I flicked my gaze to the computer monitor. “Then we find out who this LilJon is and ask him what this comment means.” I pointed at the words still glowing back at us.
“We should do that anyway.” Erin paused with thought. “Unless you would like company?”
“No.” I stood, gathering my things, and headed out of her office. “It’s better I do this alone. You try to identify LilJon. Maybe try to engage him in conversation.”
Erin agreed, walked me to the door, and I promised to call her as soon as I learned anything that might give us a start into deciphering what exactly we were dealing with. “Sam, be careful.”
“I will.”
“We’re the only ones that seem to be questioning Thompson’s death. If we’re right, whoever killed him isn’t going to like us bringing attention to it.”
I squeezed Erin’s hand. “Then we won’t.”
On my drive across town, I thought about the interest my story sparked and the angry people voicing their opinions online. I questioned whether these same people would let this anger pass or actually be motivated to do something far worse than type a comment while hidden behind the anonymity of the internet. It was tough to say what would happen, but one thing was crystal clear—someone wanted to take credit for Thompson’s death, and I was determined to learn if the threat was legitimate.
I wasn’t sure what I was expecting to find when turning onto Thompson’s street, but I hadn’t anticipated this. My pulse throbbed in my wrist as my heartrate spiked. I parked on the side of the road, turned off the car, and sat for a minute to gauge the scene.
Despite catching me off guard, the chaos coming in and out of the house played in my favor. I could just walk inside and pretend like I belonged. Then I caught sight of the unmarked cop cars hiding beneath the big cottonwood a half block down from where I sat and realized my plan might not be as easy as just stepping inside.
I drummed the steering wheel, hemming and hawing through my options. I was certain it was King’s car I saw and with it came mixed emotions. On one hand I was happy that the police were looking into a death I also thought suspicious. On the other, I knew them being here was going to impede my own investigation.
Knowing I wasn’t going to leave without at least attempting to get some answers, I flung the door open and made my way along the concrete path following the hedges that led me to the front door. Finding the door open, I glanced to the street, then stepped inside with ease.
There was more foot traffic coming and going now than what I saw last night. HVAC and security, all checking the house for flaws into what might have caused CO to be leaked into the house. No one seemed too concerned that I was there, so I wondered what they’d found.
“Is that where the CO was leaked from?” I asked the man working the natural gas fireplace.
“I don’t think so.” He flicked on the flames and I watched them ignite. Then he took a reading and extinguished the flames before cycling through the same pattern again. “I’ve conducted a systems check and everything appears to be working just fine.”
I moved on and found my next person to question. He was a short chubby man of about fifty who had trouble keeping his pants above his ass crack.
“Who called you to come?” I asked.
He gave me a funny look. “The owner.”
“Mrs. Thompson?”
“I assume.” He tinkered with the security system. “Wasn’t the one who took the call.”
“Are you here to fix or install?”
He pushed his glasses further up on his nose. “Conducting a system maintenance check.” His brushy brows squished as he fixed his gaze on me. “Who did you say you were again?”
“Oh, I’m nobody.” I smiled. “Just trying to figure out what it is you’re doing.”
“Do you live here?”
“I’m not that lucky.”
I heard the whiz of weed whackers and trimmers in the back, wondering how Mrs. Thompson could continue on with her life and have all these people rummaging through her house only hours after her husband died. It was something only she could answer, but I hoped to God she wasn’t doing it to keep up an appearance that everything was all right.
“It’s the darndest thing,” Chubby Man said. “I just can’t figure out why this system failed. It doesn’t make any sense. Everything seems to be working normally.”
I continued on my stroll, moving between rooms and taking note of the smart home technology that Matt Bales mentioned to me last night. I took photos with my cell phone and dictated notes, stating what everyone was working on. They seemed to be finding no flaws in the system to suggest how Thompson might have been exposed to carbon monoxide when my cell phone lit up with an incoming call.
I found a quiet room and answered. “Dawson, now’s not a good time.”
“Where are you?”
Biting my lip, I muttered, “I’d rather not say.”
“Sam, what are you up to?”
“Again, I’d rather not say.”
“Christ. Now’s not the time to be difficult. Lieutenant Baker just called looking for you.”
I plugged my opposite ear and lowered my head. “Did he say what he needed?”
“He did.” Dawson’s tone dropped and grated like gravel. “He asked me to tell you to go the station.”
“Did he say what this was about?”
Dawson swallowed hard enough for me to hear. “There’s no easy way for me to say this, Sam.” He paused. “He said he has some questions he needs to ask you about the murder of Richard Thompson.”
Murder? My head picked up as I blinked away the stars.
Frozen to the floor I glanced around the room, suddenly thinking that coming here wasn’t the best decision I could have made. But I needed to find out if Richard was the one to have threatened me. “I can’t do that right now, Dawson.”
“And why is that?”
My head pounded as I took small but deliberate steps toward the exit. “Because I’m inside Thompson’s house.”
“Shit. I forgot.” I heard Dawson’s face fall into his hand and I imagined him pinching the bridge of his nose as he shook his head in disbelief. “You better get yourself out of there before this thing blows back on us.”
Suddenly, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and it was coming at me in a flurry of motion that prevented me from seeing what exactly it was. Reflexes kicked in and I ducked and flinched, feeling each sting of small hands come flying down over my head and neck.
“You did this!” Mrs. Thompson swatted at my face in a rage. “You killed my husband!”
I ducked again and took cover, trying to get away from the freight train barreling after me when I turned the corner and hurried into the hall. Suddenly, my toe caught on the wood flooring and sent me flying through the air. I landed hard on my stomach, smashing my mouth into the hardwood. The dull metallic taste of blood filled my mouth as a sharp ringing filled my ears. My head bobbed on my shoulders as I flattened my palms and pushed myself up. A sharp tug on the back of my head had me screaming for mercy.
Mrs. Thompson kicked me to the ground and growled like a tiger. “Because of you, I’m left with nothing. How dare you come into my house after what you said about my husband.”
I kicked and flailed but she had a good pin on me and my body refused to budge. Then, suddenly, the weight of her body disappeared and I knew someone had pulled her off of me.
“Get up.” A big hand gripped my elbow and pulled me to my feet.
My gaze traveled up his broad chest. “King?”
Alex peered down into my eyes. He had the biggest look of disappointment I had ever seen. With that look alone, I knew that I was in hot water.
Turning me around, King took my hands behind my back and said, “Christ, Samantha, why the hell did you come here?”
“What’s going on? Why are you here?” I danced on my toes as I struggled to keep up with King’s pace as he dragged me out of the house. “Was Richard Thompson
murdered?”
King’s vice grip tightened on my arm, cutting off the circulation as he pushed me closer to the exit. He kept his gaze forward and his voice low. “I suggest you stop talking before you say something I can’t erase and you find yourself in bigger trouble than you might already be in.”
Chapter Twenty-One
With one hand on the steering wheel and his foot securely on the brake, Loxley wasn’t paying attention to anything but the Backstage website. He was busy browsing the page on his smartphone when suddenly the music on the radio stopped for the news update.
He swept his gaze to the radio and stared with intense focus.
“The accidental death of billionaire Richard Thompson has sparked an outcry from many throughout Colorado, who now must ask themselves if they will ever see their money again and who else might be ripping them off.”
Loxley turned the volume up and stared out the windshield as sound bites from hard-working middle class Coloradoans poured through his car speakers expressing their anger.
“Again,” one man said heatedly, “here is another example of how the One Percent is finding a way to defraud the middle class by stealing more of the money we work hard for to increase their personal net worth. It’s maddening,” the man growled, “and thank God for journalists like the woman who exposed his scam, because who knows how much more this jerk would have stolen before finally getting caught. I’m glad he’s dead.”
Loxley smiled, knowing that his killing of Richard Thompson was what brought the conversation to the surface. But it was Samantha Bell’s article exposing him as a fraud and hypocrite that made it all possible.
He listened to more soundbites of Thompson’s victims speaking out, and the more Loxley heard, the more he felt like he was floating on cloud nine. Sinking into the bucket of his driver’s seat, he closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift to Samantha.
Loxley’s attraction to her was undeniable. He needed to get close to her without her knowing his true identity. They were a perfect team—perhaps better than he would have ever thought. Now, if he could get her to do it again…
Slowly, he slid his hand down his thigh before moving it between his legs. He felt the urge to kill blossom inside his chest, but even with the excitement budding, the heated pleasure of arousal escaped him.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he dug deeper into his mind trying to relive the moment he orgasmed when killing Richard. It was a feeling like no other and one he wished to experience again. His body craved it—cherished the universal power of his masculinity. But no matter where his thoughts took him, he couldn’t do it, couldn’t recreate the feeling or the same intense pulsating throb of that day that made him feel like the man he knew he could be.
“Damn you!” he cursed, snapping his eyes open and punching the dash with his right hand. “What kind of man are you if you can’t get hard?”
His chest heaved as he breathed heavily. Soon his thoughts drifted back to Samantha. She was absolutely amazing. If there was one woman in the world he thought was made for him, it was her. She did a noble thing by exposing Thompson’s fraud, and Loxley planned to one day send her his gratitude—perhaps even do it in person so that he could brush his lips across the backs of her silky soft knuckles and taste her for the first time.
When his cock twitched, he glanced down and smiled.
“He had what was coming to him,” another pissed off victim said through the radio. “I’m sorry for his family, but he got what he deserved.”
Feeling satisfied, Loxley turned the volume down, removed his hand from his lap, and dove his fingers inside the take-out bag in the seat next to him, eating the last bit of hamburger and washing it down with soda pop when an alert on his phone beeped.
He paused mid-chew and glanced at the relayed message. The system he had in place told him the image he left on Samantha’s public forum had been clicked and viewed on the internet IP address he matched to the router belonging to Erin Tate.
“Let the games begin.” His lips curled upward as he thought about his next move.
Loxley had hoped his comment would catch the attention of his two favorite investigative reporters and now that they knew they were being watched, it was time Loxley started thinking about preparing himself for the hunt—perhaps even inviting the two of them along with him.
His body tingled with excitement. Games. He loved his games.
By the time he lowered his smartphone onto his lap, he caught sight of the bright yellow Porsche rolling through the front gates he’d been staked out in front of for the past hour.
Loxley gave the Porsche a fifteen second lead before putting his car in gear. He eased his foot off the brake and transferred it over to the gas pedal as he pursued his target.
Following close behind the peacocking asshole, Donny Counts, Loxley tossed the hamburger wrapper into the bag, with plans to further his cause—especially knowing there was more work to be done now that his favorite crime reporter was putting her nose where she shouldn’t.
Chapter Twenty-Two
King had me outside the Thompson house in two seconds flat. Thank God for it too, because Mrs. Thompson would have happily gouged both my eyes out before I managed to escape her wrath.
Pushing me up against the side of his vehicle, King asked in a low voice, “Sam, what are you doing here?”
His right arm caged me in and a part of me wanted to reach up and stroke those sexy lips of his before reality pulled me back to earth, asking him the same. “Me, what are you doing here?”
King tilted his head to one side and gave a look. “You really shouldn’t be here.”
“Dawson told me Lieutenant Baker wants to speak to me about the murder of Richard Thompson.” King’s eyes narrowed as he exhaled a heavy breath through his nose. “I was right, wasn’t I?”
“There is still a lot that needs to be answered.”
“You can start by telling me what you found to make you open a homicide investigation.”
King’s eyes were sharp and focused. “We’re not sure it was murder.”
“Are you sure, because I’m only repeating the words Dawson relayed to me over the phone, the words that your lieutenant told him.” When King didn’t respond, I said, “Besides, I asked around inside. No one could point to a possible carbon monoxide leak so you must have found something else.”
King gave me a look and glanced behind him. “You know the wealthy get preferential treatment in cases like these.”
“Don’t feed me any lines, Alex. I’m serious.”
King looked me in the eye and asked, “Are you here because of your story?”
“This isn’t about the story. It’s about the threat I think Richard sent me before it went to print.”
King pulled back and cocked his head with a mild look of surprise flashing in his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
I told him about the message I received and how I came here to verify if Richard was the one to have sent it. “This whole thing is just bizarre,” I said. “The timing of his death and the release of my story highlighting his crimes.”
“How did you expect to verify if Thompson was the one to have sent it, and why am I just hearing about this now?”
“I don’t know.” I brushed my bangs out of my eyes. “I didn’t have a real plan. Search his office, I guess.”
“Jesus, Samantha.” He ran a hand over his head. “This is bad.”
“What’s bad? I don’t understand.”
King’s hands were on his hips when he turned his head and glared. “I have to stop while I’m ahead.”
“King, what’s going on?”
“Stop.” He held up a finger and I watched his gaze fall to my lips. “Listen, I’m not sure how much I can help you, but those two men heading our way—” King glanced over his shoulder to see how much longer he had me to himself before continuing. “They’re going to ask you politely to come down to the station so they can ask you some questions about the death of Richard Thompso
n.”
I pushed myself up on my toes to look over King’s shoulder, finding myself staring at the two detectives—whose names I couldn’t remember—encouraging Mrs. Thompson to go back inside and forget she ever saw me in her house.
“Am I a suspect?” My heels hit the street.
“Should you be?”
“Don’t mess with me.” I shoved one hand into King’s chest. He barely budged.
“Just go along with it and do as they say.” King took two steps back and lowered his voice. “Got it?”
“At least give me a glimpse into what this is about. You’re scaring me.”
King rooted his hands into his hips and turned his back. “I can’t say.”
“You can’t or you won’t?”
King turned his head and glared over his shoulder, smart enough not to respond.
“I’m calling my attorney,” I said, pulling my cell from my back pocket.
King’s hand landed on my arm and stopped me from making the call. “Make it easy on yourself and just hold off before you go involving a lawyer.”
I kept my thumb hovered over the green call button as I heard Mrs. Thompson still barking my name from the house. The two detectives strode away from the front door, nodding to King as they passed. I made a mental note of the box the second detective was carrying, unsure of what it was. But something told me that might have been the reason I was being summoned downtown.
“Alex, you didn’t read me my rights.”
King turned his head and said, “You can drive yourself. I’ll follow you there. Now, c’mon, let’s go before someone decides to write you up for trespassing.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
A half-hour later, I sat alone in interrogation room 4 waiting to see if I needed to call my attorney or not. King hadn’t convinced me I was out of the woods yet, and I kept my fingers crossed that everything would soon shake itself out. But I needed to know what exactly this was about and why I was asked to come here in the first place.
Bell to Pay Page 7
