by Kylie Brant
For a man who'd risen to the position he had, he could be singularly dense. "It is. And though I would have preferred to be consulted before installing a new alarm and dead bolts, they seem top of the line, as well. Trouble is, I'm used to taking care of myself. And I don't like people making decisions for me without consulting me first." "I'm sorry."
The apology had her swinging her head around, gaping at him. There was a slight frown on his face, and his gorgeous profile was serious. "It's a habit of mine, and one that regularly ticks my family off. I'm used to making judgments in my business and don't always remember the need to consult others in—" he hesitated. "—my personal life."
Tori very nearly squirmed in the plush leather seat. He'd managed to make her feel churlish. If she thought that had been his intent, she would have made a sarcastic retort, but he looked so genuinely puzzled, so nearly abashed, that something inside her softened. "Oh, well … no harm done, I guess."
There was a part of her deep inside that actually gave a derisive hoot at that. The man had hijacked her hair, showered her with clothes she wouldn't normally be caught dead wearing and then commandeered her house, and no harm was done? That voice, along with a measure of spine, forced her to add, "But it has to stop. You can't go around arranging things to suit yourself and expect people to forgive you. Most of us feel pretty capable of running our own lives."
"So I'm told. Frequently." From the curve of his lips, she figured he was thinking of his family again. Maybe his sister. Ana didn't seem the type to take an older brother's interference quietly.
"In any case, I contacted your brother to double-check that Joe Jr. actually called and gave him the information he told me about. He had, and they were pairing the description with the details from the bomber's MO to see if something shows up in the database."
"I'm annoyed as hell with you for approaching your sleazy neighbor on your own." He sent her a quick admiring glance. "But very impressed with your detective work. How did you know he had information that he hadn't given the cops last night?"
"It never really occurred to me until I spoke to him again today. But the more I thought about him in that garage, the more certain I was that he had to have seen something." She made a rueful face. "Something other than what he was hoping for, obviously."
"At the risk of being accused of being pushy, again, I'd like to point out that having you live next to a pervert doesn't do much for my peace of mind."
There was an odd jitter in her pulse, and she took care not to look at him. A woman could read all sorts of things into words like that. Like thinking that he cared, on a deeper level. That he'd forgotten the distrust between them—his belief that her father had betrayed him … and his fear that she would do the same.
All of a sudden a vast distance seemed to yawn between them that couldn't be bridged. Despite all that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, nothing had really changed. She was still intent on proving her father's innocence as she solved this case.
And she was just as intent on making sure James stayed alive while she did it.
"Did Joe happen to mention our conversation this morning?"
She sent him a droll look. "Yes, he did babble incoherently about the 'mean dude' who was going to do unspeakable things to him if he got within ten yards of me."
There was a definite note of satisfaction in his voice. "Good. Then he's smarter than he looks. I did wonder." He leaned forward and fiddled with the back controls of the CD player until some mournful jazz filled the interior. "I don't like him living next door to you." The simple words were anything but, when delivered in that tone. With that intense light in his eye. It fired an answering warmth in her system, suffusing her with heat.
And because she could hear the genuine concern in his voice, she kept her words even. "It's not like I haven't taken precautions. Unless he's got an X-ray lens on that scope of his, he isn't going to see anything at my house. Peeping Toms rarely escalate into more violent crimes." And she knew this precisely because she'd researched it. She gave him a slight smile. "However, if your brother was to be tipped off and the telescope got seized and not returned, I wouldn't be upset."
James nodded grimly. "Consider it done." At the risk of offending her sensibilities yet again, he was planning on telling his brother far more than that. If the NOPD could put a little pressure on Joe Jr., he just might be convinced to move to a climate better suited to his health. Because James certainly couldn't guarantee the man's continued well-being as long as he was within speaking distance of Tori.
"So." In an obvious effort to lighten the mood, she looked around the limo. "Some ride. Bet you hate not being at the wheel, though, huh?"
He shouldn't have been surprised at the accuracy of her observation. "More than you can imagine." The words, the feeling behind it, were heartfelt. "But having a driver gives me another pair of eyes." The limo also had the added safeguard of armored doors and bulletproof glass, but he knew better than to put too much stock in that. There were myriad ways to kill someone. It was impossible to protect against all of them.
The driver and car was a concession to the concerns of his family. Cade hadn't been the only one who'd given him hell last night, or, rather, early this morning. Ana had ripped into him, as well, and he didn't totally blame either of them. He owed it to his family's peace of mind to take precautions. And he owed it to them to stay alive to solve the mystery of their parents' deaths, once and for all. To bring the person responsible to justice.
The car glided to a halt, and James looked up to see a familiar, flickering neon sign. Anticipation mixed with trepidation was snaking through his chest, squeezing. The trouble with finding answers, he thought, was dealing with the emotions that came along with them.
In the next moment a slim soft hand slipped into one of his and gripped hard. Startled, he looked down at the woman beside him, saw the understanding in her warm hazel gaze. She didn't speak; she didn't need to. For better or worse, he wasn't by himself in this. It was a disconcerting feeling for a man who was used to dealing with whatever life threw him at him decisively and alone. But not an unpleasant one.
For just a moment he squeezed, returning the pressure. And when they got out of the car and walked up to the tavern door, they did so hand in hand.
"Sorry this took so long. I got another job for a defense attorney." Juicy looked exactly as he had the last time they'd seen him. In fact, James was certain even the patrons outside in the bar were the same. It was as if the place had been caught in a time warp since they'd last been there. "There's this guy up on vehicular manslaughter, see, and his lawyer wants to show…"
"We're glad you could fit this into your schedule," Tori put in, with a sidelong glance at James. Unable to remain still, he roamed the small area, studying the prints hanging on the bulletin board. One set obviously belonged to the new case the man was working on. But the set next to the computer were from the file they'd left with him. He didn't recognize the three photos hanging above it.
The vise in his chest eased, infinitesimally, as impatience edged out other, darker, emotions. "What are these?" He gestured to the three.
Juicy ambled over, pointed to each in turn. "Those aren't from your accident scene, I just got them as examples to refer to when I explained something. Most people see skid marks on a road and think they're all the same. But they're actually very different. Here," he pointed to the first photo, "is a picture of an acceleration skid. Laying rubber, we used to call it in my day. This next one," he moved his finger to the second photo, "well, that's what laymen think of when they hear the term skid mark. It's left by a tire that's locked, not rotating, while the car continues moving forward. That's what you see on the road when the driver slams on the brakes for whatever reason. And this—" he moved to the third and final picture "—is a yaw mark, left by a vehicle when a wheel is rotating and sliding sideways."
James peered intently at the last picture. "So if my father took the curve too fast, lost control on
it, this is the mark we'd expect to see on the road."
Juicy was bobbing his head enthusiastically, a teacher pleased with a particularly bright student. "Exactly. Problem is, that's not the kind of mark shown in the accident photos." He pulled several from the envelope and tacked them up beside the ones already hanging on the wall.
"What?" Tori crowded closer to them, peering at the photos. "You mean the investigating officer misidentified them? How is that possible? Accident investigation has been included in police science for decades."
"Since the fifties, for sure," Juicy said cheerfully. He bent his thin frame into the seat before the computer and punched up a program. "Problem is, it's still the most common police investigative error. Sometimes what we think we see is warped by what we expect to see, ya know? The officer probably figured since there was nothing in the road, those marks were left by a car going too fast on the curve. But the rear end would break loose, see, and swing to the side if in that were the case."
He tapped the screen, where a close-up of one of the photos appeared, with the tire marks evident. "Person screws up the kind of skid mark, it's going to affect the projection of how fast the vehicle was traveling, too."
James felt as though each of his organs was encased in ice. Frigid waves radiated throughout his body, numbing his system. His mind, though, remained dangerously clear. "So you can be certain that these marks are braking skids."
Juicy nodded. "The accident driver was trying to avoid hitting something."
"The left front fender was smashed."
Juicy nodded at James's flat statement. "Whatever was on the road, the driver didn't completely miss it. I performed some photogrammetric calculations to determine just where the object was. If you hadn't brought me those other pictures, I'd have figured maybe an oncoming car veered into the lane. But look at this." His fingers danced over the keyboard, and yet another scene appeared. This one was obviously a 3-D simulation.
The man stabbed a finger at a spot on the screen. "Now, a second car, if there was one, would have needed to be at this angle here in order for your driver to start braking where he did. But there are no corresponding skid marks to indicate another car was involved. Which means the driver hit something else."
He quickly typed a command and a close-up of the road appeared on the screen. "See that gouge there?" He pointed to the asphalt. "The road crew had just blacktopped that section a week earlier."
James bent lower and stared at the dirty gouge visible on the road's surface. "Something a lot heavier than a car rested right there."
With another quick press of the keys, he had a picture of the boulder, with the fresh scar marring its surface, sitting in the precise spot the gouge had been. "Long story short, I did some calibrations from past photos. If that boulder was sitting right there, it could have caused the damage to the left front fender, and the braking skids would match up exactly."
"It was gone when the police got there, so whoever moved it must have been waiting," Tori put in softly. "He would have had to act quickly to move it back."
"Yeah." James couldn't look away from the photo of the boulder. "Which means there was a witness to the accident after all. The killer himself."
James was grateful for the silence in the car. His mind was a chaotic jumble of anger, despair and a wild, unchecked grief. It was almost like reliving that night all over again. The shocked disbelief. The curious numbness that propelled one to go through the necessary motions. The overpowering sorrow.
And layered over it all, a shattering sense of failure.
He laid his head against the back of the seat, exhaustion punching through him. For twenty years he'd lived with a delusion. One far more comfortable, if he was honest, than the truth he was faced with now. For twenty years a murderer had gone free. Free to enjoy what life had to offer. Free to plan James's own destruction when the timeline was right.
The razored fury would come later, slashing all other emotions until it pushed to the surface, all cutting edges and white-hot heat. But for now there was only a deep, abiding sense of sadness, and an almost unbearable sense of guilt.
He knew, deep in the darkest corner of his mind, that it was an emotion he would never dislodge.
"You couldn't have changed anything, you know."
Tori's voice, any voice, was unwelcome. Her words particularly so. But she was unrelenting, speaking in the dark confines of the car like a persistent echo in the shadows. "No matter what you'd done. Who you consulted. If you'd found the killer back then, the only thing that would be different now is you wouldn't be targeted yourself by the same person. But the result back then would have been the same."
He shoved aside the logic of her words. Of course it would have been different. Someone would have paid. There would have been a sense of justice, revenge. And that at least would have counted for something. He and his brothers and sister wouldn't have lived a lie for two decades. Wouldn't have accepted a shattering act of violence for truth.
"Your actions after the accident wouldn't have changed the results. You couldn't bring them back, James, regardless of the outcome. So don't sit there beating yourself up now because of it. It's pointless, and distracts you from the real issue facing you."
Her words were annoying, only partially because they might be correct. He opened his eyes, turned his head to look at her. She was shrouded in shadows, but he could make out the reflection of lights in her eyes, the shape of her mouth. "Do you know what's more irritating than a woman who's right?" He could barely make out the shake of her head. "Nothing."
Her low laugh filled the car, and something shifted inside him. He went quiet for a time, too many thoughts and emotions crashing inside him to identify any one. Finally he spoke again. "Knowing that, understanding it, doesn't make it better."
"No." Her voice was soft.
There was understanding in the single word; in the touch of her hand when she reached over to take his. He laced his fingers with hers, amazed to find a measure of peace in the simple touch.
The intercom beeped. "Where to, sir?" He looked at Tori, an unfamiliar need battling with a lifetime of solitary competence. "Come home with me tonight?"
She was still for a moment, before her fingers curled more tightly in his. "Absolutely."
* * *
Chapter 11
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The ride home was accomplished mostly in silence, wrapping them in a shroud of intimacy. James had opened up the overhead panel so the stars glittered above like diamonds sprinkled across an inky sea. And then he'd wrapped his arm around her, pulled her close. She spent the remainder of the ride with his heartbeat sounding in her ear and emotion filling her heart.
It was easy to resist a man who seemed invincible; a well-trained warrior who needed no one and nothing. It was a far different matter, she was finding, to turn away from one who was reaching out. Especially when she knew how rare that was for him.
Still, she would have tried. Could have succeeded if her own heart didn't ache for the emotion she knew was twisting through his. If she couldn't imagine the way he was blaming himself. Wrongly. And if she didn't care, all too much, that he was hurting.
There was no heat in his touch as it smoothed over her shoulder and down her arm, back again. It was more of a promise, a gilded kiss of sensation that whispered of things to come. The certainty of it calmed anticipation until it was just a quiver in her belly. For now, this quiet embrace was enough.
She undid a button on his shirt and slid her hand inside, resting it quietly upon his chest. The warmth of his body transferred to her fingertips, danced along those sensitive nerve endings.
When he tipped her chin up with one finger, she expected his kiss to be light, languorous, like his touch. And for the first few moments it was just that. His lips brushed hers, gossamer soft, as if relearning their shape. She gave a little sigh and sank into it, hazily wishing to capture this moment in time; to freeze-frame it for replay later, when reason returned and doubts
resurfaced.
But then he caught her bottom lip in his teeth, applying just enough pressure to have the muscles in her stomach clenching. The angle of the kiss changed, and the world abruptly shifted. Her lips parted and she met his tongue with his in one long, heated stroke.
The stars above were more seductive than candlelight. The mournful tune of lost love more sensual than harp song. But she didn't fool herself into thinking that atmosphere played a part in the sensation crashing through her system. Her response was due to the man beside her.
With one smooth move he tugged her onto his lap, settled her there with her head against his shoulder. She had a moment to marvel at the fit before his mouth went to her throat and a shudder of pleasure worked down her spine. She'd known he'd be good at this, but hadn't counted on her own reaction to his touch. His teeth scraping the cord on her neck sent off electrical currents that flickered to life beneath her skin. And when her eyelids fluttered shut, she firmly closed the door on the last bastion of reason. Whatever happened, she'd deal with. What came next, she'd handle. Now was a burning pulsing need that wouldn't be quieted. Whatever the outcome, she wasn't going to deny this, or him.
What had begun as a languid slide into pleasure quickly became more. The moment James felt her shiver in his arms, a silent savage hunger leaped to life. Desire, too long suppressed, took him unawares, made a mockery of control.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. He had the dim thought even as he pressed his mouth to the pulse beating wildly at the base of her throat. Sex, in all its varied faces, was meant to be a natural, pleasurable release. He didn't treat it casually, because intimacy made the act fuller somehow. More complete. He didn't know this woman in any of the usual ways. Hadn't spent quiet times sailing or at the theater; hadn't done the usual courtship dance over expensive meals and fine wines.
