by Rebecca Deel
“You aren’t helping,” Mason whispered. “The memories might drown me.”
“Mason,” Nicole said, her voice soft. “You can do this. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“You don’t understand.” He lifted his chin, faced her head on. “You don’t have a record, Nicole.”
“You’re right. I don’t. I still believe everything is going to work out.”
“I hope you’re right. However, I won’t breathe easy until Dumas is in our rearview mirror.”
Simon moved their direction with the two detectives following behind. When he reached the group, he said, “This is Detective Clint Barton and Detective Grady Weston. Detectives, Grace Rutledge, her boyfriend Trent St. Claire, Nicole Copeland, and her boyfriend Mason Kincaid. These folks are here from Otter Creek at my request. As I mentioned a moment ago, Grace and Nicole are the half sisters of Devin Bowen. His mother, Gayle, gave the girls up for adoption at their birth.”
“I bet that frosted your cookies, didn’t it?” muttered Barton. “Missing out on the swanky mansion, pots of money to spend on whatever your heart desired, power, and prestige. Your brother got it all while you got nothing.”
Nicole scowled. “Excuse me?”
“Nic.” Grace shook her head. They didn’t need Nic to lose her cool with these detectives. Trent was right. These men were going to rattle their cages hard, hoping for a confession, a confession they wouldn’t get since none of them tried to kill Devin. Barring that, the men meant to be as antagonistic as they could because the four of them were strangers suspected of attempting to murder one of Dumas’s leading citizens.
“We need you to come with us,” Weston said. “We have questions that need answering.”
“Of course,” Simon said. “You’re working out of the Mid-Town station, correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ll need to speak to Devin’s wife, Clarice, and another partner of my firm, Ron Satterfield. They ate dinner with the rest of us.” He glanced around. “I’m not sure where they got off to. They’re here in the hospital somewhere. Mrs. Bowen was understandably upset when she heard about her husband’s poisoning. She won’t go far when he’s so ill.”
Barton frowned. “How sick is Bowen?”
“The next twenty-four hours are critical,” Grace said.
“In other words, he could die,” the detective said flatly.
“That’s correct.”
“We’ll find Mrs. Bowen and Mr. Satterfield,” Weston said. “In the meantime, we’ll start questioning the six of you, the four from out of town first.”
Implying they were flight risks. Grace’s lip curled. Nice. She wallowed in guilt when she received a traffic citation and these guys suspected her of attempted murder. Unbelievable. She understood how they reached their conclusions. Still didn’t make her happy.
“What’s the station’s address?” Trent programmed it into his phone. “We’ll meet you there.”
“We’ll follow you,” Barton snapped.
“Afraid we’ll skip town? Why should we? We don’t have anything to hide.”
“That remains to be seen.” The detective motioned them forward. “After you.”
Trent tightened his hold on Grace, holding her back when she would have started toward the door. Warmth spread through her when she realized he was giving Mason and Nic the chance to leave first, then put himself and Grace at their backs. In his own way, Trent was protecting Mason, giving him some distance from the cops trailing them.
The gesture seemed futile. If Mason was correct, he’d spend a lot of time in the company of the detectives or behind bars. She so hoped that didn’t happen. Mason had come a long way in the year he’d been in Otter Creek. These policemen might destroy whatever confidence the construction worker had managed to cobble together.
Inside the SUV, Trent said to Mason and Nicole, “You two didn’t correct Simon when he introduced you as boyfriend and girlfriend.”
“I’ll set them straight,” Mason said, his voice tight.
“No.” Nic shook her head. “We let it stand. We don’t give them an excuse to hammer you on that omission.”
“Nicole, I appreciate the thought, but I’ve known you for three days, not long enough to carry this off. If they find out I’m lying to them, the detectives will assume I have something to hide and push that much harder. I don’t want to deal with that and I don’t want you to, either. I’m not letting them pressure you that way.”
“Listen, buddy. I’m not a pushover. I can handle them. The detectives don’t need to know we omitted the truth. Tell them we haven’t known each other long.” A smile. “It’s the truth.”
Mason stared. “Truth, but not. I like it. How should I tell them we met?”
“Exactly like it happened. I met you when I came to Otter Creek to visit Grace and we haven’t been dating long.” Another smile. “We don’t have to tell them I met you three days ago. In any case, it gives us an excuse for not knowing as much about each other as Grace and Trent.”
At the police station, Weston looked at Nicole. “Come with me, Ms. Copeland. Mr. Kincaid, wait here with Mr. St. Claire. Sit against the wall.” He inclined his head toward a row of hard, plastic chairs lined up like soldiers against a wall with a dull paint job.
“You’re with me,” Barton said to Grace, disdain in his gaze. “Let’s go.”
Trent kissed her. “I’ll be waiting, love.”
The detective led Grace down a long, narrow hall to a wooden door with a window in it. He opened the door and motioned for her to go inside. A scarred wooden table and three chairs were in the small room. The walls were plain except for a large mirror on one wall and a camera near the ceiling, its lens pointed downward toward the lone chair where she assumed a prisoner or person of interest would sit.
Barton had brought her to an interrogation room. Grace was innocent yet her heart was thumping madly in her chest. Just being in this room made her want to run and hide far away from this place. She wondered if someone would watch the question-and-answer session from the other side of the two-way mirror or watch the recording. Either possibility made her skin crawl.
She didn’t want to do this. How had Mason stood being in prison for years, knowing he was being watched by prison officials, living with too many inmates, constantly on guard for an attack? No wonder he didn’t want to spend even one more minute behind bars. The memories must be eating at him right now. Her respect for Mason’s inner strength ratcheted up several notches.
“Sit down, Ms. Rutledge.” Barton gestured to the far side of the table, the seat which faced the mirror. When she complied, he said, “State your full name and date of birth for the record.” That done, he leaned back in his chair. “So, Ms. Rutledge, tell me why you tried to kill your brother.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“What do you do for a living, St. Claire?” Barton propped his back against the wall beside the two-way mirror, looking bored and disinterested.
Trent didn’t like the detective much. The man had a chip on his shoulder the SEAL would love to knock off. Worse, this clown upset Grace. When she returned to Trent’s side, she’d been shaking, skin pale, eyes damp. He ignored Barton’s demand that Trent follow him for several minutes while he held Grace until the shaking stopped.
Much as he’d enjoy decking the surly cop, Trent didn’t want to make things worse for his girlfriend. The detectives believed the sisters were guilty of trying to murder Devin and claim the Bowen fortune for themselves.
Trent knew better. Grace would never hurt anyone intentionally and, with her medical knowledge, if she planned to harm Devin, he’d be dead now. Grace had never shown much interest in wealth, perhaps because the Rutledges didn’t focus their priorities on wealth. They taught her the value of people and integrity, lessons she learned well. In the past year, Grace didn’t ask how much money he made, a question posed by previous dates early in the relationship. None were happy when he refused to answer.
That Gra
ce resisted the temptation to ask about his salary said something to him about her character and her priorities. She was interested in him rather than his bank account.
He studied the detective a moment before answering. “I work for Fortress Security.”
Contempt filled Barton’s gaze. “A rent-a-cop.”
“We track missing persons and rescue HVTs around the globe.” Along with other things he couldn’t discuss with the detective.
“HVTs? What’s that?”
The detective didn’t have a military or SWAT background. “High-value targets.”
“Never heard of your outfit.”
“We don’t advertise.”
“Why not? How do you find clients?”
“We don’t have to advertise. Our clients find us through referrals.”
“Who are your clients?”
“People who value their privacy.”
Barton watched him in silence. Hoping to intimidate him? Trent bit back a laugh. Intimidating Trent would take someone tougher than the detective. The Navy had trained him well beyond tactics Barton learned at the police academy. The government had poured millions of dollars into training him and his fellow SEALs. Trent and his Team had excelled in their training.
“Fortress any good?” The cop’s tone insinuated he believed the answer was a resounding no.
“The best.” Other operatives clamored for Maddox to hire them. Unfortunately for them, his boss was selective in hiring.
“What did you do before you started working for Fortress?”
“Military.”
“Yeah? My old man was an Army grunt. What branch were you with?”
“Navy.”
Again, Barton waited. Got nothing. Frustration sparked in his eyes. “You on a submarine or something?” he finally asked.
Figuring the detective wouldn’t let his terse comment rest without an explanation, Trent said, “SEALs.”
The detective straightened from the wall, his gaze sharp. “You were a Navy SEAL?”
Trent lifted one shoulder. He still was. Once a SEAL, always a SEAL.
“You know I’ll run your name through the system.”
“You won’t learn anything. My missions are classified and the military has safeguards in place to protect them.”
“You could have killed Bowen.”
He didn’t bother to confirm the obvious. Hopefully, Barton knew enough about SEALs to realize Trent could have killed Devin in dozens of ways, including from a distance. The one method he hadn’t used on the enemy was poison, a woman’s weapon, something he refused to mention as Grace and Nicole wouldn’t benefit from his attention to that detail.
“Why did you come to Dumas, St. Claire?”
“Grace had an appointment this morning with the lawyer, Simon Randall. I wanted to spend time with her.” Leaving Grace became more difficult each time he left Otter Creek to train with his team and deploy on yet another mission. He worried when he returned from every deployment, he’d discover Grace was tired of his extended absences and intended to move on.
He’d suffered wounds from knives and bullets in the military and working for Fortress. The injuries were painful, but he’d survived. Trent wasn’t sure he’d survive intact if Grace rejected him.
He stilled. Stuck in this rank interrogation room with a police detective who longed to toss him behind bars, he admitted the truth to himself. Trent St. Claire was crazy in love with Grace Rutledge. Question was, what would he do with the knowledge?
His jaw clenched. At the first opportunity, he planned to buy the woman who owned his heart an engagement ring, one large enough to warn off any potential suitors like those young pups at PSI. Then he’d convince a certain sexy nurse to marry him as soon as possible. They’d dated a year already. Trent wanted a lifetime with Grace. Maybe, if they were blessed, he’d be a father one day, a daughter who looked like Grace and a son to play catch with in the yard.
What did that mean for his career? Something to consider. Trent loved his job. He loved Grace more and didn’t want to be a part-time husband and father.
“You’re in love with her?”
His gut clenched. “Not your business, Detective.”
“On the contrary. In a murder investigation, everything is my business. If you’re in love with Blondie, you have motive to cover or kill for her.” A cold smile stretched across Barton’s face. “And now I know you have the skill to neutralize a threat to your woman.”
“If Grace’s life was in danger, I would use every skill in my arsenal to protect her without an ounce of remorse. But to kill for money?” Trent shook his head. “Never happen.”
“Oh, come on, St. Claire. You’re a high-priced assassin. I bet if Blondie batted her pretty lashes at you and promised you pots full of money to spend, you’d do just about anything.”
“I’m not hearing any questions, Barton. Start asking or I’m walking out of here with my friends.”
“Tell me what happened at the Randall house tonight. Walk me through the evening from the time you arrived there until you brought the vic to the hospital.”
Trent recounted the events of the evening in rapid-fire fashion. Years of giving situation reports for his SEAL commanders and then for Maddox made his recitation of events a condensed version. If Barton wanted details, he would have to ask for them.
“How long was Blondie alone with the food and drinks?”
“Her name is Grace.” Trent’s soft tone elicited a slight flinch from the cop. “To my knowledge, she was never alone in the kitchen or dining room.”
“Same for her sister?”
“That’s right.”
“What about the sister’s boyfriend?”
“Mason was never in the kitchen.” His lip curled on one side. “You going to ask if I was in the kitchen, Detective?”
Another scowl came at his words. “Were you?”
“I helped Grace with tea refills and stole a kiss.”
More frustration on the cop’s face. “You realize we’ve sent a crime scene team to the Randall home.”
“I’d be surprised if you hadn’t.”
“We will find out who did this. I don’t care which of the four of you is guilty or if all of you are guilty. I’ll throw you in jail and toss away the keys.”
“I guess your mind is made up.” Trent wasn’t surprised although he was disappointed the detective wouldn’t consider a different alternative. Didn’t bode well for Mason with his record. “Are we finished, Barton?”
“Not even close. Let’s go through the night’s events again.”
By the time Barton reluctantly allowed Trent to leave the interrogation room with a stern warning to stay available for further questions, Trent was as frustrated as the detective and hungry enough to eat a side of beef.
When he walked into the bullpen, his gaze tracked automatically to Grace. His heart turned over in his chest. He longed to be alone with her even if only for a few minutes. Relief filled her gaze at the sight of him. Yeah, he was crazy about that beautiful woman and wanted to marry her, soon. He’d waited long enough to make Grace Rutledge his.
That’s when he noticed Mason was still being interviewed. Not good. He felt for the guy. Weston would push harder with Mason because of his record. Even people in Otter Creek who didn’t know Mase assumed he hadn’t changed his ways. How quickly would Weston call Ethan Blackhawk and would he shove Rio’s cousin behind bars while he made the contact? The way things were trending, Trent wouldn’t be surprised if Weston tossed Mase in jail and neglected to call Blackhawk for a day or two.
His suspicion was confirmed when Mason walked into the bullpen, hands cuffed behind his back. Weston’s hand clenched his arm, guiding Mase toward the double doors. Crap. Not what Trent wanted to see.
Nicole jumped to her feet and intercepted them. “What’s going on, Weston? Why is my boyfriend in handcuffs?”
“He’s spending a little time as our guest while I check with his parole officer.”
“Nicole, it’s all right.” Resignation filled Mason’s face.
“No, it’s not. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re a free man and Weston can’t throw you in jail because he feels like it.”
The detective scowled. “He’s a flight risk.”
She snorted. “None of us live here. You tossing all of us in jail, too?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
Amusement wound through Trent. Seemed Grace’s sister had butted heads with the cop. Very nice. Trent found himself liking his future sister-in-law more and more.
“You have thirty minutes to call his parole officer, Detective.” Nicole wrapped her arms around Mason’s waist. “If you haven’t released him by that time, you’ll be hearing from his lawyer. Mason better be in a holding cell by himself. If he comes back to me with so much as one hair out of place, the Dumas Police Department will be looking at a lawsuit.”
“Baby, stop.” Mason pressed a kiss to her temple. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”
“You better be.” After a fierce glare at the detective watching their every move, Nicole stood on her tiptoes and touched her lips to his. She stepped back. “Clock’s ticking, Detective.”
Weston muttered under his breath about mule-headed women and nudged Mason toward the door.
As soon as the door closed behind the men, Nicole sat in the nearest seat and covered her face with her hands.
“Are you okay, Nic?” Grace sat beside her sister and wrapped an arm around her shoulder.
“I don’t know. Will Mason be mad that I kissed him?”
Trent crouched beside her chair. “Didn’t look like he objected to me. In fact, I’d say he wouldn’t mind a real kiss when you don’t have an audience.”
Her face lit up. “I’d like more kisses from Mason. I’ve been in a kissing drought for months.”
Grace frowned. “What happened to Ivan?”
“We broke up.”
“I’m sorry, Nic.”
