“Mr. McClane?” the shorter of the two men asked. He was only about five seven, late forties, with dark hair and eyes and a brown suit that looked as if it had seen better days.
“Yeah.” Rusty tucked his hands into the front pocket of his jeans, trying to stay as relaxed and unintimidating as possible. “Who’s asking?”
He flashed a badge. “I’m Detective Simms.” He nodded at the second man, taller and older with salt-and-pepper hair and wearing a gray suit, as he slipped his badge into the inner pocket of his jacket. “This is Detective Pierce. We’re with Portland Police. We’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”
“About what? I’m kind of in the middle of a family party here.”
“Oh, this won’t take long,” Simms said. “We’re just hoping you can clear up a few things for us regarding a case we’re investigating.”
Nothing was ever routine with the police. And Rusty didn’t miss the way the man refused to answer his question. “I don’t know how I can—”
“Could you please step outside, Mr. McClane?” Pierce asked.
Rusty’s gaze shot toward the guy in the gray suit. His blue eyes were easy and relaxed, and there was no warning in his expression, but Rusty didn’t trust the guy. There was something in his body language that screamed he was waiting for Rusty to say or do the wrong thing.
Good cop, good cop. Rusty had been baited by that before, and he didn’t like where this was headed. He knew what they were doing. If he refused to move out onto the porch, it would raise suspicion, give them a reason to wonder. If he did, and he said something they didn’t like, they could haul his ass in.
Before he could decide what to do, tiny footsteps echoed on the hardwood at his back, followed by Emma’s small voice, yelling, “Unca Rusty!”
She threw herself at him and latched onto his leg with a death grip. As Rusty reached down to try to pry her free, footsteps sounded on the hardwood again, followed by Raegan’s worried voice. “I’m sorry. Emma, come here.” She disentangled Emma from Rusty’s legs. Hauling her daughter up into her arms, she said, “I told you to leave them alone, sweetie.”
Voices echoed from the other room. He could hear his mother questioning Alec about who was really at the door and what was going on, followed by his dad, who’d obviously abandoned the grill when he’d realized something was happening.
Shit. Whatever these yahoos wanted from him, he didn’t want them to ask it in front of his family. Especially since he had a pretty strong hunch it had to do with last night, where he’d been, and what he hoped no one knew he’d done.
He pulled the screen door open and moved out onto the porch, shooting Raegan a secret message he hoped she caught.
Raegan nodded and reached for the door. “I’ll just close this so she doesn’t bother you again.” To the detectives, she said, “Sorry about the interruption.”
“No worries, ma’am,” the taller one said with a half smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
When they were alone on the porch and Rusty was sure no one inside could hear him, he folded his arms over his chest. “So what’s this about?”
The shorter of the two detectives pulled a photograph from his breast pocket and held it up. “We’re looking for a girl. Any chance you’ve seen her recently?”
Rusty’s gut dropped like a stone as he focused on the blonde in the picture. She looked nothing like she had last night. Instead of wild curly hair and heavy makeup that made her look twenty-five, her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, her skin was pale and clean, and she was smiling in a head shot like the kind taken for a school yearbook.
A thousand thoughts and reactions pinged around in his head as he studied the photo. If he lied and they caught him in the lie, he could find himself in deep shit. But if he told the truth, there was no guarantee that wouldn’t lead him to the shit either.
“Mr. McClane?” the taller detective asked.
“Uh. Yeah. She looks a little familiar.”
The shorter detective jotted notes on a pad of paper Rusty hadn’t seen him reach for. “Any chance you were at an establishment known as Leather and Lace in Portland last night?”
Double shit. They wouldn’t be asking if they didn’t already know the answer. Perspiration dotted Rusty’s spine. “Uh—”
“It’s a strip club,” the taller detective cut in. “In case you can’t remember.”
“I know what it is.” Rusty worked to stay relaxed. “Yeah, I was there. It’s a legal joint. What’s this all about?”
The shorter detective pocketed the picture again. “This girl was reported missing by her employer. We’re checking in with anyone who might have come in contact with her last night.”
Fuck. Rusty’s mouth went dry.
“What happened to your hands, Mr. McClane?” the taller detective asked.
Rusty’s adrenaline shot sky-high. Before he could answer, though, the front door of the house jerked open.
“What’s going on out here?” His mother pushed the screen door open. “Rusty?” Her worried gaze darted from the detectives to Rusty and back again.
All that guilt came rushing back. He didn’t want to do this in front of Hannah McClane. Not in front of the one person who believed in him more than anyone else ever had. He moved quickly to her side. “It’s fine, Mom. It’s nothing.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing.” Voices echoed behind her. More of his family filled the entryway, questions already flying.
“Mr. McClane,” one of the officers said in an irritated tone.
Rusty turned back to them. “I’d rather do this somewhere else.”
The officers exchanged glances. The taller one looked back at Rusty with a superior expression. “We can do this down at the station if you’d prefer.”
That was not what he’d prefer, but it was better than this. “Fine.”
Shock widened his mother’s eyes. “Rusty—”
“Right this way, Mr. McClane.” The taller detective stepped back and held out his hand toward the blue sedan parked in the drive.
Hannah grasped his arm tightly. “Russell McClane, you tell me right now what’s going on. Are you in trouble?”
He hoped like hell not. But something in his gut said that was wishful thinking at this point.
He kissed his mom’s cheek, desperate to reassure her but also to get away from her and the rest of the family before one of these officers spilled something he didn’t want them to know. “I’m fine. This is no big deal, and it won’t take long. I promise. Go on and eat without me.”
He twisted out of her grip before she could do something to keep him at her side, and he didn’t look back at his siblings all whispering in the foyer as he crossed the drive and slid into the back seat of the sedan like a common criminal. He also didn’t look up as the taller officer slammed the door, climbed into the front, and the car pulled out of the drive. Because he knew what each and every one of them would see in his eyes if he met any of their gazes.
They’d see guilt. A guilt he hoped like hell he could figure out how to cover before these detectives tore into him at the station.
CHAPTER TWO
True evil was hidden. Most never knew where it lurked, when it was a threat, or how it consumed. But Harper Blake did. She knew all about the trappings of evil because she’d seen it up close. And because even though she tried to deny it, something inside her was attracted to that evil on a very basic level.
She hit “Rewind” on the tape and waited while the image scrolled backward, then pressed “Play” again, this time narrowing her eyes as she watched Russell McClane’s body language as he answered the detective’s questions in the interrogation room at the Portland Police Department.
“Look,” McClane said, running a hand through his dark hair in obvious frustration. “I already told you I don’t know where she is. I didn’t spend all that much time with her. It’s not like I knew her well enough to know where she went after work.”
“Bu
t you confirm you were alone with her.”
“Yeah.” He dropped his bandaged hand to the table and leaned back in his chair, meeting the detective’s gaze head-on. “Check with the bouncer if you don’t believe me. We left the VIP area together. He saw us. I went back into the club and got another drink. I have no idea where she went after that.”
Harper hit “Pause,” this time not to look at McClane but so that she could see the detective’s face.
Noah Pierce.
Her blood hummed at just the sight of his familiar features on the screen. A friend at the PPD had given her the tape. As an investigator working with the attorney who’d been hired to represent McClane, she hadn’t expected much when she’d popped it in the machine. She just wanted to get a read on McClane before she had to meet with the man. But she definitely hadn’t planned on seeing Noah up close and personal. That had thrown her for a loop and stimulated all those evil receptors inside her all over again.
Her intercom buzzed. Turning quickly, she crossed the floor toward her desk and pushed the button. “Yes, Tina?”
“Mr. Renwick and the client are ready for you, Ms. Blake.”
Shit. Go-time. “Thanks.”
Pointing the remote at the screen, she powered down the TV, then reached for her blazer from the chair behind her desk. After slipping it on, she turned and checked her reflection in the small mirror on the wall.
She hated that seeing Pierce on that screen had rattled her. Smoothing her straight locks back from her face so they fell midway down her back, she breathed slowly and forcibly relaxed the muscles in her face so she wouldn’t look like a crazed bitch when she met with the client. But Pierce had a way of getting under her skin, of making her feel self-conscious and old—way older than her thirty-two years.
So what if he thought her hair was muddy brown and her eyes were an unremarkable green? She didn’t care what he thought of her anymore. She didn’t even care that he’d used her to further his career, then tossed her aside when he didn’t need her any longer, because one day soon, he was going to get what was due to him. One way or another, she was going to make certain of that. She just wasn’t sure how yet.
“Enough,” she muttered. Pushing thoughts of Pierce out of her head, she drew one last deep breath, turned and grabbed the file she’d read earlier from her desk, and headed for the conference room.
As far as gigs went, hers wasn’t too bad: a private office on the twenty-third floor of one of Portland’s tallest buildings, an amazing view of the city and the Willamette River, a flexible boss, and the ability to set her own hours. The pay wasn’t anything to grumble about either—twice what she’d been making on the force. Of course, back then she’d been digging up evidence to put rapists and murderers behind bars. Now she was looking for ways to defend them.
“Innocent until proven guilty,” she muttered to herself as she headed down the corridor, her heels clicking along the slate floor. It wasn’t her job to decide guilt or innocence. It was her job to investigate and find evidence one way or the other for the attorney. What he did with that evidence wasn’t her concern. Yet something in the back of her mind wasn’t thrilled with the fact she knew he buried some of the information she brought him. Things the prosecution wasn’t devious enough to find themselves.
“Still not a bad gig,” she reassured herself. At least here she didn’t have to deal with backstabbing, treacherous, blackhearted people like Noah Pierce. As for Russell McClane? She hadn’t decided what he was yet.
She stopped outside the conference room, told herself not to think of Noah again, and knocked. A split second later, Andrew Renwick’s voice called, “Come in.”
Harper pushed the door open and stepped into the room. Daylight spilled through the wall of windows overlooking the river. An oval table surrounded by leather chairs filled the space. At one end of the room was a bookshelf lined with legal tomes; at the other, a whiteboard someone had recently wiped clean. Her boss, Andy, sat at the far end of the table, looking as unintimidating as a lawyer in his late fifties could look: his salt-and-pepper hair slightly ruffled, he was dressed in slacks and a pin-striped dress shirt rolled up to his forearms, his tie loosened and slightly askew. With clients, she knew he liked to come across as relaxed and easy to talk to so they’d be more open and honest with their facts. In a courtroom, he was the exact opposite—polished and professional, a total shark when the moment called for it.
“Right on time,” Andy said, pushing back from the table.
“Thanks for including me in your meeting.” Harper glanced toward the dark-haired man sitting to Andy’s right. He pushed to his feet as she moved along the opposite side of the table and pulled out the chair on Andy’s left. Her first impression was tall. Her second was way hotter than he’d been on tape.
Setting her folder on the table, she reached for the hand the man offered. “Mr. McClane, I’m Harper Blake.”
“Ms. Blake is the firm’s investigator,” Andy said as he sat again.
Russell McClane didn’t answer, only nodded slightly before taking his seat once more and looking back at Andy. But Harper hadn’t missed the jolt of electricity that had shot up her arm when he gripped her hand, or the way those receptors inside her tingled with awareness like they used to when she was on the trail of something intriguing.
“As I was saying,” Andy went on, glancing back at the papers in front of him. “It’s all circumstantial at this point, but you’re definitely a person of interest in the disappearance of Melony Strauss. The club has you on their security footage entering and leaving the premises. They also have footage of you alone with the girl.” He flipped through his documents. “I don’t think they’ve interviewed the bouncer yet, but they will. If his story doesn’t match yours—”
“It will.”
Harper sat quietly and watched Russell McClane as Andy went through the evidence he’d gathered. His face was all chiseled angles, his eyes like coal, his jaw covered in a dusting of dark scruff that matched his black hair. He was handsome but not classically so, more rough and rugged in his long-sleeved black Henley, dark jeans, and heavy work boots than slick and gorgeous like a lot of men she saw come through this office. And though his answers were convincing and confident, she sensed he was a man who’d seen and done a thing or two in his lifetime—and not all innocent and good things.
Something primitive stirred inside her. Something she recognized as attraction. She had a tendency to be drawn toward the bad boys, and Russell McClane had “dark and brooding bad boy” written all over him. That was a warning flag for her. That and the fact this case for some reason stimulated her evil receptors.
“Well.” Andy closed the folder in front of him and leaned back in his seat. “At this point you’re not being charged with anything. But it was smart of you to hire representation just in case. It’s your word against the club owner’s word at the moment.” He glanced down at the scabs on McClane’s knuckles, then up to his face. “He doesn’t have a stellar reputation, so that’s a plus in our favor. But the fact you don’t have an alibi after leaving the club doesn’t look good. We’ll try to find the bouncer and see what he has to say.”
McClane didn’t answer. Didn’t even flinch. Another thing Harper found interesting.
“Ms. Blake?” Andy turned toward Harper. “Is there anything you’d like to add at this point?”
“Nothing to add. I just have one question.”
McClane had barely spared her a second glance since she’d entered the room, but he finally looked her way. There was no friendliness in his coal-black eyes when they met hers, though. Only indifference.
She didn’t let that deter her. “Did you make arrangements to meet up with Ms. Strauss after she got off work at the Leather and Lace Club?”
His eyes narrowed. And something dangerous filled their depths. Something that told her she was right to be suspicious. “I don’t know where she went after she left that club.”
“I didn’t ask that. I asked if
you made arrangements to meet up with her.”
He hesitated, as if considering his answer, then said, “Whether I did or didn’t doesn’t change the fact that I don’t know where she went that night.”
“It will if the police find her body.”
“They won’t.”
Oh yeah, he was definitely hiding a lot. “You seem fairly confident.”
“I am.” With a last contemptuous look, he pushed back from the table and glanced toward Andy. “I have to get to work.”
Andy rose and shook McClane’s hand. “We’ll be in touch.”
McClane didn’t look her way again. Just headed for the door without another word and disappeared into the hall.
When the door snapped closed behind him and they were alone, Andy dropped into his seat and met her gaze. “So? What do you think?”
“I think he knows a whole lot more about that missing girl than he’s letting on.”
Andy sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Agree.”
Harper opened her file folder and pulled out a paper, which she slid across the shiny table toward Andy. “I did a little digging. Mr. McClane likes strip clubs. He’s visited twelve in the last three weeks. The employees I talked to at each club confirmed he’s also only interested in the youngest girls.”
Andy studied the information she’d tallied with an unreadable expression. “What about Melony Strauss?”
“Not much there, I’m afraid.” Harper pulled out another paper and handed it to him. “She lived in a dive apartment with a couple of the other girls at Leather and Lace, but according to them she kept to herself. Her employment records list her as turning eighteen three months ago, but I can’t find a driver’s license or any other identification anywhere to confirm that. I did get a recent photo of her.”
“And?”
She handed him the picture she’d printed. “And there’s no way that girl is eighteen.”
Andy frowned as he studied the image taken of Strauss dancing in the club. “Damn.”
“I’m thinking fifteen, maybe sixteen tops.”
Unspeakable Page 2
