Her Private Treasure

by Wendy Etherington

  The security detail met them at the gate, checked their IDs, then allowed Malina to park before they were escorted to a side door.

  Just inside, Mayor Don Parnell paced the hall in a rumpled charcoal suit. “Thank goodness you’re here, Agent Blair.” The mayor shook Malina’s hand, then his tired gaze moved to Carr. “And Mr. Hamilton, good to see you again.”

  “Carr happened to be with me when your call came in, sir,” Malina explained as the security guards closed the door behind them.

  The mayor nodded. “Excellent. He helped out First Presbyterian last year when some jerk staged a fall down the front steps, then tried to sue the church for ten million dollars. Mr. Hamilton cleared the whole thing up nicely.”

  At Malina’s impressed glance, Carr nodded modestly. His charity knew no bounds—and it shouldn’t, according to Sister Mary Katherine. Still, he didn’t think it was wrong to take some credit in front of the woman he was trying to romance.

  “It’s hard to believe we’re back in this position so soon,” Parnell continued. “My wife is a wreck.”

  “And the kids?” Malina asked.

  “They can barely stop crying, and they won’t let my wife and me out of their sight. They’re afraid one of us is going to be next.”

  Malina exchanged a knowing look with Carr.

  Clearly frustrated, the mayor speared his hand through his wavy brown hair. “The only way they’d let me leave the room is because I told them it was you. How could this happen again? We don’t even have a dog walker anymore.”

  “Well, I’d like to talk privately with you before we go back to your family.” Malina slid her hands calmly into her pockets and faced the mayor. Her voice was confident and quiet. “When did you notice Pooky was missing?”

  The mayor stopped pacing and mirrored her pose. “This morning,” he said, his tone more controlled than before. “I got up about six-thirty. Pooky always hears me and comes out of one of the twins’ rooms, meeting me at the top of the stairs. This morning, no Pooky. I looked everywhere, had the security detail hunting through the bushes, driving down the street.

  “When it was apparent she was gone, I had no choice but to wake up my wife and the twins. Madison and Edward insisted I call you. What else could I do? They were hysterical.”

  “I’ll bet,” Malina said. “When was the last time you saw Pooky?”

  “Sometime after dinner last night.” He waved his hand vaguely in the direction behind him. “The kids took her out to play in the backyard.”

  “Did you see them come back in?”

  “No, but I heard them.”

  “You heard the dog bark?”

  Parnell looked thoughtful. “No, she’s not much of a barker. I heard the kids come back in.”

  “Has it occurred to anybody that Pooky might have simply gotten out and run off?” Malina asked.

  Parnell shook his head. “She can’t. We have an electric fence, remember? As long as she’s wearing her collar, she can’t cross the property’s barrier without getting shocked. You’ve seen her, high-strung, tiny little ball of fur. She won’t go anywhere near the edge of the yard.”

  “Oh, right,” Malina said. “I’d forgotten.”

  But it was apparent to Carr that she hadn’t overlooked that detail at all. She was leading the mayor somewhere, and Carr, for one, couldn’t wait to find out how she’d get there without insulting him and jeopardizing her powerful connection.

  Crossing her arms over her chest, Malina stepped closer to Parnell. “Besides the fence, Mr. Parnell, you also have a security detail with you twenty-four hours a day. How do you suppose the dog-napper got access to the property, not to mention your kids’ bedrooms?”

  Parnell stiffened. “Agent Blair, I’m not sure I like your tone. What are you suggesting?”

  “An inside job.”

  “Not me certainly.”

  “No, the twins.”

  Her flat delivery was a wake-up call to Parnell. His head snapped back, and he rubbed his temples as if he could reach inside his head and physically clear his thoughts.

  “I don’t hear you arguing against that theory,” Malina said after a few seconds of silence during which the mayor returned to his pacing.

  “They’re not really criers,” Parnell said with a sigh. “Especially not Edward. But every time he looked at his sister and saw her crying, he started up, too. It seemed strange.”

  Malina angled her head. “Kids do strange things to attract attention sometimes.”

  The mayor’s face flushed with embarrassment. “I’ll bet most of them don’t involve calling the FBI, though.”

  “I don’t see any reason to make an official report, but I think they ought to try excelling at baseball or soccer or singing in the choir rather than learning to cry and manipulate on command.”

  Parnell smiled weakly. “How about the drama club?”

  “There you go.” Malina’s gaze locked on Parnell’s. “How do you feel about letting the consequences of their actions play out?”

  The mayor looked from Malina to Carr. “How?”

  After a minute or two of whispered planning, the mayor led them down the hall to the den, where the kids and their mother were waiting.

  “Excellent work,” Carr whispered in Malina’s ear as they walked. “The everything’s-under-control tone and the composed body language were nice touches.”

  She shrugged away the compliment. “Don’t even think about stealing my technique for your next appearance in court.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “One last thing…” Malina said as they approached the doorway. “Where’s the butler?”

  Parnell angled his head. “Stevens? Sunday’s his day off.”

  Malina patted his shoulder. “Just checking.”

  When they entered the posh den, Madison and Edward Parnell, both blue-eyed blonds and still wearing pajamas, sat on either side of their mother on the sofa. Their faces were red and puffy from crying, but Carr was certain he saw little Madison’s eyes gleam as she noticed Malina.

  “I’m sorry we have to see each other again under these difficult circumstances,” Malina said formally to Mrs. Parnell, who rose to shake both Malina’s and Carr’s hands.

  “I really don’t understand how this could happen again,” she said somewhat desperately, her gaze seeking out her husband’s.

  Uncertainty and fear permeated the room, and the mayor, either from embarrassment or lack of compassion, didn’t seem to sense his wife’s anxiety. He stood apart from the family.

  “I have a pretty good idea,” Malina said to Mrs. Parnell. “I’ve examined the crime scene thoroughly, but I’m going to need to talk to the kids now.”

  “But, I—”

  “It’s okay, Lorene,” Parnell said, interrupting his wife. Somewhat hesitantly, he extended his hand to her. She grabbed it like a lifeline, and they retreated to the other side of the room.

  From their gestures and expressions, Carr assumed the mayor was explaining the plan.

  Facing the kids, now alone and uncertain, Malina wasted no time in putting on her bad cop gear. “I brought an attorney with me,” she said, jabbing her thumb over her shoulder to indicate Carr. “You should have one present when you’re questioned by the police.”

  In sync, two pairs of bright blue eyes widened.

  “Q-questioned?” Madison ventured to ask.

  “Sure,” Malina said, placing her hands on her hips. “You wanted the cops, you got ’em.”

  Carr acknowledged that Malina looked wildly intimidating in her dark suit. Plus, when she moved her hands to her hips, she revealed her holstered pistol.

  This isn’t a woman to mess with was clearly the message.

  Understanding his role, Carr stepped aggressively between the kids and Malina. “There’s no need to intimidate my clients, Agent Blair. They’re cooperating, aren’t they?”

  As he looked back toward the kids for confirmation, they nodded slowly.

  Sitting nex
t to Edward, knowing he was the weak link in this conspiracy, Carr glared at Malina. “Please continue, Agent—as long as you can keep your questions soothing and nonthreatening.”

  Malina looked disdainful. “I’d certainly hate to be threatening when there’s a criminal to be unmasked, Counselor.”

  Carr forced himself to appear appalled. “An innocent dog’s life is at stake, Agent Blair. Surely you don’t intend to—”

  “Where were you two last night at seven-thirty?” Malina demanded, her glare jumping to Madison.

  “W-we took Pooky in the backyard to play,” the little girl said, reaching out to clutch Carr’s hand like a lifeline.

  How Malina continued to glare into that innocently beautiful—and now terrified—face, Carr had no idea, but he supposed they didn’t let wimps into HRT.

  “Did you see anyone in the backyard?” she asked.

  “Well, we—” Madison glanced over at her brother. “No, no we didn’t.”

  Malina, not missing a beat, loomed over the girl. “That, Madison, is a big, fat…lie.”

  As Madison burst into tears, which may have actually been genuine this time, Edward leaped to his feet. “Pooky’s fine! Nobody kidnapped her. We gave her to my friend Alan to take care of and pretended she was missing and it was all Madison’s idea and she made me do it so it’s not my fault!”

  9

  MALINA WALKED with Carr and the mayor to her car.

  “Thanks for all your help,” the mayor said. “I certainly hope this is the first—and last—stunt the twins pull.”

  “Anytime, Mr. Mayor.” With the door open, Malina braced her foot against the frame. “And I hope you and your wife work things out. You make a nice couple.”

  Parnell nodded and turned away, but before Malina could drop into the driver’s seat, he’d faced her again. Uncomfortable and hesitant, he asked, “How’d you know we were having problems?”

  “You asked your security detail to help you look for Pooky, which tells me you’re not in the habit of turning to your wife in a crisis. You don’t want to bother her or worry her, or maybe you simply don’t want to include her.” Malina shrugged. “Plus this stunt the twins pulled was a big neon sign.”

  Parnell ducked his head. “I stay pretty busy.”

  “Of course. You have a high-pressure—”

  “I didn’t have an affair,” Parnell interrupted defiantly.

  Malina held up her hands. “None of my business.” She lowered her voice, partly because she was in no position to give advice and partly hoping surveillance on the grounds wouldn’t pick up her words. “But you have a nice family. I’d find a way to hang on to them.”

  As she settled into her sedan, Malina glanced at Carr. Her family was nearly five thousand miles away, and she could think of nobody she’d rather spend time with than the man next to her. “It’s not every day you open and close a case within two hours. I say we celebrate. How about lunch?”

  He leaned across the console and kissed her softly. “Sounds perfect.”

  At the all-you-can-eat crab-and-oyster bar they found in downtown Charleston, they talked about their childhoods, the singularly unusual bond of growing up on small-town islands. They had the same experience of littering tourists, rowdy tourists and tourists in search of historical and naturalistic experiences—as well as the unmistakable knowledge that those tourists kept their economy in the black, whatever the drawbacks.

  Once, Malina tried to broach the subject of why Carr had left Manhattan, but he brushed over his move from high-powered litigator to partially retired defender of churches and charities as if it was simply the natural evolution of a lawyer’s career.

  She’d faced too many cold-eyed sharks in court to know that wasn’t remotely true, but she didn’t see how she could probe him for answers when she was determined to hold back herself.

  As they rose to leave the restaurant, Malina linked their hands. “So, Counselor, got any ideas on how we could spend the rest of the afternoon?”

  Grinning, he held open the door. “A few.”

  Outside stood a woman, about sixty, with silver hair and wearing an expensive-looking plum suit. She thanked Carr for holding the door open, then paused, staring at him. “Carr Hamilton?” she asked, her face going white with shock.

  “Yes, ma’am, are you—”

  She slapped Carr across his face. “You killed my husband!”

  Malina’s instincts kicked in the next instant. She jumped between them. “I’m sure there’s been a mistake.”

  The woman moved forward as if she wanted to hit Carr again, and Malina snagged her arm, pressing her gently but firmly against the wall outside the restaurant. “Don’t even think about touching him again.”

  “Malina, please.” Carr grabbed her waist from behind and pulled her away from the woman. “She—” His voice broke. “Just let her go.”

  Stunned, Malina turned to watch her lover head down the block toward the parking lot where they’d left her car.

  “He killed my husband,” the woman in front of her insisted.

  Malina stepped back and eyed her with distinct suspicion. Carr had been a profitable litigator in New York. He’d successfully argued many cases against big corporations throughout the country. There were bound to be people who didn’t like the outcome of the judgments.

  “I’m not sure what happened to you,” Malina said finally, backing away, “but Carr wasn’t the cause.”

  The woman lifted her chin. “But he was. Aberforth versus Bailey Industries, here in Charleston, five years ago. Look it up.”

  Then, with regal bearing, she headed into the restaurant.

  Malina fought to calm her racing heart.

  She braced her hand against the restaurant’s brick wall. Carr’s hurt and guilty eyes flashed in front of her.

  There were plenty of horrors in her past. All of them job-related. Justice was sometimes bloody, often unpleasant, but Carr would never knowingly hurt anyone.

  No way.

  But then why had he gone from the glory of being on the short list as the attorney most feared by global insurance companies and high-powered consumer products corporations to defending churches against fraud?

  Honesty and truth are two entirely different concepts, he’d said. And once she’d asked him, Do you ever feel guilty for making that money on the tide of pain and suffering your clients have to weather?

  As her stomach clenched, she spun around and headed toward the car. There had to be an explanation. A man who’d gone to so much trouble to stand against smugglers and thieves wouldn’t—

  He stood for justice and integrity.

  A sense of righteous assurance filled her, driving her to the parking lot.

  Carr stood by the passenger door. His expression was closed, remote, unapproachable.

  Malina swallowed the lump trying to form in her throat. “You can’t please everybody, I guess.”

  All the way back to his house, she kept a running, inane and one-sided commentary going on cases she’d worked where the victim whose ass they’d just saved wanted to sue the Bureau. People were odd, blah, blah. You just can’t predict what somebody who’s been through a traumatic experience will do afterward, et cetera.

  Carr said nothing. He stared out the passenger side window.

  She knew she was bungling the situation badly but had no idea how to adjust. It gave her a whole new respect for people who had to deal with her when she was moody and distant. No wonder they annoyed her further by babbling like idiots most of the time.

  When she shifted the sedan into Park in Carr’s driveway, he got out and came around to her side to open her door. He held out his hand to assist her but immediately let her go when she’d gained her feet.

  Fear and uncertainty consumed her as she followed him inside.

  He strode straight to the living room and poured a crystal tumbler of whiskey, no ice.

  “It’s only three o’clock,” she said, her nerves clanging with alarm. “A little e
arly for that, don’t you think?”

  He shrugged, sipped and headed over to the windows at the back of the room.

  She approached him, having no idea what she was going to say but knowing she had to do something. “Look, Carr—”

  “Have you ever killed anyone?” he asked, his back to her as he stared out the windows.

  The knots in her stomach twisted tighter. “I have.”

  “Shot, I guess.”

  “Yes.”

  He downed the whiskey in one gulp. “I’ve killed, but with nothing so clean as a bullet to the heart.”

  Malina laid her hand on his shoulder, rubbing the knotted muscles, wishing she could find the right thing to say to comfort him. “Whatever happened, I’m sure you did what you could.”

  He shook his head. “Do you remember their faces, the ones you’ve killed?”

  “No,” she said, mirroring his quiet tone. “The lost innocent haunt me, not the dead and the guilty.”

  “What about the guilty who continue to live?”

  Had one of his clients died over the stress of a trial? Had one of the defendants? “Whose—”

  “Me!” he shouted, spinning around, his beautiful face harsh with anger and pain. “I’m guilty.”

  “Of what?” Malina demanded. “Everybody’s done things they’re not proud of, Carr. You learn from your mistakes and move on. Trying to change the past is futile. Look at me, nearly ruining my career because of blind ambition. So I get dumped in Charleston, and I start again. Whatever that lady thinks you did, you have to remember all the people you’ve helped, all the good you’ve done.”

  “It’ll never be enough.” He stared at her, his eyes bleak. “I so obviously ruined her life, and I have no idea who that woman was.”

  Malina sucked in a quick breath. Her belief in him faltered, then solidified even more strongly. Whatever injustice, real or imagined, Carr had caused, she didn’t care. She’d insist he purge this toxin and forgive himself. “Aberforth versus Bailey Industries. Five years ago in Charleston.”

  Carr sighed. “I don’t remember that one.” He stared into his empty glass. “There are so many to pick from.” That’s it. Malina plucked the tumbler from his hand, set it aside and dragged him to the sofa. There, she kept a tight hold on his hand, even though it hung limp and lifeless. “Spill it. So many what?”