by Cassie Miles
He inhaled, and his chest thrust out. Fists on hips, he looked down at her with calculating eyes. In stark contrast to his fiery passion when he'd gone after Tony Lansing with a kitchen knife, his manner seemed cold and shrewd, like a con man about to close the deal. "Information like that could be worth something."
She couldn't believe he was suggesting blackmail. "I have no money. I was working as a maid. Remember?"
"Then I got no reason to talk to you."
"One question," she said. "That night at the party, why did you drug my drink?"
"You figure it out. You're the big detective."
How did he know she was a private investigator? That information could have only come from one source. "Victoria."
"Here's some questions for you," he said. "Free of charge."
"I'm listening."
"Who wanted Charlene dead so little Natalie could inherit big? Who wants sole custody of the kid? Who's willing to take a shot at Ben so he won't grab his share of the inheritance?"
She repeated the name. "Victoria."
Ramon sneered. "But we both know that she's not a killer."
She glanced over her shoulder and saw Ben and his bodyguard approaching. "Ramon, tell me who?"
She didn't hear the snap of the rifle. There were no warning reports.
Ramon staggered back. His arms flapped helplessly at his sides. Blood stained the front of his white T-shirt.
His knees buckled, and he sank to the ground.
She whirled and stared, trying to spot the gleam of sunlight on a long-distance rifle. Where was the sniper? In the trees? In one of the nearby apartment buildings? Leaning out of a car window?
She heard Ben call her name, and her self-preservation instincts kicked in. She dropped to the ground in a low crouch next to Ramon. Blood was everywhere. Soaking his shirt. Staining his hands. Dribbling from the corner of his mouth. As she watched, his chest went still. His eyes stared sightlessly at the blue Colorado sky.
Her mind blanked. All rational thought recoiled. Though she was in the middle of this horrible scene, she felt distant and unconnected.
Ben was beside her. His arms encircled her, pulling her away from the body and protecting her at the same time. Behind him, the bodyguard had drawn his weapon and shouted at others to get down.
The pleasant spring day at the park turned into a nightmare. Joggers reacted with screams. Mothers gathered their babies from carriages and ran. The big white dog broke free from his owner and plunged into the lake. A flock of geese took off in a V and arrowed across the sky.
"Liz." Ben shook her. "Liz, are you all right?"
Unable to speak, she nodded dumbly.
"Can you walk?"
Without waiting for her reply, he lifted her from the ground and carried her around the edge of the lake to the boathouse. As they stepped into the shaded pavilion, hidden from the sniper by wide stucco arches, she regained her senses.
Her arms coiled around his neck. "You can put me down now."
When her feet touched the concrete floor, her legs were steady enough to support her weight. Still, she clung to him.
The bodyguard checked them both. Gun still in hand, he instructed, "Stay here. The police are on the way."
Ben leaned back against the stucco wall, and she leaned against him, weakened and stunned. She'd been the same way when they'd found Charlene's body. There was something horrible and shocking about violent death.
"I should be tougher." She had a black belt in karate, could handle herself in dangerous situations. "I think it's the blood. I hate blood."
With a gentle caress, he cupped her chin and turned her face toward his. His gaze examined her, looking for signs of damage. "I shouldn't have brought you here. I wasn't aware of the risk."
"Not your fault." She hadn't recovered enough to smile. "This sniper. Was he the same guy?"
"I didn't hear a gunshot. The sniper must have used a long-distance rifle with a silencer. The same type of weapon as the guy who shot at us."
But he hadn't been aiming at Ben. Or at her. "Ramon was the target."
"This time, he might have blackmailed the wrong person."
From a distance, she heard the scream of police sirens as they converged on the park. She buried her face in the soft cotton of Ben's blue workshirt and closed her eyes, wishing they could be alone, wishing with all her heart that Ramon's murder had never happened.
Chapter Eighteen
In the relative quiet of the hospital waiting area, Ben sat beside Liz. Waiting. The doctors said Jerod's operation had gone well; they had eradicated the tumor in his brain. But it was taking him a long time to come out of the anesthetic. Possible outcomes ranged from full recovery for Jerod to having him in a coma state.
And there was nothing Ben could do about it. The helplessness was killing him, tying his gut in a knot. When Liz touched his arm, he startled. "What?"
"'Do you want coffee?"
"Do you?"
"No." She offered a tense smile. "It seems like the thing to do when you're nervous. A cup of coffee. Or tea. Or a triple shot of Jack Daniel's."
"Spoken like a bartender."
She reached behind her shoulder and patted herself on the back. "Just one of my many skills."
He was glad to see her making jokes again. Her near collapse at the boathouse had scared him. But Liz was resilient.
If he focused on her, he might stay sane in the midst of this endless waiting. He stared at her for a moment, counting the many shades of blond and brown in her choppy hair, noticing the light spray of freckles across her nose. Tonight, he hoped she would sleep in his bed. If she only wanted to cuddle, he'd restrain himself. If she wanted more, he would gladly comply.
"I know what you need," she said. "Close your eyes and think of sailing."
"I'd rather look at you."
"You need to relax. You're so tense."
"Who wouldn't be? Grandpa's hovering between life and death, and I just witnessed a murder. Not to mention being the primary suspect in a CBI investigation."
His whole life was in chaos, and Ben prided himself on staying in control. When ill winds blew, he held fast to the rudder and steered through the storm. In those moments of peril when the waves splashed high and swamped the decks, he held firm.
He didn't blame himself for Ramon's murder. The blackmailing male model had tried to run a scam on a killer and had paid the ultimate price. There was nothing Ben could have done to change the outcome.
Nor was he responsible for Charlene's death.
Unfortunately, he wasn't sure others would agree. Especially not Lattimer.
Ben looked down the sterile hospital corridor and saw the CBI agent stalking toward them. Lattimer's demeanor was nowhere near as well groomed as usual. The knot on his necktie yanked to the left. The carry strap for his laptop computer slipped off his shoulder. His jaw clenched so tightly that he could have been grinding rocks with his back molars.
"He looks mad," Liz whispered. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but do you want me to call your lawyer?"
"I'll handle this." Ben stood to face the CBI agent.
Lattimer spoke first. "Mr. Crawford, I have given you every consideration. Kept you updated. Allowed you to stay in the comfort of your own home rather than taking you to an interrogation room. And what happens? How do you pay me back? You get involved in another murder."
"Didn't plan it that way," Ben said.
"When the CBI is called in on a case, we maintain control of the jurisdiction. I had to spend the last two hours with the DPD, SWAT and NSA-trained officers who thought they were facing a terrorist attack."
That seemed far-fetched. "From snipers in Washington Park?"
"Four people were injured while they fled. Nothing serious. Nothing that required hospitalization." The vein in Lattimer's forehead began to throb. "One woman almost drowned while trying to rescue her dog."
Though Ben regretted the disturbance, he wasn't about to apologize. This wasn't his f
ault. "The next time I run into a sneak ambush from a sniper, I'll let you know ahead of time."
'There had better not be a next time," Lattimer said. "I strongly suggest that you return to the house where you and your family are under the protection of a top-notch security team. Got it? Stay out of my investigation."
Ben wasn't in the mood to take orders. He'd cooperated with the police every step of the way, hadn't ordered his lawyers to block the search warrant. He'd kept quiet...until now. "Your investigation, Agent Lattimer, doesn't exactly qualify as a big success."
"Excuse me?"
"As a businessman, I measure achievement in results. Tangible profit and advances. Far as I can see, you've got nothing." He ignored Lattimer's sputtering objections. "You wasted time and resources by suspecting me, trying to put together a case against me. You skipped over other possibilities."
"Don't tell me how to do my job."
"Did you know Ramon Stephens was a blackmailing son-of-a-bitch? Did you look into his finances?" That should have been an obvious lead. "When Annette started babbling about monsters in the night, you bought it. Instead of poking holes in her story, you believed I was the monster."
"Annette," he said disgustedly.
"You've talked to her. Right?"
His answer was to set his laptop computer down on one of the chairs and flip it open. Liz left her seat and came forward to better view the screen.
"I went to the house to interview Annette," Lattimer said. "She was already gone."
"No way," Liz said. "I left her with the security guard."
"She went up to her room, supposedly to change clothes, slipped out the window and was in her car at the gate before anybody could notify them that she wasn't allowed to leave."
He pressed the play button on the computer. "This video came from the surveillance tape at the gate."
Ben watched the screen and saw Annette lean through the open window of her car and look directly into the camera.
"Should have fired that loon," Ben muttered.
"We'll find her," Lattimer said. "And we'll verify what Liz told me about her change in story."
"About Ramon and the diamond brooch," Liz said. "I told the policeman who took my statement what Ramon said. About Victoria."
"I have a copy of your statement."
"I can't believe she's a killer," Liz said.
Ben wasn't so sure. He'd seen his estranged wife fly into a murderous rage. It unsettled him to think that Victoria was behind these murders. Thank God, Natalie was coming to stay with him tomorrow.
"I'm stepping up the investigation on Victoria," Lattimer said. "Checking her finances and connections. I'll handle this. In the meantime, I want you both to return to the house and stay put."
'That doesn't work for me," Ben said. "I'll need to be coming in and out of town to see my grandfather."
"How's he doing?"
"We're still waiting to find out."
Lattimer's hostility decreased a few notches. "This is rough on you. I hope your grandfather is all right."
'Thanks."
When he held out his hand, Lattimer shook it. They had come to an understanding.
"One more thing," Liz piped up. "Is Ben still your favorite suspect? Or not so much?"
"The latter." Lattimer packed up his laptop. "Stay safe."
Ben barely had a chance to sit when Harry Schooner came into the waiting room and motioned for them to follow him. "Looks like Jerod's about to wake up."
Ben jumped to his feet. The tension that had been building since his grandpa went into the hospital tightened around his spine. Stiffly, he walked beside Liz. Hoping for the best. Fearing the worst.
Harry shuffled along behind them. "The docs say you can see him for five minutes. Then not until tomorrow."
"Right."
They paused at the window of the ICU recovery room where Jerod was hooked up to IVs and monitors that recorded his blood pressure and heartbeat. His surgeon stood beside him, motioning them to step forward.
"Five minutes," he said.
The moment Ben touched his grandpa's hand, he felt a twitch in response. A good sign. Jerod looked like hell. Every wrinkle deepened to a crevasse. His skin was pale as a sheet of paper. He licked his lips.
"Grandpa," Ben whispered, "do you want some water?"
"Cold beer."
Those two words lifted the darkness. Jerod was going to survive. He'd be okay.
Slowly, his eyelids raised. He focused. Really focused on Ben's face. "You need a haircut, boy."
"You can see me?"
"Hell, yes."
Jerod's gaze shifted. He stared at Harry. Then at Liz. Finally, he looked at Ben again. "Where's Charlene?"
Ben's heart clenched.
"That's long enough," the doctor said. "Jerod needs his rest. We still have a number of tests to run."
Ben leaned down and kissed Jerod's forehead. "I love you."
He'd do anything to spare his grandpa the terrible sorrow of losing his wife. But there was no way to avoid the truth.
Night settled heavily at the Crawford estate. As the long shadows of the forest closed in on the tiered cedar house, Liz sat cross-legged in the center of the narrow bed in her garret. Her stomach growled. All she'd had for dinner was a couple of granola bars because she preferred not to sit across the dining room table from Patrice and Monte. Nor did she want to chat with the staff, especially not Rachel. It wouldn't be much fun to tell the housekeeper that her dear friend, Victoria, was likely involved in a murder plot.
As for Ben? He was brooding. In a dark funk, he'd sequestered himself in his workshop with his boat. She understood his pain. Telling Jerod the truth about Charlene would be terrible.
She checked her wristwatch. Nine o'clock. Ben had locked himself away for two-and-a-half hours. She should go to the log barn and see him. As his personal assistant, it was her duty to keep him on track and focused.
But the honest-to-goodness reason she wanted to see Ben had nothing to do with solving a crime or tending to business. After last night's interrupted passion, she wanted a second chance.
She kneaded her fingers in the bedspread, holding on tightly. Making love to him wasn't rational. When this investigation was over, she would return to her world, which was far, far away from the lifestyles of the rich and semi-famous. She and Ben weren't relationship material.
And there was also the matter of her deception. The big, fat lie. When he found out that she came here under false pretenses and was really working for Victoria, he wouldn't want anything to do with her.
But for tonight? She didn't have to tell him. For tonight, they could offer each other the comfort and solace they both needed. They could finally act on the intense magnetism that drew them together.
She should take this night. One night with him.
Before she could change her mind, she hopped off the bed, grabbed her denim jacket and flung open the door. Charging down the staircase, she remembered her first day as a maid and Rachel's comment that she made too much noise. Very true. Liz was loud and abrupt and not very cultured. But Ben wanted her all the same. She knew he did.
At the front door, she encountered one of the security men, clad in a dark gray G.I. Joe outfit with combat boots. "Where are you headed?" he asked.
"Is Ben still in the log barn?"
"The murder scene?" He nodded. "Yeah, he's there."
'That's where I'm going."
"I'll take you." G.I. Joe accompanied her down the hill toward the barn. Though he had a flashlight, it wasn't needed. The waning moon provided enough light to see all the way to the front gate, which was blessedly vacant. At this hour, the reporters had retired.
The closer they got to the log barn, the more she wondered if she was making a mistake. Ben had a right to his privacy. But what about her rights? What about the unspoken promise of last night?
If he didn't want to see her, he'd tell her to leave, and that would be that.
Another security guard was
posted outside the log barn. When she approached, he gave her a nod, twisted the knob and opened the door.
Too late to turn back.
She stepped inside. Her gaze went to the spot where they'd found Charlene's body. Instead of a chalk outline of the victim, the concrete floor had been scrubbed clean. Not a single trace of blood remained.
Ben gave her a glance, then returned to his work. With long smooth strokes, he sanded the white oak. "Is there a problem?"
"Not really."
"You could have called me on the cell phone."
But she had wanted to see him. Even if the rest of the night didn't go the way she'd planned, it was worth it. His gray T-shirt outlined his arms and shoulders as he stroked the curved line of the hull. His jeans hung low on his hips. There was nothing like watching a man doing physical labor to remind a woman why the opposite sex was so very useful.
She stepped up beside him and glided her fingers across the satin-smooth wood. "It's beautiful."
"She's coming along." He stepped back to admire his handiwork. "I had hoped to have her finished before Natalie's visit. That's not going to happen."
"You'll have plenty of time. The whole rest of the summer. You and Jerod can both teach her how to sail."
"He's going to be all right."
But she heard the doubt in his voice. He wasn't referring to Jerod's recovery from the operation. The emotional pain of losing Charlene would be hard to bear.
Her gaze fell to the floor where they'd found the body. Cleaning up the bloodstains didn't erase the memory.
Ben touched her cheek and turned her face toward him. "Why did you come down here?"
Her heart skipped a couple of beats. Usually, she was fairly direct with men. Came right out and told them what she wanted. But this was different.
Digging into the pocket of her denim jacket, she pulled out her last granola bar. "I brought you dinner."
Ben gave her a glance, then returned to his work. With long smooth strokes, he sanded the white oak. "Is there a problem?"
"Not really."
"You could have called me on the cell phone."
