Читать книгу Questioning the Heiress - Delores Fossen - Страница 8

Before Egan Caldwell’s words even registered in Caroline’s head, he already had hold of her and was running toward the door with her in tow.

Mercy, was that black box really a bomb?

She’d heard the ticking sound, of course. Not while she’d been in the car earlier when the engine was running. But now—when Egan and she had tumbled onto the seat. She seriously doubted that an eavesdropping device would have a timer on it.

The adrenaline jolted through her, and Caroline somehow managed to run in her unsensible business heels. Probably thanks to Egan. He had a death grip on her left wrist and practically plowed them through the door that led to a narrow mudroom and then the solarium on the back of her house.

“Evacuate now—there’s a bomb in the garage!” he shouted. Which, in turn, caused more shouts from the cops and the security guards.

All of them began to run. Egan didn’t stop, either. He hauled her through the kitchen, then the living room, and they exited through the front door, on the opposite side of the house from the garage. The cops were ahead of them. The two civilian guards, behind.

The rain was coming down harder now and lashed at them like razors. So did the blinding blue strobe lights from the police cruiser parked at the end of her cobblestone drive. It didn’t hinder Egan. He barreled down the front porch steps with her and made a beeline to the driveway, getting her even farther away from the garage.

“Call the bomb squad,” Egan shouted over his shoulder to one of the guards who was sprinting along behind them. He glanced around through the rain and the night until his attention landed on the other guard. “Keep everyone away from the house.”

Because the place might blow up.

That “bottom line” realization sent Caroline’s heart to her knees. Someone might get hurt. Also, her house might soon be destroyed, and there was apparently nothing she could do to stop it.

But who had done this?

A car bomb certainly seemed like overkill for an overly zealous competitor in the antiques business. Sweet heaven. Had the intruder also been the one to plant that bomb? And if so, why?

Of course, she couldn’t discount the four previous murders. All people she’d known. All of them involved in some way with the City Board, of which she was a member.

Was she now the killer’s next target?

Her legs and thighs began to cramp from the exertion. She wasn’t much of a runner, and the heels didn’t help. Caroline was wheezing for breath and her heart was hammering in her chest by the time they made it to the end of her drive.

Egan stopped, finally, and pulled her in front of him. Actually, he put her against the wet stone pylon that held the open wrought-iron gate in place. He got right behind her, pushing her face-first against the stones.

“Don’t look back,” he warned. “And shelter your eyes just in case that damn thing goes off.”

That’s when she realized he was sheltering her. It wasn’t personal; Caroline was sure of that. She’d seen the disdain in his eyes. Sgt. Egan Caldwell was merely doing his job, and right now, she was the job.

“You really think the bomb’s about to explode?” Caroline asked.

“It’s a possibility, but I don’t believe the device is large enough to create a blast that’ll reach us here. At least, I hope not,” he added in a mumble.

But the officers apparently didn’t believe that because one of them began to sprint in the direction of her nearest neighbor. “I’ll have them evacuate,” the Hispanic cop relayed to Egan.

Mercy. Now her neighbor and best friend, Taylor Landis, was perhaps in danger.

Caroline wiped her hand over her face to sling off some of the rainwater. She wished she could do the same to the adrenaline and fear because it was starting to overwhelm her. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“If we have a vigilante killer on our hands, it doesn’t have to make sense,” he reminded her.

Yes. She’d heard that theory. Or rather the gossip. That Vincent Montoya might have been murdered by a vigilante who maybe wanted to tie up all loose ends of the hit-and-run.

“I can understand why a vigilante would go after Montoya,” she mumbled. “But why try to kill me?”

“You got an answer for that?” Egan asked.

Since that sounded like some kind of challenge, she looked back at him. She didn’t have to look far. He was there. Right over her soaking wet shoulder, and the overhead security light clearly showed his rain-streaked face.

Surly, beyond doubt.

Caroline tried not to let the next thought enter her mind, but she couldn’t stop it. Egan Caldwell was a goodlooking man. Okay, he wasn’t just good-looking.

He was hot.

Dark blond hair, partially hidden beneath that creamywhite Stetson. Eyes that were a brilliant, burning blue. He had just enough ruggedness to stop him from being a pretty boy and just enough pretty boy to smooth out some of that ruggedness.

And Caroline hated she’d noticed that about him.

“What are you waiting for me to say?” she snapped. “That this guy wants me dead because I saw or heard something the night of the hit-and-run?” She didn’t pause long enough for him to confirm it because Caroline could see the confirmation in those eyes. “Well, if that were true, why didn’t he come after me nine months ago? If this is truly some vigilante killer, then I should have been one of the first on his list.”

Egan stood there, staring at her, with the summer rain assaulting them and the sounds of chaos going on all around. The cruiser’s lights pulsed blue flashes over him. Flashes that were the same color as his eyes. “Maybe the killer hasn’t come after you before because you supposedly have no memories of the hit-and-run.”

Again, that wasn’t new information, either. “Nothing has changed about that. It’s not supposedly.” Caroline froze and then eased around so that she was facing him. “But I have an appointment the day after tomorrow to see that psychiatrist to help me remember what happened.”

He nodded and snorted slightly as if annoyed that it’d taken her so long to figure it out. “Did you tell anyone about that appointment?”

Oh, mercy. “Yes. I was talking about it today when I had lunch at the Cantara Hills Country Club.” Actually, Caroline had verbally blasted the Rangers, Egan and Brody, for demanding the appointment. She’d already been through hours of therapy and had zero recollection of the time immediately before, during and following the accident. The dream log and the appointment seemed not only unnecessary but intrusive and a total waste of time—and hope.

“Who was there at this country club lunch?” Egan asked. He used his snarly Texas Rangers’ tone that was only marginally softened by his easy drawl. Words slid right off that drawl.

“My parents. They were leaving on vacation this afternoon, a second honeymoon they’ve been planning for months, and I wanted to see them before they left.” In the distance, she could hear the sirens. Probably the bomb squad. Maybe they’d get there in time to disarm it before it could hurt anyone. “And Kenneth Sutton and his wife, Tammy, joined us.”

His mouth tightened. “Kenneth, who’s chairman of the City Board. He’s also a suspect.”

“Only because the hit-and-run driver, Vincent Montoya, worked for him. But Kenneth told me he had no idea what Montoya had done.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Egan grumbled. “Because according to Kenneth, Vincent Montoya killed Kimberly McQuade in that crash because he was jealous she’d rebuffed him and had had an affair with another man. An affair she’d never mentioned to anyone. Funny that the guy’s never surfaced, either, and there’s not a lick of proof that Montoya had had any sexual interest in Kimberly. Or vice versa. According to people who knew her well, Vincent Montoya wasn’t her type.”

“Because he was a lowly driver?” Caroline instantly regretted her question. It sounded snobby, especially since Egan’s own father was a chauffeur. And not just any old chauffeur but the one who worked for her father’s close friend who lived in Cantara Hills.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “Talking about that night isn’t easy for me.” Caroline was still grieving. Always would. There wasn’t a day that went by that she didn’t regret what had happened. Yes, Montoya had caused the fatal crash, but Caroline couldn’t help but wonder if there was something she could have done to stop it.

“Murder is rarely easy to talk about,” he countered.

When Caroline continued, she softened her voice. “I’m just having a hard time believing that Kenneth Sutton, a man I work with on the City Board, a man I’ve known my entire life, is capable of ordering his driver to murder someone. Yet the Rangers seem to think that might have happened.”

“You might think that, too, once I’ve had a chance to question Kenneth further and have more information.” He shrugged. “But the point right now is Kenneth was there today at lunch with you. He heard you say that you had an appointment with the shrink. Who else heard?”

She started to shake her head but stopped. Oh, this was not good. “My parents, Kenneth and his wife were the only people at the table with me, but some of my other neighbors were there. They could have heard.”

“Give me names,” he demanded, while he made a visual check of the area around them.

“Your father’s boss, Link Hathaway, and his daughter, Margaret. Miles Landis was there, too. He’s my best friend’s brother. Half brother,” she corrected. Miles had dropped by to hit her up for a loan, again. Caroline had turned him down, again. “Your father even came into the restaurant for a couple of minutes to talk to Link.”

Egan mumbled some profanity under his breath. “So, what you’re saying is that everyone in Cantara Hills knows about your appointment?”

She silently repeated the same profanity as Egan. “Yes. But I didn’t think I had to keep it a secret. My parents and I were discussing it because my mom’s upset about me being sedated with this drug and then interrogated. She wanted to cancel her trip, and I had to talk her out of it.”

Egan jumped right on that. “Why is she upset?”

Caroline groaned. The adrenaline and bomb scare had obviously made her chatty. “Long story.”

“I’m listening.”

Of course he was. And he was scowling again. He apparently thought she was concerned about revealing something incriminating.

Which she was.

In a way.

But Caroline couldn’t think about that now, and she didn’t dare voice any of it to Egan. She’d already blabbed enough tonight.

She chose her words carefully. “My mother’s afraid I’ll say something about a personal incident, and that the information will get around to everyone,” she admitted. “The incident isn’t pertinent to this case.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Caroline was sure her scowl matched his, and she had to speak through nearly clenched teeth. “All right. Three years ago I was involved with a jerk. Everybody knows about the broken engagement, but no one else knows that the jerk stole money from my parents. I want to keep it that way, understand?”

Egan responded with a noncommittal grunt. “I’ll keep it that way if I decide it’s not vital information that can help me catch a killer. You’re not my priority, Ms. Stallings. And neither is your parents’ need to keep their skeletons shut away in their walk-in closet.”

“Oh, God,” she mumbled, ignoring his last zinger. She checked her watch. “My parents. They’ll be in Cancun by now, and one of the neighbors might have called them at their hotel. They’ll be worried.” She glanced in the direction of her parents’ house. Just up the street. And even though she knew her parents weren’t home, her concerns were verified.

The cruiser’s lights had attracted the neighbors. All of them. One of the officers was guarding the street in front of her house and preventing anyone from getting too close. Including her parents’ nearest neighbors, the Jenkins. She spotted them, a perky yellow umbrella perched over their heads. They were frantically waving at her, and Mrs. Jenkins had a cell phone pressed to her ear.

“They say they have your parents on the line. They want to know if you’re all right,” the officer relayed to her. Because of the sirens and the rain, he had to practically shout.

“Tell them I’m fine,” Caroline shouted back. “And that I love them. I’ll call them later.”

If Egan had any response to her message, he didn’t show it. He looked at the approaching trio of bomb squad vehicles before turning his attention back to her. “Other than you, who had access to your car today?”

It was something that hadn’t occurred to Caroline. Yet. But it would have once she’d caught her breath. “I was the only person in the car. My family’s business office is on San Pedro Avenue, and I parked there in my space in the building garage. I came back here to Cantara Hills for lunch around noon, and then I met with a client at his office just off Highway 281 before returning to work.”

He glanced around them again. “I noticed your car doors were unlocked in the garage. Were they locked when you were at any of these other places?”

Caroline really hated to admit this, but, hey, she hadn’t known that her every movement might have been watched by a killer. “I had the top down most of the day so it wouldn’t have been hard for anyone to get inside. And since it’s a vintage car and I don’t keep anything valuable inside, it doesn’t have a security alarm.”

The bomb squad vehicles braked to a stop by the gate.

Egan stared at her. “So anyone could have overheard your conversation at lunch, and those same anyones could have gained access to your car and planted a bomb.”

Because he made her sound like a careless idiot, Caroline frowned. “That about sums it up.”

But Egan was right. She hadn’t been cautious, driving with the car top down with a killer on the loose, and it could have cost others their lives. She already blamed herself for Kimberly McQuade’s death.

She didn’t want this on her conscience as well.

The bomb squad personnel barreled out of their vehicles, and Egan stepped away from her to speak to a burly blond man wearing dark blue-gray body armor. Caroline listened as Egan briefed the man, describing the location of the device and the size.

The man tipped his head toward her. “Go ahead and get her out of here. I want those guards and uniforms out, too. I don’t want anyone near the place until my guys have checked out this thing.”

Egan turned back to her. There was more displeasure in his body language and expression, probably because he had to babysit her.

“Let’s go,” he grumbled.

But the grumble had barely left Egan’s mouth when the sound of the blast rocketed behind them.