She should get out of the car and go inside; she was exhausted, and she needed to get some sleep, even if it was just a few hours, before another very busy day began. Sitting here in the dark with him was just asking for trouble, but she’d dozed off on the drive home and he hadn’t asked those questions he’d been so determined to ask and she certainly didn’t want to go inside with him. The car was the best of two bad choices.
“I’m sorry I fell asleep,” she said, making her voice as brisk as she could, given that she felt like a limp rag. “What was it you were so determined to ask? I’ve told you everything I remember, so my answers aren’t going to change unless you want me to make up stuff.”
He was silent a moment, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. She waited, wondering what was so complicated that he couldn’t just spit it out so she could tell him she didn’t know, then go inside and get some sleep. “We got the test results back on your clothes,” he finally said. “No blood residue.”
“Of course there wasn’t,” she replied irritably. “I knew there wouldn’t be.” Maybe it was because she was so tired, but it took a moment for the dime to drop; when it did, anger flared so hotly it blew away the fatigue, made her muscles shake with the effort it took to control herself. She refused to let herself lose it the way she had the night before, which had accomplished nothing except self-humiliation, so she hung on.
“Oh, I get it,” she said, her voice tense. “You get the test results back, proving I didn’t kill Carrie—at least not while wearing those clothes—so now I’m good enough again for you to kiss? You believe me now? No, that’s right: you don’t believe me; you believe your test results. You jerk.” Her hand itched with the impulse to slap him as hard as she could; she curled her fingers tight to resist the impulse, locked her arms by her side. “You know what? You can kiss something, all right. You can kiss my ass.”
“Any time,” he said, his own voice low and angry. “I like your ass. And for the record, I believed you from the beginning. So did Sergeant Garvey.”
“You had a funny way of showing it,” she snapped back. “All you had to do was make one phone call, just tell me that you—Never mind. You didn’t, which speaks for itself.”
“No, what it speaks for is that, until you were cleared, which means cleared by evidential means, not cleared by anything I thought, I had to follow the book. I had to treat you as I would any other suspect. No, I had to be even more objective with you, or I’d have been jerked off the case. We’re shorthanded right now, which is the only reason I was allowed to work this case in the first place, but I wanted it because I was more motivated to dig deeper than maybe one of the other detectives would have been. I didn’t know what we’d find, didn’t know how strong any circumstantial evidence against you would be, but I knew I wanted to be in a position to look harder. I figured I was your best chance at getting cleared.”
“Thank you so much,” she said sarcastically.
“Get over your hurt feelings and listen to me.” His tone was as hard as flint, and so was his expression. His mouth was set in a flat, grim line, the lights from the dash throwing harsh shadows on the rugged lines of his face. “I couldn’t do anything to give the lieutenant or the captain—or the district attorney, come to that—any reason to think I might have compromised the case for you. I couldn’t make any comforting phone calls on the side because that might have come out. For your sake, I had to be completely impartial, and I’ll be damned if I’ll apologize for doing my job.”
“I might have to listen to you, because you’re a cop and I have to cooperate or I could land in trouble, but I’ll be damned if I have to get over anything. You know why? Because if you’d been deep down certain that I hadn’t killed Carrie, you’d have known those test results would come back negative for blood. I understand about following the rules. I’m big on rules myself. But you know what? A single damn phone call wouldn’t have changed the evidence any, and would have made a huge difference to me. You didn’t make the call.”
“So you’re going to be pissy-minded and throw away what could be something good because I did what my job requires me to do?”
“You did,” she pointed out, incensed that he was putting it all back on her. “If that makes me pissy-minded, then I guess you are, too. What it comes down to is you didn’t trust me, and now I don’t trust you. We’re way past picking up where we left off, so keep your hands and your mouth to yourself. As far as I’m concerned, we needn’t see each other ever again.”
“Well now, that’s where you’re wrong,” he said grimly. “In case you’ve forgotten, someone tried to kill you tonight. Peach was right in that it’s too much of a coincidence not to be tied to the Edwards case. The man you saw likely killed Ms. Edwards, and he knows you saw him. But he’s got a solid alibi, so as it stands now I don’t have probable cause to get a search warrant, unless you could identify him, which changes everything.”
“But I can’t identify him,” she said in despair. “I wasn’t paying attention; I couldn’t pick him out of a group of one. He doesn’t know that, though.”
“No. Obviously, he assumes that you can identify him. Probably it took him a while to find out who you are, but the information is a matter of public record. Now we need to figure out how he knew where you’d be tonight.”
Then what he’d said clicked, and Jaclyn stared at him. “You said he has an alibi. You know who it is.”
“I have a good idea. What I don’t have is evidence.”
“Who?”
“I can’t divulge information,” he said with eroding patience. “The case is still being developed.”
“Someone who thinks I can identify him just tried to kill me. Don’t you think I’d be safer if I know who it is? You know … just in case I see him again? Then I could even give you a call, and say, hey, here he is, come pick him up!”
He shook his head. “I can’t tell you who I think it is because I can’t prejudice you in any way. When I show you some photographs, if you can put your finger on him it’ll be because you know you saw him at the reception hall, not because of anything I said.”
Legally, that made sense. On a practical basis, though, it was enraging. “So you’ll risk my life to keep your case pristine.”
“No. I know who he is, which is why I’ll be sticking to you like glue, to keep him from getting to you.” He gave her a grim smile. “And because he knows who you are, he’ll be able to find out where you live, if he hasn’t already. Like it or not, sweetheart, you can’t get rid of me just yet.”
On a practical basis, that meant she couldn’t sleep in her own home, that this hellish night wasn’t over with yet. Eric went inside, thoroughly searched the house before he let her come in, and even then it was just to hastily pack a suitcase. She didn’t argue, because she wasn’t stupid enough to risk her life over where she slept. At the same time, she was completely prepared to put up a kicking and screaming fight if he tried to take her to his home, because no way was she doing that.
He must have known that, because he didn’t even make the suggestion. Instead he drove her to an extended-stay hotel, where she got a two-room suite, a living room/kitchen combo with a separate bedroom. It wasn’t home, but it wasn’t bad. He even took the precaution of checking her in with his credit card, under his name.
“But what about work?” she asked, standing in the middle of the generic living room with anxiety eating at her. “He’ll know where I work, too. Mom and Peach and Diedra are all in danger.”
“This is Saturday,” he said. “You told your mother you’d be better off at work, but did you mean you’d actually be in the office today?”
She was so tired she could barely think, but she focused on the question. “Maybe in and out. We don’t have any appointments with potential clients, because our schedule this week has been so hectic. We do have two weddings today, and a rehearsal, so what I actually meant was that I’d be better off working.”
“Then everyone should be s
afe enough this weekend. If the case hasn’t broken by Monday, then yeah, maybe you should take some time off.”
Wasn’t it an ironic coincidence that she’d been thinking the same thing, though for a completely different reason? Somehow the idea of taking a vacation wasn’t nearly as attractive when she was doing it to evade a killer. That took some of the shine off the idea of rest and relaxation, made it seem more like going into hiding, which of course it was.
“Is it on your website, which events you personally will be working?” His mind was still working, worrying at the details like a pit bull. He had to be stretched as thin as she was; his eyes were shadowed, his hair was rumpled, and he needed to shave. Nevertheless, even with his sock-less feet shoved into running shoes, wearing wrinkled pants and a snug T-shirt that showed every line of his muscled torso, he was so masculine and sexy he made her toes curl. With a sense of sorrow, she realized she might never meet anyone else who made her react physically the way Eric did, and that hurt so much she had to force herself to concentrate on what he was saying.
“No, we don’t post that information at all. Some—a lot, actually—of our clients put the information on their Facebook pages, but you’d have to know who they are to begin with, and then get on their friend list, so that doesn’t seem feasible.”
“No,” he agreed. “But somehow he found you tonight, and when we can nail down how he did it, that’s the link that’ll connect him.”
Dawn was approaching so fast that neither of them would be able to snatch more than a couple of hours of sleep, Eric even fewer, because he still had to drive home. As soon as he left, Jaclyn locked and chained the door, then stripped off her clothes and tumbled into bed after barely taking the time to hang up her suit. She did remember to set the alarm on her cell phone—and then she curled up between the cool sheets and cried, because when she’d thought she was going to die her last thought had been of Eric, that she wouldn’t get a chance to tell him she loved him.
She didn’t know where that thought had come from; she couldn’t possibly love him. She didn’t know him well enough to love him. The potential had been there, though, and she grieved its loss, with a sharpness that left her hollow and aching.
Chapter Twenty-two
THE ALARM WENT OFF AT SEVEN-THIRTY. JACLYN STRETCHED an arm from beneath the covers, fumbled for her cell, and silenced the noise. The feel of the phone in her hand reminded her that she hadn’t called her mother the night before. Hastily she thumbed in Madelyn’s number, blinking her eyes to focus them on the keypad.
“What’s going on?” was Madelyn’s greeting.
“I’m in a hotel,” Jaclyn said, and yawned. “The detective thought I’d be safer if no one knew where I was, so I packed a suitcase and he brought me here. I didn’t get checked in until around four-thirty. As soon as he left, I fell into bed.”
“Safer?” Trust Madelyn’s mom instinct to seize on the most trauma-inducing word.
“From whoever took those shots at me.” Jaclyn sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. “The good news is, I’m officially off the suspect list. The bad news is, the man I saw at the reception hall is probably who killed Carrie, and now he thinks I can identify him.”
“Oh my God.”
“There’s more good news/bad news. Good: the detective said he’s pretty sure he knows who did it. Bad: he doesn’t have enough evidence to get a search warrant, so he hoped when he brings his photographs I’ll be able to put my finger on a guy and say ‘this is the one.’ I can’t, though. I honestly didn’t pay enough attention,” she said unhappily. She certainly wished there had been something outstanding enough about the guy that she’d memorized his face, so she could get this over with.
“But … I thought you and Diedra both said the person who tried to shoot you could be a woman.”
“Or a small man,” Jaclyn pointed out, then closed her eyes as she thought about the man she’d seen in the parking lot at the reception hall. Nothing about his face stood out, but she had good spatial memory, and she had a very clear sense of how tall he’d been in relation to his car. The man she’d seen hadn’t been short; if anything, he’d been pushing six feet tall, if not taller. “I don’t think it was the same man I saw that day.”
“But that doesn’t make sense.”
“I suppose he could have hired someone,” she said uncertainly. “Either that, or the shooting didn’t have anything to do with Carrie.”
“The odds against that would be astronomical. I agree with Peach; it has to be connected to Carrie.”
“Or someone else whose wedding I did, and the bride hated everything.”
There was a moment of silence, then Madelyn said, “Oh my God,” again in a very unhappy tone. “There was a call yesterday … if it was a woman who shot at you, then I think maybe I told her where you’d be last night.”
“What?”
“Someone called the office yesterday; Diedra answered the call, then transferred it to me. The woman, whoever it was, said she was an old friend of yours from college, that you’d talked recently and were supposed to meet for drinks after work but she’d forgotten the time. She rattled off a name, but we were so busy yesterday I didn’t really take note. I told her you had a rehearsal yesterday, then you were going straight to a wedding and I told her where it was, and that it would be late when you got finished so probably there was a mix-up on dates. I gave her your cell number, to call and reschedule. Did she call?” Madelyn asked hopefully.
Jaclyn pinched between her eyes. “No, no one called. And I haven’t talked to any old college friends.”
“I almost got you killed,” Madelyn breathed with horror, and her voice wobbled with tears as she continued, “Surely we can have the call traced, find out who it was—”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I’ll call Detective Wilder. Mom, don’t cry. You didn’t almost get me killed. Whoever shot at me is the one to blame, not you.” Because this was her mother, tears welled in her eyes, too. “Please don’t cry, or you’ll have me boohooing, and then we’ll both have swollen eyes today.”
“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.”
Soothing Madelyn took several minutes, during which they both cried. As soon as they disconnected the call, though, Jaclyn dug Eric’s card out of her bag and dialed his cell.
“Jaclyn. Is something wrong?”
Startled, she took the phone from her ear and stared at it as if it were inhabited by aliens. It was one thing for her mother to answer the phone with a question, because after all she would recognize the number and know who was calling, but she’d never called Eric before. Cautiously she put the phone back to her ear. “How did you know who it was?”
“I recognized the number.”
“I’ve never called you before.”
“No, but I’ve called you. Remember the occasion? I was inside you almost before your back hit the mattress.”
A tidal wave of heat washed over her, because, yes, oh God yes, she remembered. She might want to forget, but in that moment physical memory was stronger and her flesh relived the feel of him pushing into her, thick and hot and deep. She vividly felt his arms around her again, his chest hair roughly rubbing her nipples, his hands gripping her bottom and lifting her into each thrust. Every muscle inside her tightened as if she was holding him again, clamping down around him as she came. Her nipples tightened on their own, standing out as flushed and firm as if he’d been sucking on them.
“I—” she said, then fell silent because there was nothing she could say, no rebuttal she could make. What had happened, happened. She squeezed her eyes shut and her legs tightly together, trying to make the ache go away.
“Yes,” he said roughly, his tone making it plain he was reliving his own moments. “You.”
She took a deep, shaky breath. She’d never understood the charm of phone sex until that moment, and this was a damn poor time for it, too. “Ah … someone, a woman, called Mom yesterday and said she was an old college friend and we were supposed to get together
for drinks—” She was blabbering. She stopped, took another breath. “Anyway, Mom told her where I’d be last night. And, no, I haven’t been in touch with any old college friends about having drinks.”
“Caller ID?” he asked sharply, evidently making the transition from pleasure to business a lot more smoothly than she had.
“No, it was on the office phone. Mom said something about having the call traced. We don’t have caller ID on the office line.”
He muttered something that she doubted was complimentary, then said, “Okay, find out what time the call came in. We’ll get the ball rolling with the phone company.”
“It was a woman. That knocks a hole in your theory about the gray-haired man trying to kill me, doesn’t it?”
“No, in fact, it doesn’t. Look, I really need you to look at some photographs. If you can’t come here, tell me where you’ll be and I’ll bring them to you.”
A sense of alarm seized her at the words “come here.” Surely he wasn’t—
“Ah … where are you?”
“At work.”
Her face heated as she thought of what he’d said. Had anyone heard him?
“Don’t worry, no one’s near enough to eavesdrop,” he said in amusement. “Can you come now?”
She didn’t know what devil seized her, but she did know that payback was sweet. “Almost,” she murmured, and listened to the sudden fumbling and background cursing as he dropped his cell phone.
Garvey approached Eric’s desk, some papers in hand. “The senator’s alibied tighter than Dick’s hatband,” he said in disgust. “He was at a fund-raiser, with Mrs. Dennison, in Savannah last night. It lasted until midnight. He couldn’t be in two places at once.”
“He might not have done it, but he had it done,” Eric growled. “The fucker screwed up. If he’d just left it alone, we didn’t have enough on him to get a search warrant, but he was afraid Jaclyn could identify him. Now we’re going to look real hard at his girlfriend. Jaclyn just called; a woman pretending to be an old friend called her business yesterday, and her mother told the woman where Jaclyn would be. That was a puzzle, figuring out how anyone knew where Jaclyn would be at any given time, but the answer was simple.”