by Kylie Brant
"People look for something in better shape than what they got." The man shrugged. "It was pretty banged in but still had good to it."
"Do you remember the fender, specifically?" James crossed his arms, leaned against the counter. "Any idea what it had come in contact with?"
A shrug was his only answer. "Don't pay much attention to that kind of thing. I go over the vehicles once real good when we get them. Clean them up some." With a quick glance at James, he seemed to think better than to go into detail. "Make a note of what we can mebbe use and list it all down. That way when someone asks we can find the information real quick. Got us a computer 'bout ten years ago, and that makes the whole thing a lot easier, I can tell you."
"You don't remember seeing anything special about that fender?" Tori probed further. "The accident report noted that it had slammed into a guardrail and then through it."
Raising his shoulders, Sanderson responded, "Don't recall any details about the car. Too long ago, and we handle nearly a hundred wrecked vehicles each year. Although seems like this was the one…" He started turning the pages, studying each of them intently. "Yep, I thought so." With a start, Tori realized he was pointing at her father's signature. "I 'member this fella. He's the one what collected the personal effects. Had him a signed release form. From you?" His gaze shifted to James.
At his nod, the man went on. "I remember it special 'cuz I ain't never seen one of them gadgets before. Never have since, tell ya the truth."
"What gadget might that be?"
She'd obviously spent too much time in Tremaine's company, Tori thought, because she was able to discern the sliver of impatience layered beneath the civility in his words.
"You know, that—what do you call it—tracking thing. Lets you follow whoever you plant it on. That was a first for me. Guess with your outfit into that high-tech security stuff, you're used to that sort of thing. If I could afford it," he mused, his gaze going faraway, "I'd get one of them things to plant on my braggin' dog. Tell ya, when it trees a coon it's all I can do to…"
"You're saying you found a tracking device in the car?" James's voice was precise, his expression still. But emotion emanated from him in waves. For some reason Tori was reminded of an explosive waiting to detonate. "How'd you know what it was?"
"I didn't, and that was a problem," Sanderson replied. "And I always did a detailed list of the effects I gathered from the car to return to the family, so's there's no confusion later about what was or wasn't in there. Had no idea what that thing was, so I had to ask."
"Who did you ask?" she questioned.
"The one who come and picked up the belongings. Made him sign for them." He stabbed a gnarled finger at the signature again. "Rob Landry was his name."
The room tilted and the floor seemed to shift beneath her feet. Tori tried to speak, found speech beyond her.
"You're sure?" James asked.
Sanderson nodded emphatically. "Dead sure. 'Member it clear as last week. When I fetched the box for him, I showed him that gadget, told him I'd been puzzling over it. He took a look at it and said right off the bat what it was. Guess he'd seen some before."
"That's impossible," Tori said flatly. She'd recovered her voice and with it came indignation. "You must be mistaken."
That drew a glare from the old man. "Missy, I might be old but my memory's in working order. How the heck would I have come up with the name for it when I'd never seen anything like it before?"
She opened her mouth to answer, but James beat her to it. "We want to thank you." He held out his hand, and after a moment the older man accepted it. "We've wasted enough of your time, but you've been very helpful."
Partially mollified, Sanderson gave a dismissive wave. "Not like I'm punching a clock these days. Y'all have a good trip back now."
Doing a slow burn, Tori waited until they were outside before pulling away from James's grasp on her elbow. "That's a load of bull. The man's obviously going senile." Her irritation made her strides long enough to keep up with James without problem.
"Maybe."
Certain she'd misheard him, she stopped in her tracks. "What? You can't believe that garbage. He even said he didn't know what it was that he'd found in the car."
The sun was brutal overhead, bringing an instant sheen of perspiration to her skin. With deliberate movements James slipped off his suit coat, folded it over his arm. "He also said your father identified it for him. Do you think he'd recognize a tracking device if he saw one?"
"He…" The question threw her off balance. "Yes, of course, but the fact that it wasn't included in Dad's report means that there's another explanation."
He inclined his head, slipped his free hand in his pants pocket. "I'm listening."
For some reason, his stance, his words, made her want to kick him. "Sanderson is probably mixed up. He must have been thinking of another vehicle, or this whole thing could be dementia induced. He's not exactly a spring chicken."
"True." The very reasonableness of his tone set her teeth on edge. "He seemed pretty sharp to me, though."
"If there was a tracking device in that car it would have been in Dad's report." Her tone was flat. "It's as simple as that. Who knows what happened? Maybe, and this is a big maybe, Dad thought that's what it was, but under further examination found he was wrong. There'd be no mention of it in the report if he'd mistakenly identified it."
The glare of the sun gilded his dark hair, streaking its inkiness with gold. "I think you're forgetting something. There was nothing in the box that even came close to fitting that description. I went through the whole thing. My mother's and Lucy's purses had opened and the contents were strewn across the inside of the car. I had to identify which belonged to my mother before bundling up Lucy's belongings for Marcus." He paused, as if ready for her protest, but she couldn't summon one. Not then. "There was nothing in that entire box that wasn't identifiable. That device, or whatever it was, wasn't included in it."
"You don't know that," she said stubbornly, "because you have no idea what it was Sanderson was referring to. Heck, who knows, maybe Dad was having fun with him. All I know is that I don't particularly care for what you're suggesting." She hadn't been aware that the volume of her voice had raised until he glanced around. Following his gaze, Tori saw they'd attracted the attention of a few people in the parking lot.
He took a step back. Voice clipped, he said, "There's no use having this discussion out in the sun when we can talk in air-conditioning." Without waiting to see whether she agreed, he turned, strode toward his car.
The air conditioner was already turned on when she yanked open the door, dropped into the passenger seat. And even churning out thick, warmish air, it was better than the temperature outside. It did nothing, however, to dispel the temper that was bubbling inside her.
"Let's look at this logically, shall we?" James released the steering column to move it out of his way and half turned in the seat to face her. "The messages, which may or may not be credible, suggested the accident might have been deliberate."
"One message," she muttered, his reasonable tone making her jaw clench. "The others didn't even mention it."
Ignoring her, he went on. "The expert that you lined up," his faint emphasis was unmistakable, "using pictures that you discovered also came up with some questions about the way the accident happened. Juicy came up with a pretty far-fetched possibility. But if he was anywhere close to the truth…"
He didn't go on. He didn't have to. A tracking device could have alerted the killer to when the Tremaine car was coming, so the scene could be arranged in time.
The chill that broke out over her skin wasn't completely owed to the air-conditioning kicking in. "This whole thing is getting more far-fetched by the moment. Look, I know my Dad. Integrity was his code. He would never have been involved in something shady, and he'd never double-cross a client. There has to be another explanation."
"There may be. But under the circumstances…" James took his wallet from h
is pocket, opened it and took out some bills. "Perhaps it would be best to part ways now."
His words acted as a sucker punch. Inwardly reeling, she stared dumbly, first at the bills, then at him. He spoke again, but it was hard to listen when the buzzing in her ears seemed to get louder by the moment.
"Ours was a trial relationship, remember? And upon reevaluation, I think it's best to terminate it. If nothing else, there's a possible conflict of interest here."
Fury, hot and ripe, clogged in her throat. And something else. Something that felt suspiciously like hurt. It took effort to nod, reach for a calm tone. "Because you think my dad might have sold you out twenty years ago. And me … I'd just do the same, is that it?"
Because she refused to reach for it, he dropped his hand, still holding the bills. "This isn't about you or me. You're reacting emotionally, but we have to consider the facts."
The knowledge that he was right did little to dissipate her anger. "Damn right I'm reacting emotionally. I tend to do that when someone calls my father a crook. Or worse, an accomplice to murder. But that's just me." She bared her teeth, fingers scrambling for the door handle. "You're right. It'd be better for both of us if we parted ways." She pushed the door open, swung out of the car. "And you can keep your money. I don't want it. I'll see this through on my own, and when I do find proof disputing your ridiculous scenario, I'm going to take great satisfaction in making you eat your words."
The heat scorched her the moment she stepped out of the car, shooting up from the soles of her feet to her brow. But it was nothing compared to the furnace that was stoked inside her. She needed to get away from this man, before she did something she'd regret. Like going for his throat.
She ran to her car nearby. But when she went to open the door James was already there, his palm pressed flat against the window. Gone was the cool reason he'd just treated her to as he'd dismissed her. Gone was any semblance at civility. Menace shimmered from him in waves. "You're off this case, Tori. All the way off. You no longer work for me in any capacity, and that means you won't be doing any investigating in this or related issues. It's over."
Jutting her chin out, she met his narrowed blue gaze. No doubt competitors quaked beneath it. But she wasn't so easily cowed. "Wrong, ace. I may no longer work for you, but I can investigate whatever I damn well please. And I will. The only difference is, I no longer have to keep you posted about my findings. Now get your hand off my door, unless you want to chance losing it."
His piercing regard didn't waver. His mouth was flat and grim. "You don't want to piss me off, Tori. I make a dangerous enemy."
She didn't need his words to know that. The man was dangerous, regardless of the nature of the relationship. It was just too damn bad that her defenses, usually so reliable, had turned to putty about the time he'd walked into her office.
Her smile brittle, she fumbled for sunglasses, jammed them on her nose. "Surprise, surprise. Here's a news flash for you. You make an even more dangerous employer. You strike me as the kind of man who knows when to cut his losses. This is a battle you can't win. I'm looking into my father's part of this investigation, and there's nothing you can do to stop me."
She shoved his hand off her car, and surprisingly he let her. Yanking open the door, she slid into its suffocating heat and turned the key in the ignition. "You have far better things to worry about then me, anyway. Like the person who wants you dead. You might want to concentrate your energies on that instead of wasting them defaming a dead man's reputation."
And with that she slammed the door and drove off.
* * *
Chapter 7
« ^ »
He'd handled her badly.
The knowledge ate at James, making the trip back to his company seem longer than it should have. He'd managed more tact when firing people, even while sending them away with a lukewarm reference and a dismissive severance package. Hell, he'd dispatched ex-lovers with more finesse.
And that, really, was what gnawed at his gut now. He'd wounded her with his words. She hadn't been able to disguise the hurt in her eyes. That sight, and knowing he'd been responsible for it, sent a sneaky blade of guilt through him.
Expertly he guided the car through the twisting parish back roads, for once taking no pleasure at the vehicle's smooth handling. The fact was that Tori Corbett drew a response from him that he wasn't always able to control. Which was another reason it made good sense to cut off all contact with her. The one thing he insisted upon in his life, both personal and business, was restraint.
Tori threw a wrench into that, and even worse, she represented far more complications than he wanted to contemplate. Of all the possible situations he'd envisioned when he'd decided to reopen this case, somehow he hadn't considered that the P.I. he'd hired twenty years earlier might not have been honest with him. That he might have discovered information suggesting the accident was anything but, and then covered it up.
The countryside zipped by with a blurring speed reflective of his thoughts. There were too few facts and far too many possibilities. But if Sanderson was right and there had been a tracking device found in the car, that would dovetail neatly with the spin Juicy had put on things yesterday. It would lend more credence to the prospect that the "accident" had been anything but. Landry knowing about the device and keeping it from James would be, at best, incompetent.
And at worst, criminal.
Jumping to conclusions wasn't a sport he usually engaged in. He reached for his sunglasses, flipped them open with one hand and settled them on his nose. Solutions were best arrived at after a careful analysis of all the data. Then options could be weighed and a specific course of action selected. But the one thing this case was short on was data. How the hell did he do an analysis when every day brought more questions than answers?
He'd made the decision to check into the warning messages based only upon the reference to his parents' accident. And although he hadn't yet discovered a smoking gun, enough troubling questions had arisen to warrant a continuation.
Without the help of Tori Corbett.
He pressed more firmly on the accelerator, unmindful for the moment of the posted speed limit. It was the best decision. The only decision. He couldn't blame her for defending her father's reputation. Hell, maybe she was even right. He could appreciate her loyalty to family, but he couldn't take the chance that it would blind her to discovering the truth. In her desire to clear her father's name, she might overlook something. Or worse, keep something from him that placed Landry in an even worse light.
This time, regardless of the outcome, he was determined that all doubts would be put to rest, for good. He had to ensure the integrity of the investigation. And the only way to do that would be to start over, with another investigative company.
It would mean bringing another P.I. up to speed but that shouldn't waste more than a day or so. He had plenty of contacts in the field. Finding someone to replace Tori wouldn't be a problem. In fact, it would eliminate more than a few. A man wouldn't present the distraction she had, and certainly wouldn't include a connection to Rob Landry that had so suddenly and completely complicated this case.
No, he could replace Tori easily enough.
But even as he had the thought, an unwanted memory flashed through his mind. Of the moments he'd had her in his arms, the surge of heat, the sudden, urgent punch of desire. He wasn't used to a simple kiss stirring up need quite so quickly. Wasn't used to fighting the temptation to ignore a lifetime of control for the promise he'd tasted in her.
He glanced down, vaguely surprised to see the speedometer had crept up past eighty. It was easy enough to speed in a car like this, but he was usually better at choosing the place and time to do so.
Deliberately he slowed to a more moderate pace, and set the cruise control. When this was over, he'd take some time, shed obligation for a while and indulge … various passions. Maybe take his sailboat down to the Gulf and spend a week battling wits with the tide and the wind. To enjoy
the theater with an attractive, intelligent woman, and share Sunday brunch in bed with her the next morning. In short, to get back to a life that recently had become devoid of much besides business.
But before that could happen he had duties to perform. He was too accustomed to the mantle of responsibility to feel its burden overmuch. There were details to attend to at work, and his highly honed competitive edge wasn't going to accept anything less than the awarding of this latest contract he'd bid on. Once he'd hired a new investigator, he would have to rethink his other obligations, delegate where he could and begin planning for the next project.
The art of delegation had been one he'd learned under duress, but it was a necessary skill in his field. He was still reluctant to put the investigation of his parents' accident solely in the hands of another, however. What would have happened if Tori had been the one to go to Sanderson's alone? Would he have ever heard about the tracking device being found in the car?
Jaw tightening, he decided that there was no way to be certain. But surely with a different operative on the case, one with no personal stake in it one way or another…
A sudden thought hit him then, wiped his mind clean. There was no denying that Tori's stake was intensely personal. Intensely emotional. So he couldn't bring himself to believe that she wouldn't do exactly as she'd vowed, and continue investigating on her own.
His blood abruptly iced. She'd been maddeningly correct when she'd asserted he couldn't stop her.
The only difference is, now I don't have to keep you posted about my findings.
She was right, damn her. The realization hammered at him, taunting and persistent. There was really very little he could do to prevent her from poking about wherever she chose. He was neatly, irrevocably, trapped. The fact that he was constrained by his own decisions didn't make the matter easier to swallow. Firing Tori hadn't solved his problem, it had compounded it. Because with no way to keep her from continuing on her own, all he'd managed to do was to ensure he had no access to whatever she discovered.
