,” Olson said. “I have an idea.”
Chapter Eleven
Detective Olson had apologized profusely to Hayley for the dust and spiderwebs in this lineup room when he’d brought in the flimsy table and chair. He’d explained that most lineups were conducted digitally these days and that this room was rarely used anymore.
A few feet in front of her, taking up most of the wall, was a rectangular two-way mirror. Or was it called a one-way mirror? She could see her reflection, while in the booth on the other side of the glass, Dalton and Mason could see her. It made her self-conscious, knowing they could be watching right now, hearing every little whisper of fabric when she shifted positions or crossed her legs. She shivered and ran her hands up and down her arms.
The speaker above the glass crackled. “Is the room too cold?” Dalton asked. “Do you need a sweater?”
Point proven. “No, I’m, ah, fine. Thanks.”
Another burst of static sounded. It was Detective Olson’s voice this time. “I’m getting all the recording equipment shut down right now. We’re almost ready. As agreed, I’ll step out of the booth and stand outside the room you’re in. Your conversation with Mr. Lynch and Mr. Ford will be completely confidential. When your meeting is over, I’ll come into the lineup room with a policewoman who will escort you up front to change and be processed out. Understood?”
She understood processed out.
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Okay. The interview will begin in just a few more minutes.”
She clasped her hands on the table, already thinking about what she’d do once she finally got home. A long shower was at the top of her list. Maybe two. Then she’d catch up on some website updates that she did on the side. Rent was due soon, and she didn’t think she had enough available on her credit cards to pay it.
Building custom websites had started out as a way to get extra money to help pay off her daunting student loans. And since her corporate employer didn’t allow freelancing on the side, calling it a conflict of interest, she was forced to keep quiet about her little venture and couldn’t advertise it openly anywhere.
Bethany had inadvertently helped her get her first client. She’d been sitting on Hayley’s couch with her laptop, showing Hayley a boutique gift website that Hayley had never heard of before. But rather than be impressed with the novelties for sale, Hayley had laughed about the amateurish quality of the company’s website. She’d declared that she could out-design whoever had created it. Bethany had dared her to prove it.
The very next day, Hayley had approached the company about upgrading their system, offering them a ridiculously low fee to see if she could tempt them to hire her without references. She’d confided that she designed websites for a corporation during the day, and had showed them some of that work. They were so impressed that they’d jumped at her offer. Her little secret side-career was off and running.
She could still remember the joy of putting that ghost icon on the bottom of each web page, a nod to the nickname she’d been given in college for completely non-computer reasons. She should have trademarked the ghost image, and likely would eventually. But she didn’t want her corporate employer to know that she was moonlighting, so she couldn’t risk it. But to her, it was like a signature, declaring the website as her creation. She couldn’t be more proud.
And when that same client had later asked her to create a series of proprietary website pages unviewable by the public, she’d brainstormed how to do what they wanted. They were too small to have their own programmers. So she needed to set up a way for them to access the secret pages but also to have the flexibility of searching the internet, per their request, without anyone seeing their trail. They needed to be able to ensure the security of their information, and keep proprietary data from being found by any search engines.
What she’d come up with was a series of web pages that weren’t linked to any other web pages, not even the original site. The client would have to key the exact internet addresses in order to access them, which was a bit of a chore. But she created an algorithm to help them remember the addresses.
The
n the client had asked her to set up an interface using the TOR browser, because they’d heard it had been designed with cybersecurity and anonymity as its primary goals. She did it and they were thrilled. And she was more than thrilled with the bonus they gave her. That first client had referred her to others with similar needs, and her business had taken off.
The high cost of medical insurance and the awesome 401(k) plan at her corporate job had her debating whether to risk going solo, or keep her day job. But before she could make that decision, the worst had happened.
Bethany had disappeared.
A few days later her body was found on Dalton’s property. Hayley’s ensuing investigation had adversely impacted both her corporate job and her side job. She really needed to do some updates for her clients to bring in an influx of cash. Yet another reason to hurry and get this interview over with.
The speaker crackled again, then another voice came through, Dalton’s deep, incredibly compelling tone. Instead of the easy familiarity of their most recent conversations, he spoke with a polite formality. Was that because his boss was with him? Even more surprising was that he opened the conversation asking her basic, general questions about herself that seemed inconsequential and unnecessary. She relaxed in her chair and answered his banal questions about what she’d studied in college.
He asked about her job as a computer programmer in nearby Pigeon Forge, and why she’d decided to rent a cabin in Gatlinburg when she’d been living much closer to her office before this. Again, not exactly a shocker that it was because of her friend’s death, and the fact that police were getting nowhere with the investigation. She’d wanted to be close enough to go to the police station every day to prod them. And she’d wanted to keep an eye on Dalton.
What did surprise her was that he asked about her work outside of her official one. When she asked how he knew about her one-person company, he couldn’t recall where he’d heard about it. One of her clients must have mentioned it to him. But how would he have met them? Did his work involve small retail companies? She still didn’t really know what kind of work he did.
