Читать книгу The Missing Millionaire - Dani Sinclair - Страница 8

Harrison gave her space and followed quietly. Jamie was obviously spooked at finding the door unlocked. He was more than a little spooked himself. What was he doing here? He should have taken the car and gone for the police.

Maybe it was the drugs still in his system, or maybe he was punchy from exhaustion, but the night had taken on a surrealism that made thinking straight difficult. This was quite possibly the dumbest thing he’d ever done in his life.

The smell hit him even before Jamie stilled so abruptly that he bumped into her back. Beyond her shoulder he took in the scene with a detached sense of horror.

A crumpled form lay on the tiled floor surrounded by a pool of dark blood. The microwave door gaped open above the body. An unpopped bag of popcorn was still clutched in lifeless fingers.

Harrison forced himself to study the scene and his brain went numb with shock. Ceecee. Impossible. That couldn’t be Ceecee. Not here. Not lying dead like this.

Ceecee was vibrantly alive. She’d always been an attractive woman, and yes, she’d be in her late fifties now. And her hair had always been dark and soft, her body trim, but always in motion. The summery yellow slacks and casual shirt were so typical of what he remembered, but this couldn’t be her.

Ceecee had an infectious laugh. She had a way of listening to someone as if they were the most important person in her world. She’d been his mother’s best friend since before he’d been born.

When he was a boy, Ceecee Carillo would call or turn up every so often no matter where they lived. Their home was always brighter for her visits. His mother was laughing constantly during her stays even when they only sat around the kitchen table, chatting and giggling like a pair of schoolgirls. And Ceecee had always had a present for him when she came. She treated him as if he were another adult, not some boring little kid.

Until the year he turned fourteen. After his kidnapping, she didn’t come anymore. He’d thought it was because they’d moved and his mother was afraid to have visitors. He knew she still talked to Ceecee on the phone after that, but she didn’t laugh and she always seemed sad afterward.

He’d never asked why Ceecee didn’t come anymore. Now, staring at her lifeless body, Harrison realized it was one question he should have asked.

The kitchen was neat and clean. There were no signs of a struggle. It appeared as if someone had walked up behind her as she went to place the popcorn in the microwave and had shot her through the back of the head. Either she knew her killer and didn’t fear him, or she never heard him coming.

Harrison glanced at Jamie. She stared at the body through a film of moisture. He had known the dead woman as Ceecee, but Jamie had called her Carolyn. Carolyn Carillo. Ceecee. It must have been his mother’s nickname for her.

The gaze Jamie turned to him held a dark well of pain that trapped his tumbling questions in his throat. Ceecee had been important to her as well.

Oh, God, surely not her mother.

Before he could utter a word, Jamie’s gaze hardened. She held up a palm, indicating he should wait. The smell of death made his stomach roil. Ceecee was stiff and utterly lifeless. She had been dead for some time.

Apparently, Jamie agreed. She made no move to cross the room. Instead, she glided cautiously toward the entrance beyond the kitchen.

Harrison turned from the scene more slowly, still reeling from the shock of recognition. He watched where he walked as he followed in Jamie’s wake. The last thing he wanted to do was step on anything in a crime scene. His stretched nerves screamed at him. They should call the police and leave the scene, but he wasn’t going without Jamie. He wanted answers.

Harrison found her in the living room beside a plush leather recliner and the slumped body of an older man. Even from a distance Harrison could see that the man had been killed like Ceecee. The killer had walked up behind his chair and shot him through the temple, no doubt using a silencer.

Jamie lightly touched the man’s cheek with a fingertip. Once again, the eyes she turned toward Harrison brimmed with unshed tears. Who were these people to her?

Had Ceecee been married? How could he not even know that much about his mother’s oldest friend?

Once more he started to speak. Once more Jamie shook her head sharply and motioned him to stay put.

She flowed up the staircase on silent feet. His stomach twisted at the thought that there might be more bodies up there. He didn’t want to follow her up those stairs. He didn’t want to see her find more death.

He scanned the cozy living room. Two glasses partially filled with dark liquid sat on the table between the two chairs. If the glasses had once held ice, it had long since melted. The chairs were side by side facing the television set, where an old movie was playing on one of the cable stations. The dialogue and spurts of music were the only sounds in the silent house.

The couple had obviously settled down for the evening to watch television together. At some point Ceecee had gotten up to make popcorn. The killer had probably entered through the side door they had used and shot one after the other.

His gaze fell on the table behind the couch, where several framed photographs held prominence. The couple appeared much younger in most shots, and so obviously in love. The two wedding photos had been taken sometime in the early sixties. His stomach clenched when his mother’s face stared out at him from the group shot. Vibrantly lovely in her youth, she posed beside the bride, obviously Ceecee’s maid of honor.

How? Why? All sorts of wild conjectures swirled through his head.

There were several photographs of Jamie as a teenager with her hair long and thick and curling past her shoulders as she posed with the couple. Another showed her in a military dress uniform, looking crisp and solemn. The final photo appeared to be more recent. She stood between the couple in front of a Christmas tree with her hair short and choppy, the way she wore it now. There were no shots of her as a child.

Were these her parents? Some other relatives? He saw no physical resemblance between them, but they appeared to be a family unit.

Abruptly, he realized Jamie had stopped being silent. She was moving about rapidly overhead as if speed was of the essence. He mounted the stairs quietly.

“Don’t touch anything,” she ordered, leaving a room at the end of the hall with a duffel bag in her hand.

Her voice sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness of the house, despite the muted irritant of the television in the background.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

He followed her into what appeared to be the master bedroom. Inside the closet she opened a gun case with a key and pulled out several weapons and ammunition.

“Here.” She handed him a 9 mm. “Do you know how to use this?”

His eyes narrowed. “Point this end and pull here. Most five-year-olds have the gist.”

“You’ve never fired a gun.”

She said it flatly as if it was a stupid omission.

“Shooting a gun never made my to-do list.”

“Maybe you’d better give it back.”

“I don’t think so. Is there a safety on this thing?”

She muttered something under her breath and indicated the switch. “Move this. The gun is fully loaded, so leave it on for now. I don’t want you shooting me by mistake.”

“Wouldn’t think of it.”

He jammed the heavy metal object into his waistband, the way he’d seen it done in the movies. Hopefully the gun couldn’t go off on its own and blow away something vital.

Scowling, she shoved another weapon in her duffel bag. “If they know we escaped, they’ll come back here. They’ll know this is where I’d head.”

“Who will know?”

“That’s what I plan to find out.” Her voice was brittle, underscored by anguish. She suddenly whirled on him, her features a mask of pain. “Who are you? What makes you worth all these lives?”

Stunned, Harrison gaped at her. “You’re blaming me for this?”

“You’re the focal point.”

He struggled to bank his answering swell of anger as she shoved another gun in the back waistband of her pants beneath her shirt. Boxes of shells went into the duffel bag.

“Let me remind you that you kidnapped me.”

Leaving the bag open, she ignored that and sized him up with eyes that were haunted by grief. “Thirty-six-inch waist?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Thirty-four.”

“Close enough.” She reached in and pulled out a pair of men’s jeans and added them to the bag that already held clothing.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” She tossed in a couple of shirts as well.

“I have my own clothes.”

“Not with you.”

He shook his head as she added more items with no wasted motions. “I’m six-one.”

“So?”

“The man downstairs—”

The look of pain on her face rocked him back. “His name was Tony. He was five-eleven.”

Tony, not Dad. “Who—?”

“Later. We need to move. I don’t think they rigged this house to explode or it probably would have by now, but I don’t have time to be sure.”

Cold swept him.

“Let’s go.” She closed the duffel bag and handed it to him. “You carry it. I’ll take point.” She reached the doorway in two strides.

“Why aren’t we calling the police?” Why hadn’t he done that instead of standing around like a brain-dead fool?

She didn’t bother responding. His gut coiled as he realized she really did think the house might explode. They exited the way they’d entered with no last glance at either body. If it hadn’t been for her obvious grief, he’d have thought she didn’t care.

His own mind was numb with what he dimly recognized as shock. He couldn’t help the accompanying fear that this house might blow up at their backs as well.

Instead of running back to her car, Jamie ran to the two-car garage behind the house. She bypassed the zippy bright red sports car and unlocked the large black sedan beside it. “Get in.”

“What about your car?”

“It’s a rental. We need to get rid of it. Toss the bag in the back.”

Harrison obeyed. He climbed in as she opened the garage door with a remote clipped to the visor. “What about the SUV in the driveway behind us?”

“I’ll go around it.”

He looked back through the darkly tinted windows and swallowed a protest. He’d have sworn there wasn’t enough room between the house and the big SUV for this large sedan, but he’d have been wrong. She drove with an impressive precision, scraping neither the house nor the car and barely slowing down in the process.

She braked as soon as she reached her rental car. “Here.” She handed him the keys.

“What’s to stop me from leaving?”

“Not a thing. I almost wish you would. But you won’t survive another twenty-four hours on your own. You seem to be a slow learner, Mr. Trent. Someone wants you dead and they don’t care who else they have to kill to make it so.”

There was cold certainty in her voice. Harrison didn’t understand what was happening here, but he could tell she believed every word she was saying. “Pretty sure of your abilities, aren’t you?”

Her expression didn’t change. “There’s a good chance neither one of us is going to survive the next twenty-four hours, but I have the expertise to try. What about you?”

There was nothing he could say to that.

“There’s a gas station not far from here where we can leave the rental.”

“You know who’s behind these attacks.”

She didn’t flinch at the accusation. “No.”

“You’ve got some idea.” He could see that she did.

“Either follow me or go, but get out of the car.”

It was her inner anguish that decided him. “I’ll stick with you.” He wanted answers and she was going to give them to him one way or another.

Harrison stepped from the sedan and moved to the smaller car. He stayed right behind her as she drove the speed limit out of the development. Obviously, she didn’t want to draw any attention to them.

His mind mulled over the little he knew, trying to fit pieces together. There were too many pieces missing, too many answers he might never know. He wished his mother was still alive so he could ask her all the questions filling him.

Pulling into a closed gas station, Jamie motioned him to park along the side where similar cars were stacked two deep. He did and got out of the rental. She left the sedan’s engine running, got out, took the rental’s keys from him along with the paperwork that sat inside the glove compartment. Dropping everything in a slot in the door of the gas station, she ran back to the sedan. Only then did he see the discreet sign that the station acted as a rental place as well.

“Let’s go,” she called to him.

He joined her in the sedan. “Where?”

Jamie’s response was to pull the car out into the early morning traffic. Harrison saw her fatigue now that the adrenaline rush had begun to fade. “How long have you been up?”

She darted a surprised glance his way. “I’m fine.”

“I’m not and I got some sleep before you attacked me.”

“I didn’t attack you.”

“Drugged, abducted, taped and secured in a strange location. What would you call it?”

“My job. We can sleep later.”

“You’re right about the sleep, anyhow. We need to go to Zoe’s apartment.”

“Not a chance.”

“Stop the car.”

Her glare was quelling. “You still don’t get it!”

“I get it fine.” He interrupted the start of her next tirade. “Someone wants me dead. And that same someone may want her dead as well. It’s the next place they’ll target. We both know that. I’m going there with you or alone. They already believe they killed us,” he added over the objection she started to make. “And if they don’t, it doesn’t matter. I am going to Zoe’s.”

“I’m trying to keep you alive here.”

“Try keeping us all alive. Zoe’s pregnant.”

He didn’t know what had made him add that last, but she stilled.

“We’re getting married this morning,” he reminded her.

“No. You aren’t. And before you jump all over me again, your wedding is scheduled for eleven. I was supposed to keep you safe until noon. That should tell you something, Mr. Trent. Someone does not intend for your wedding to take place.”

Harrison forced his fingers to uncurl. “Why not?”

“I don’t know! Maybe Tony knew, but Tony’s dead.” Pain laced her words.

“Who was Tony to you?”

Jamie released a slow breath. “The closest thing I had to a father.”

Her voice broke. Automatically, his hand started toward her to offer comfort. He lowered it without touching her. “I’m sorry.”

“And I’m sorry about Zoe.”

“Zoe isn’t dead.” She could not be dead.

“I hope not. And you did say you hired a bodyguard for her. Is he any good?”

“Ramsey Inc. is the top security firm in the area.”

“Then she has a chance.”

His mind relived the barrage of shots in the parking lot over three months ago. Zoe, Artie and he had just split up after leaving the office for the night. He remembered running, throwing himself over Zoe as she went down, terrified he’d been too late to protect his friend.

“I’m going to her apartment.”

Jamie swore softly. “This is stupid.”

“I’m still going.”

She glanced at his face and sighed heavily. “You’re a fool. We’re both fools,” she muttered, conceding defeat. “Give me directions.”

Harrison rubbed a hand across his gritty eyes as she turned the car toward Zoe’s. Jamie scowled at the early morning drivers starting to make their way onto the roads.

“How is it you don’t know of Ramsey Incorporated?” he asked. “They’re the most prestigious security firm around here.”

She hesitated, then shrugged as if she’d decided the answer didn’t matter. “I live and work in California. I was only in town for a visit when Tony asked me to help out.”

“And he didn’t tell you why?”

“Only that we were protecting you.”

“You must have some idea who’s behind all this.”

Her hesitation was confirmation. “Tony wouldn’t say.”

“But you have a suspicion.”

“That’s all it is.”

Harrison waited. She muttered something succinct under her breath and turned to look at him as she stopped for a red light. “What do you know about Victor DiMarko?”

The unexpected name rocked him almost as hard as seeing Ceecee dead on her kitchen floor. He jerked as if physically struck. All the air seemed to leave his lungs at once.

Victor DiMarko. Wealthy businessman. Philanderer. Restaurateur. Crime boss. Husband and father. Coldhearted, vicious son of a bitch.

“I see you know the name.” Her features went inscrutable once more as she pulled into the intersection. “Tony and Carolyn worked for him until they retired.”

It was as if Jamie had thrown a light switch. Ceecee had worked for Victor DiMarko. No wonder his mother had had little contact with her after his kidnapping all those years ago. With DiMarko’s name, everything changed. “You work for Victor DiMarko?”

“No! The company I work for has nothing to do with him or his kind of people.” She drew in a deep breath. “I take it you do know him.”

Somehow Harrison kept his voice even. “I know who he is. We’ve never met.” He’d gone out of his way to see that never happened.

“I thought…”

“What? That I’m in the same line of work?” His jaw muscles worked as anger flashed in his eyes.

“Are you? Glare all you want. Tony said he was helping a friend by arranging your kidnapping. I know he kept in touch with DiMarko. The logical conclusion is that Tony got involved because his former boss asked him for a favor. But maybe I guessed wrong. If you and DiMarko have never met…Were you competing for something? Property? A—”

“No. Nothing.” But Harrison’s mind continued to whirl with possibilities.

“What about your…Zoe?”

Mentally, Harrison swore. He’d just come to that same possibility. “If there’s a connection, it has to be through Wayne Drake.”

“How did Zoe know him?”

“She met Drake at a party at my place. He crashed the party, but neither of us knew that at the time because he came in with a group of expected guests and everyone thought he was with someone else. After he was killed and the police told us his background, they theorized he came there to steal something that night and instead latched on to Zoe as a means of getting close to more targets, including me.”

“Drake worked for DiMarko?”

“I’ve no idea.” And the thought had never occurred to him until now.

“What would DiMarko gain by killing the two of you?”

“Not a thing.” He rubbed at his jaw tiredly. “We’re missing something.”

“A whole lot of somethings,” she agreed. “Where do I turn?”