Need Me

  A shot rang out. A blast that thundered and had her gasping. Then she heard the squeal of tires as the shooter raced away.

  Devlin’s body was on top of hers. The freezing snow was below her. He lunged up, swearing, as he looked after that fleeing vehicle. She sat up, moving much slower. She brushed off the snow that covered her clothing.

  “Are you all right?” Devlin asked.

  She was on her feet now. His hands slid over her body, checking for injuries. There weren’t any. The bullet had hit his vehicle, not them. Not this time.

  A bomb. A bullet. What would come next?

  “Jules!”

  Ethan raced toward her. Fear had turned his normally tanned skin ashen.

  Devlin moved his body in front of Julianna’s, his pose protective.

  That was sweet and all…and she’d hired him to protect her but…I don’t want him taking a bullet for me. She didn’t want anyone doing that.

  “I saw her on the security feed.” Ethan’s breath heaved out. “I thought that bullet was going to hit you.”

  “Her?” Devlin said, voice dangerously soft.

  “The shooter. I saw her blonde hair when she lowered the window.” His lips thinned. “And I got her tag number, not that we need it. I recognized her.”

  “Who the hell was it?” Devlin demanded.

  Ethan’s hands were clenched at his sides. “Heather Aslo, Jeremy Smith’s step-daughter.” His golden eyes glittered. “The woman who’s been so busy telling all the reporters that Julianna is a murderer.”

  Chapter Eight

  “There’s some mistake.” Heather Aslo smiled at Detective Faith Chestang. “I haven’t shot anyone. That’s absolutely crazy!” Then her gaze jumped to Devlin. “And who are you? Are you a cop, too?”

  He smiled back at her. “Nice innocent act. But you know exactly who I am. I’m the man you had in your sights less than an hour ago.” He had to give the DC cops credit—or, at least, give credit to Faith. She’d moved fast and had taken Heather into custody even before Devlin and Julianna made it to the station.

  Julianna was currently waiting in another interrogation room. Because Faith owed him a favor or two, she’d let him come inside for this little chat. He wondered how many lies Heather would tell before they got down to the truth.

  Heather’s smile dimmed a bit. “I didn’t try to shoot you.”

  Faith nodded. “Right. I know you didn’t.”

  Heather looked relieved.

  “I think,” Faith continued, seeming to really consider the matter, “that you were aiming for your step-mother, Julianna—”

  “She’s not my step-mother!”

  Oh, wow. Someone had anger issues. That would probably explain the bullet in the side of his ride.

  “Officers are searching your home and your vehicle right now.” Faith’s voice was still as mild as you please. “They’ll find the gun, and they’ll match it to the bullet that we dug out of Devlin’s car.”

  A furrow appeared between Heather’s brows. “Devlin?”

  “That would be me,” he told her, giving his own slow, cold smile. “Devlin Shade. I’m Julianna’s bodyguard, and one of the witnesses to your little shooting attempt.”

  Heather’s gaze slid to the door. “Do I need a lawyer?”

  Why, yes, you do.

  Faith slid a sealed envelope across the table. One of those big, cushioned envelopes.

  “What’s that?” Heather wanted to know.

  “A security video.” Faith was still calm, polite. “One of the nearby businesses had it.”

  Ethan Barclay had been the one to give the video to Faith.

  “That video,” Faith continued, “shows you, in your vehicle. It shows you, firing at Julianna.”

  A tear slid down Heather’s cheek. “She’s the killer, not me.”

  Devlin crossed his arms over his chest. “Julianna wasn’t the one shooting the gun.”

  Heather leapt to her feet. “I wanted to scare her! She’s out, walking around town, hanging out with all kinds of men!”

  All kinds?

  “She killed him, and I wanted her to pay! I wanted her to be afraid! I wanted her to know—”

  Heather broke off and slapped a hand over her face.

  But Devlin wasn’t about to let that go. “Just what did you want Julianna to know?”

  Her hand slowly fell. “That she wasn’t going to get away with what she’d done.”

  Faith glanced at him. “I think we’ve found Julianna’s stalker.”

  “She killed him!” Heather yelled. “He took care of me, always took care of me! And when he was going to leave her, she flipped out. She stabbed him. Avery told me! She told me what Julianna was really like. Julianna wants the world to think she’s good, but she’s a cold-blooded bitch! She—”

  Devlin sighed. “She wasn’t the one shooting in a public street.”

  Heather gulped. Her gaze darted to Faith.

  “Tell me…” Faith asked. “Just how many times have you wanted to…scare…Julianna lately?”

  “I-I…”

  Faith tilted her head and asked, “When Julianna’s car exploded, were you just trying to scare her then? Did you want her to know…oh, yes, ‘that she wasn’t going to get away with what she’d done’ to your step-father?”

  Heather backed up. But there was no place for her to go. Her shoulders hit the interrogation room wall. “I want a lawyer,” she said, her voice whisper-soft. “I’m not saying another word, not without a lawyer.”

  Faith nodded. She collected her notes and the still-sealed envelope and made her way to the door. When Faith and Devlin exited, a uniformed cop took their place inside with Heather. Faith spared Devlin a hard look. “Having a VJS rep down here is starting to become a trend. Can’t you guys find a way to stay out of my station?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe if people would stop gunning for our clients…”

  Her lips twisted. Not a smile. Not a frown, either. But her eyes gleamed a bit.

  “Can I take Julianna out of here?” Devlin wanted to know.

  “With her stalker locked up, she should be safe now,” Faith said.

  She should be. Would that mean that she didn’t need a bodyguard any longer? “You’re so sure that Heather was the one who set the bomb? I mean, how did she learn how to do something like that?”

  “I’ve been doing some checking…” Now she did smile. “You know, as a detective, that’s what I do. It’s not like VJS solves all the crimes in the city.”

  He knew exactly how smart Faith was. Chance had worked with her, years before, at Hawthorne Industries. The woman was sharp, fair, and one hell of a cop.

  “Heather’s boyfriend has explosives training,” Faith said. “Courtesy of Uncle Sam. It doesn’t take a big leap to figure that he might have given her some how-to training.”

  Or to figure that he could have even set the bomb for his girlfriend. Devlin’s lips thinned.

  “I’ve already got officers bringing Hugh Bounty in,” Faith said quickly, “and, no, you don’t get to sit in on that interrogation.” Her head inclined toward the interrogation room on the right. Julianna’s room. “Take your client out the back. I heard that the reporters are already out front in a feeding frenzy. Maybe you can escape them. Maybe not.” Faith turned away.

  “Do you think she did it?” Devlin asked.

  Faith looked over her shoulder. “The woman just confessed, Dev. She said—”

  “Julianna.” Not Heather. “You were the arresting officer on her case. You know criminals.” He stared into her eyes. “Do you think she did it?”

  “Oh, please…tell me you aren’t falling for that woman.”

  He shook his head.

  “You’d better not be lying,” Faith muttered. “Look, all of the evidence pointed to her. Julianna was saying she couldn’t remember what happened the night before. That she blacked out, but the woman had no history of any blackouts. That shit was just far too convenient.”

  “
He was hurting her.”

  Faith’s lashes flickered. “I never said Jeremy Smith didn’t deserve killing. But it’s not my place to be someone’s executioner.”

  “You think she did…” Dammit.

  “We did blood work. Just checking, you know, to make sure she hadn’t been drugged. I mean, hell, maybe she’d been roofied. That would explain the blackout and memory lapse but…”

  “But?” Did she really need to trail off like that? The woman was killing him.

  “But the tests showed nothing.”

  The tests didn’t always show positive results. Especially when too much time had elapsed. “That doesn’t mean she wasn’t drugged.”

  “Rohypnol. GHB. Zolpidem. Temazepam.” Faith’s voice roughed with disgust. “These days, nearly anything can be slipped in a drink.”

  “So she might have—”

  “Her prints were on the knife. Blood spatter was on her.” Faith’s brows climbed. “So if you’re crawling into bed with that woman, I’m going to advise you to sleep with one eye open.” She paused. “You should also lock up your knives. Jeremy Smith was stabbed thirteen times. That sure tells me his killer had a whole lot of rage tapped inside of her.”

  “Heather Aslo has plenty of rage.”

  Faith seemed to absorb that. “She wasn’t found next to the dead body.” Once more, her head inclined toward interrogation room number two. “Go get your client and get her out of the station. I don’t particularly enjoy feeding the reporters when they’re in their frenzy.” She sauntered away.

  Squaring his shoulders, Devlin headed for the second interrogation room. A cop wearing a stiff-looking uniform stood at that door, his body at strict attention. Devlin knew the guy had been eavesdropping on his whole conversation with Faith.

  When Devlin approached, the cop quickly opened the door. Devlin strode inside.

  Julianna was seated at the small table. She was still wearing his coat and still looking far too fragile in its broad mass. Her head turned and she gazed at him with eyes that had never seemed quite so dark before. “It was her, wasn’t it? All along.”

  “Faith thinks so.” He wasn’t on board with that idea, not yet. He wanted more evidence first. “Come on. The reporters are outside and we need to get out of here.”

  She nodded and rose. Her steps were a little slow as she headed toward him. “I can’t…talk to her?”

  “She’s not talking to anyone right now.” Not until her lawyer gets here. “And, baby, that woman has a whole lot of fury directed at you. The last thing I want is for you to be in a room with her.”

  They made their way to the back of the station. They were going to have to hurry over a few blocks and get a cab. Maybe the reporters wouldn’t see them, if they were lucky.

  He wondered who had tipped the reporters off to the new story. Devlin would personally like to thank that asshole.

  “Come on.” They moved fast as they hurried out of the station. Another cop he knew held the door for them, and they rushed out. He kept a tight grip on Julianna’s hand as they sprinted across the streets and away from the reporters. He could see a cab up ahead. They were almost there—

  “Mrs. Smith!”

  Shit.

  “Mrs. Smith,” a male reporter demanded as he ran after them, “is it true that your step-daughter tried to kill you?”

  Devlin whirled toward the man. “No comment.”

  The reporter’s green eyes narrowed. “I’m not asking you, buddy. I’m asking the lady.” The fellow was nearly as tall as Devlin. He peered over Devlin’s shoulder, trying to see Julianna. “Did she blow up your car, too?”

  “Devlin,” Julianna whispered. “The cab is close. Let’s go.”

  He turned with her. But the reporter lunged forward and grabbed Julianna’s hand, yanking her back.

  “Do you deserve to die?” The reporter blasted. “Is Heather right? You killed, so it’s your turn to be killed?”

  Devlin grabbed the guy by his shirt-front and shoved him back. The reporter’s blond hair was mussed, and flecks of snow drifted over him. “Get the hell back!” Devlin ordered.

  “You can’t stop me!” The reporter blasted. “I have a right to question her, I have a—”

  They climbed in the cab. “Get us out of here,” Devlin said.

  The cab zoomed away. Other reporters had raced to the curb, but they were too late. Devlin shook his head in disgust. “Is that really the shit you’ve been dealing with?”

  “I think that was John Reynolds,” Julianna said as she glanced out the window. “He works for the DC Journal. He was the…the first reporter to demand my arrest.”

  Figured. “He’s an asshole.” Devlin hadn’t liked the way the guy wrapped his hand around Julianna’s wrist. He brought her wrist to his mouth and pressed a quick kiss to her skin.

  “Wh-what are you doing?”

  Honestly, he had no fucking clue. He was so tangled up over her. Sleep with one eye open. He stared into her eyes, and he didn’t see a killer. Could she really be that good at deception?

  He kissed her wrist again. The wrist that Jeremy had broken. The wrist that jerk had grabbed. “I want you to stay with me tonight.”

  The cab braked. “Okay, buddy,” the driver called back. “I got you away from them, now tell me…where are we heading?”

  Julianna held his gaze. Then she nodded.

  Devlin rattled off his address to the guy and when the cab turned, taking them back to his place, Devlin interlocked his fingers with hers. He didn’t know where this thing with Julianna was going to lead him, but…

  I’m not ready to lose her yet.

  ***

  Heather Aslo stared at her reflection in the interrogation room mirror. She knew the mirror was only on her side. On the other side, someone else was watching her. Waiting. Probably cops. No doubt, it was that female detective, Faith Chestang.

  Faith thought Heather was trying to kill Julianna.

  You’re right, Faith. I am.

  Because Jeremy had told her…Julianna wasn’t the woman she pretended to be. He’d told her that Julianna was dangerous. He’d said that if anything happened to him…

  Look to Julianna.

  It had been obvious when Jeremy was killed that Julianna was responsible. She’d carved him up. Stabbed him again and again. Heather had been the one to go down to the morgue. She’d seen the mess that Julianna had made of Jeremy’s body.

  It had almost looked as if she’d tried to cut his heart out.

  You won’t get away with what you did. She wasn’t going to let it happen.

  A knock sounded at the door. It opened seconds later, and Heather saw the familiar figure of Harry Gibbs in the doorway. Harry had been Jeremy’s lawyer for years, and now, he was hers.

  “I-I don’t have a lot of criminal defense history,” Harry began nervously. “But I can refer you to—”

  “Forget the referral. You’ll be fine.” Because she didn’t intend to stay in jail. All she needed was to get public opinion on her side. “I need you to get John Reynolds in here, now. Got it?”

  “John Reynolds?” His bushy brows climbed. “The DC Journal reporter?”

  She nodded. “You’ll find him outside. Get him in here…because I’ve got a story to tell him.”

  Harry glanced toward the mirror. “I don’t know…”

  “Get him in here.” She stared in that mirror, too. “If the cops want me to talk to them anymore, then they’ll give me time with John. I don’t care if they listen to every word we say, but I’m talking to him.” Do you understand me, Detective? I’ll talk plenty, but I’m going to make sure the right people hear my story.

  She wasn’t going to rot in some jail cell while Julianna was out living it up with her new lover. No way was that going to happen.

  John would help her. He always did.

  Chapter Nine

  She should go to bed. She should just walk away from Devlin. Go in the guest room. Shut the door.

  Get as far awa
y from temptation as possible.

  She should do that, so why was she just standing in the middle of Devlin’s den, her hands twisting in front of her?

  Julianna peered over her shoulder. Devlin had lit a fire and the warmth filled the room even as the flames cast flickering shadows over the walls. Darkness had definitely fallen in the city. She used to love the dark.

  Before Jeremy.

  Before her life had gone to hell.

  “You look like you could use a glass of wine,” Devlin said as he headed toward the bar in the corner of the room.

  Wine. Yes, that sounded good. She turned toward him—

  But for just a moment, his den vanished. Devlin vanished. Instead of the cozy fire, ice seemed to wrap around her. Julianna could have sworn that she was back in Jeremy’s home. In his den. He was making her a drink.

  “I’ve told you, Julianna. Divorce isn’t an option for us.”

  “But why? You don’t…you don’t love me. I don’t love you.”

  He laughed and handed her a wine glass. “What the hell does love have to do with it? You’re mine, I want you. And you’re staying…mine.”

  She stared down into the wine glass. So red. Like blood.

  “Drink up, sweetness.”

  She hated that endearment. He’d called her ‘sweetness’ right after he broke her wrist. Right after the time he’d slapped her when they left the big charity party. He’d waited until they were in the limo, then he’d struck…telling her that she’d been flirting…right in front of him.

  No one had ever hit her before him. No one had ever hurt her physically. Not until Jeremy. Not until the man who’d vowed to love her and honor her. She’d been stunned at first. Surely it couldn’t really be happening?

  But it was. It had.

  “Drink your wine.” His voice had hardened, taking on the edge that told her his temper was stirring.

  When would he hit her again? She didn’t know, but it couldn’t go on. She wasn’t going to let it. She refused to be his fucking punching bag for the rest of her life. “I’m leaving.” Her fingers curled around the stem of the wine glass.

  “Leave…and your darling little sister will get her ass thrown in jail.”