Читать книгу Millionaire's Last Stand - Эль Кеннеди, Elle Kennedy - Страница 10

Cole wasn’t caught off guard often, but Jamie Crawford’s question succeeded in making him flustered. The sudden determination in those gorgeous violet eyes threw him for a loop, and he realized she’d played him like a fiddle. He’d let her in because, as he’d told Ian, he wanted to take care of this mess. So if this FBI agent was willing to hear what he had to say, and hear it with an open mind, then what did he have to lose?

But she’d lured him into a false sense of security. Used her easygoing smiles and the complete lack of reproach in her voice to get him to open up, and then bam! Threw out a curveball before he saw it coming.

He drew in a breath, swallowing the animosity rising up his throat. Fine, so he’d let down his guard and had actually been enjoying the conversation with this intelligent redhead. He quickly raised that guard back up, knowing that everything he said from this point on had to be treated with caution.

“I’m sure the sheriff filled you in on what I told him,” he said, eyeing her with newfound suspicion.

“He did.” She paused. “He said you admitted to getting into an argument with Teresa the night she died.”

“We did.”

She sighed. “You can tell me what happened, you know. I’m not going to arrest you.”

He arched one dubious brow. “No?”

“I didn’t even bring my handcuffs, I swear.”

Cole fought a grin. The idea that she even owned handcuffs didn’t surprise him. Jamie Crawford had tough girl written all over her. He got the feeling she was very good at her job, that she wouldn’t bat an eyelash if she had to take down a suspect. Yet there was also a sense of harmony that radiated from her slender body, as if she knew exactly who she was and was completely at home in her own skin. Not even an iota of insecurity emanated from her. He found that oddly refreshing.

“I went to see her at Sully’s Bar that night,” he admitted. “We were due in court in a couple of weeks, and I wanted to convince her to stop contesting the prenuptial agreement. She didn’t have a leg to stand on, and to be honest, the thought of going to court was a huge headache.”

“I take it she didn’t agree with your point of view.”

“Greed always trumped common sense when it came to Teresa. I tried to reason with her, but she wouldn’t listen. She yelled at me, said some things that were intended to hurt me, and when I tried to get into my truck to leave, she slapped me, then grabbed my arm.”

He left out a few important details. Like the sheer rage he’d felt when Teresa yet again taunted him about her infidelities. The disgust that clamped around his throat at the mere sight of the vile woman he’d once loved.

“And then?” Jamie prompted.

“I went home.” His tone was hard and even. “And I have an alibi.”

“I only briefly glanced at the statement Finn faxed me this morning. It said something about running into a neighbor?”

“Joe Gideon,” Cole confirmed. “He lives about half a mile east of here, in an old fishing cabin.”

“Okay. So you saw Joe.”

He gave another nod. “I couldn’t sleep—I was still riled up over the argument with Teresa—so I went for a walk. It was around two o’clock in the morning, which is when the medical examiner claims Teresa died. I ran into Joe near the creek, we exchanged some heated words—”

“Heated?” Jamie interrupted.

“Joe Gideon isn’t exactly my biggest fan.” Cole sighed. “He blames me for losing his job and wife.”

Jamie’s tone remained utterly neutral. “Now why does he think that?”

Cole curled his fingers over the ceramic mug as he leaned back in his chair. “Did you notice the hotel at the edge of town when you were driving in?”

“Yeah …”

“That used to be Serenade’s paper mill. Two years ago I bought the property, shut down the mill and built the hotel in its place. All the workers lost their jobs, including Gideon. He blames me for that.”

“Do you believe it’s your fault?” Jamie asked.

He shook his head. “Real estate development isn’t a crime. The hotel has brought some much-needed revenue to this town and created even more jobs than the mill. But Gideon doesn’t see it as a plus. He lost his job, started drinking heavily, and then his wife divorced him.”

Frustration bubbled in Cole’s gut. “Look, I might be to blame for Gideon losing his position at the mill, but I’m not responsible for his drinking. Apparently he was hitting the bottle long before I showed up.”

“Gideon claims he never saw you that night,” Jamie said bluntly.

Cole was equally blunt. “He’s lying. Like I said, I ran into him by the creek. We exchanged words, and then he stalked off.”

“So you maintain that he’s lying to the police.”

“Yes, the son of a bitch is lying.” His voice came out harsher than he intended. He turned his head, willing his body to relax, the muscles in his face to loosen. Just thinking about Joe Gideon made his blood boil. He wouldn’t even be in this mess if that old bastard would just tell the truth.

When Cole turned back, he saw Jamie rising from her chair. She got to her feet and said, “Okay. Well, thanks for your time.”

Surprise jolted through him. “That’s it?”

“For now,” she replied, yet there was nothing ominous about her tone. “Let me follow up on some things, and if I need to speak to you again, I’ll call ahead next time.”

Cole resisted the urge to shake his head in bafflement as they left the kitchen and headed back to the front door. From the corner of his eye, he noticed that the top of Jamie’s head came a couple of inches above his chin. She was a tall woman, unlike Teresa, who had to fully tilt her head to meet his eyes.

He opened the door for her, but she didn’t make a move to step outside. “Thank you for speaking to me,” she said.

“Will you be in town for a while?” he asked gruffly. “Helping the sheriff with the case?”

“I’ve got three weeks of vacation time, so yeah, I’ll stick around.”

He opened his mouth to say something in return, but nothing came out. For some reason, he didn’t want her to leave just yet. She was the first person since Teresa’s death who’d spoken to him like he was a human being instead of a cold-blooded monster.

She was also the first woman since Teresa to evoke this strange sense of longing inside of him, but he decided not to dwell on that disturbing notion. Instead, he stuck out his hand and said, “Thanks for the visit.”

After a beat of hesitation, she shook his hand. Almost immediately, a current of electricity sizzled from her palm to his, making them both jump.

Well, that was strange. Though she’d taken her hand back, his fingers continued to tingle, a rush of heat moving from his palm, up his arm and circling his chest. He was just wondering if she’d felt that odd spark too, when she pinned him down with an eerily insightful look and said, “Did you kill her, Cole?”

This time he was prepared for the sneak attack. “No, I did not.” He spoke slowly and evenly, hoping she could pick up on the sincerity of his words.

“Okay then” was all she said. She stepped onto the porch, gave him a careless wave and walked toward her car.

Cole stared at her retreating back, dumbfounded. Hard as it was to admit it, he’d been enjoying her company. She might be a Fed, but she had the most endearing way about her. An unnamable quality that made him feel both comfortable and comforted by her presence.

Turning away, he walked into the house and closed the door behind him. In the living room, he picked up the glass of bourbon he’d left sitting on the coffee table, slowly sank onto the couch and spent an impossibly long time thinking about Jamie Crawford’s gorgeous violet eyes.

Jamie’s heart was pounding as she drove down the dusty dirt road leading away from the house. What on earth just happened back there? She could still feel the imprint of Cole’s touch on her palm. God, his hand had felt nice. Large, masculine, with a surprising amount of calluses. She wondered when he got the chance to work with those hands. He probably lived in a boardroom, yet the strong hands and the muscular body hinted that he didn’t spend all his time at the office.

And the visceral wave of desire rolling through her body hinted at something too.

She was attracted to him.

Lord, how could this happen? Cole was undeniably attractive, yes, but he was also a murder suspect! What was wrong with her body that it couldn’t recognize that?

In her ten years with the Bureau, she’d never been attracted to a suspect. Or a colleague, for that matter. She made sure to separate her personal life from her professional one. Work is work had always been her mantra. She’d seen too many fellow agents fall in love on a case, only to break up when the danger and adrenaline fizzled out. She’d decided years ago that she needed to find a man who was in no way related to her career.

And Cole Donovan, though he wasn’t an agent, was directly related to this case. This murder case.

Gritting her teeth, Jamie forced every last residual drop of desire from her body and focused on driving. She had to check in with Finn and tell him about the interview, and she also wanted to give Joe Gideon a call and set up a meeting. Then she had to pore over the case files and see if she could come up with anything Finn may have missed.

Which meant she had absolutely no time to lust over a sexy millionaire. Especially one implicated in the death of his ex-wife.

Feeling calm and grounded, she slowed the SUV as she entered the heart of Serenade. As she glanced out the tinted window, she couldn’t help but see the same appeal Cole had described. Serenade was definitely a place you’d want to call home. It was actually quite surreal, like the set of one of those wholesome family television shows. Main Street boasted cute little shops, including a drugstore with an honest-to-God soda fountain. The street widened and curved about halfway, showcasing a town square that featured a lovely circular fountain, curvy wrought-iron benches and flowering cherry trees that had to have been transplanted from somewhere else.

But it was the town’s geography that took Jamie’s breath away. The majestic Smoky Mountains loomed in the west, a filmy summer mist surrounding the peaks, and she’d driven past several dense forested areas and fields in full bloom. So different from her apartment back in Charlotte, which was located near the university campus on a street boasting the constant mill of students. Serenade had none of the bustle—it was peaceful and uncomplicated, and unbelievably pretty.

Jamie’s gaze was suddenly drawn to the fountain in the town square, where a gorgeous brunette holding a baby sat on the limestone base. The baby’s chubby cheeks were flushed with delight, and she was squealing as her mother sprinkled water from the fountain onto her nose.

Before Jamie could stop it, a pang of longing slid through her body.

“Not now,” she muttered to herself, trying not to sigh.

She’d never believed in the concept of a biological clock, yet for some peculiar reason, she could practically hear her body ticking away the past few months. It was strange as hell. She figured she’d have children eventually, but it had never been a pressing matter. She’d spent the past ten years building her career, and her professional success made her proud. Work had always been enough for her. Until recently.

Now, each time she saw a baby, that gush of yearning hit her like a tidal wave. And she didn’t even want to analyze that odd spark of sorrow she felt every night when she went to bed alone. Best leave her analytical skills to prying into the minds of killers.

Serenade’s police station finally came into view, a singlestory, redbrick building with a flagpole sticking out of the neat lawn out front. The American flag flapped in the late afternoon breeze, and the tall sunflowers planted along the path leading to the door swayed in that same gust. There was a small parking lot at the back of the station, and she pulled her SUV into a narrow spot, then hopped out and rounded the building.

When she walked into the station, she found herself in a small, brightly lit lobby. A plump woman with gray hair sat at the front desk, greeting Jamie with a suspicious frown.

“Can I help you?” the older woman asked in a craggy voice reserved for longtime chain smokers.

Jamie approached the desk with a smile. “I’m here to see Finn. I mean, Sheriff Finnegan.”

The receptionist narrowed her eyes. “Is he expecting you?”

“Yes. Can you let him know I’m here?”

“Name?” the woman barked.

“Jamie Crawford.” For the hell of it, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and added, “Special Agent Jamie Crawford.”

That got the grumpy receptionist’s attention. Immediately, she picked up the phone, pressed a button and relayed Jamie’s message. A few moments later heavy footsteps thudded from the corridor tucked off to the left, and then Finn appeared.

Jamie couldn’t help but grin. She hadn’t seen him in nearly a year, yet he looked exactly the same. He was a big man, with broad shoulders, a thick chest and long legs. His black hair was its usual scruffy mess, curling at the collar of his white button-down shirt, and his eyes were still the darkest shade of blue she’d ever seen and as shrewd as ever.

“You lost weight,” was the first thing he said, staring at her in displeasure.

“Hello to you too,” she replied with a laugh. Then she crossed the tiled floor toward him and gave him a big hug.

A soft gasp sounded from the vicinity of the desk.

“Relax, Margie,” Finn said, chuckling at his receptionist. “You’re not witnessing anything illicit. Ms. Crawford and I are old friends.”

He turned back to Jamie, giving her that gruff smile of his, which always seemed to take such a toll on him. She’d known Finn for four years, and could probably count the number of smiles she’d seen on his handsome face on one hand.

“You look tired,” she remarked.

“I am tired.” Resting his hand on her arm, he led her to the corridor he’d just emerged from. “Let’s go to my office.”

The police station was even smaller than it looked from the outside. There were three doorways in the hall—a conference room and two interrogation rooms—and then the hallway widened into the bullpen, which boasted a few desks and a counter littered with foam coffee cups and chipped mugs. Finn introduced her to a lovely young woman with dark hair—Anna Holt, one of his two deputies—and then took her into a small office tucked in the corner of the bullpen.

“Thank you for coming,” he said.

Jamie set her purse on the floor and sat down on one of the plastic chairs in front of the desk. She waited until Finn settled in his chair before saying, “No problem. You know I’m happy to help.”

Finn raked one large hand through his black hair. “So how did it go with Donovan? Did he do it?”

A laugh flew out of her mouth. Finn, right to the point as always. “You know I can’t tell you that. I only spoke to the man for twenty minutes.”

“But what’s your gut telling you?”

She bit her bottom lip, trying to decide if she should tell him the truth, or what he wanted to hear.

“Jamie.” He sighed. “Come on, lay it on me.”

“Fine. I don’t think he’s your guy.”

Finn’s features creased with aggravation. “Oh, come on, don’t tell me that.”

“You wanted the truth.” She shrugged. “My gut is saying he didn’t do it.”

Finn looked so dejected she decided to keep his suspect alive for a bit longer. “Remind me again of the evidence you have against Donovan,” she suggested. “I didn’t have a chance to go over your fax in detail.”

“All circumstantial. His prints are all over the house, but he lived there, so that’s expected. We found skin cells under Teresa’s fingernails, which are being tested for DNA at a private lab in the city.”

“Do you have a comparison sample from Donovan?”

Finn gave a grim nod. “Yep, and he submitted it willingly.”

“So if the samples are a match—”

“Then he can claim his DNA got there when Teresa grabbed him in the parking lot of the bar,” Finn finished. “Witnesses saw her do it during an argument.”

Jamie pursed her lips together. “Okay, what else?”

“Some hair samples, which are too long to be Donovan’s, and most likely belong to Teresa. Those are being tested too. And a partial fingerprint on the coffee table near where Teresa’s body was found.”

“Do you think it’s Donovan?” Jamie asked point blank. “And I mean from a cop’s point of view, not a resident who might not like him.”

“As a cop? It sure looks like he did it. The man had the motive, that’s for sure. Teresa was contesting their pre-nup, and about a month ago, she sold a tell-all article to the tabloids.” Frustration seeped into his husky voice. “Does any of this help with the profile?”

Jamie decided not to remind him that coming up with a profile wasn’t the same as pulling a rabbit out of a magician’s hat. Instead, she went silent for a moment, her mind working over the stream of information Finn just fed into it. This case was tough to figure out, especially since she had no real sense of the killer or the victim. What made her job easier, as sad as it might be, was when the perp committed multiple offenses. Serial killers had their own unique signatures, and once you identified the signature, a profile was often quick to follow.

“This case won’t have one,” she mumbled to herself.

“What?”

Finn’s voice jerked her from her thoughts. “A signature,” she clarified. “We’re assuming this is the perp’s first offense, right? That he or she isn’t a serial killer that decided to move to Serenade.”

“Right.”

“Then there won’t be a noticeable signature. Which means we need to examine the MO. Most violent crimes hinge on one or both of those aspects.” She paused. “Other than Cole Donovan, who else had motive to kill Teresa?”

“That’s the problem. I can probably list a dozen people off the top of my head who had a run-in with her.”

“Such as?” she prompted.

“One of the other waitresses at Sully’s Bar, who accused Teresa of sleeping with her husband. Mr. Jensen from the gas station, who she belittled for having a lisp. Parker Smith, the man she screwed around on Cole with—she pissed Parker off pretty badly when she dumped him in front of the entire town at Martha’s Diner—”

Jamie let out a low whistle. “Okay, I get the point. So obviously she wasn’t Ms. Popularity.”

Finn barked out a dry laugh. “Those examples were just from the past two months. Honestly, I wish she’d never come back to Serenade. Life was so damn peaceful while she was gone.”

“Where did she go?” Jamie asked curiously.

“She went to Raleigh for about six months after she and Cole split up, said she was moving on to bigger and better things.” He snorted. “Came back like a dog with its tail between its legs about two months ago.”

“Okay.” She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “Okay, I think the first thing you need to do is talk to some of these people she ticked off.”

“Already on it. Max and Anna have been interviewing up a storm.” Finn suddenly groaned, his blue eyes honing in on hers. “So can you help? Jesus, Jamie, I need something to go on. Anything. Just point me in any direction.”

She could sense his quiet urgency. She knew what it was like, working a case that continued to remain unsolved. But she wasn’t a miracle worker, and profiling wasn’t something you could do without anything to go on.

“I’ll need to see the case files,” she finally said. “Including the crime scene photos. Maybe I can come up with a workable profile if I have more details.”

“Done. Anything else?”

“I want to speak to Joe Gideon,” she decided. “He’s the only one who can back up Cole’s alibi, if Cole is telling the truth. Does Gideon hate Cole enough to lie about seeing him that night?”

“Possibly. But Gideon’s not budging on his story. And neither is Donovan.”

“So if the encounter actually happened, then Cole is most likely innocent. And if the disgruntled neighbor is telling the truth, then Cole—”

“Shot his ex-wife in the heart to stop her from messing around with his finances.”

She leaned back in the chair. “All right, so I’ll see what I can get out of Gideon.”

“Good luck with that. He’s been interviewed four times already, twice by me, the other times by my deputies. I’m not sure you’ll be able to get anything new from him.”

She grinned. “You’d be surprised what people tell me. There’s a reason most of the agents call me in when they’re getting nowhere with a suspect. I have a sixth sense about people, you know that. And suspects always seem to spill their guts when I’m around.”

He went quiet for a beat, and when he spoke, she could hear the admiration in his tone. “Did you really get the Raleigh Butcher to confess to all thirteen murders?”

“Fourteen,” she corrected. “He admitted to killing his sister when he was a teenager.”

“Damn.”

Finn sounded impressed. Most law enforcement members were when they saw her in action in an interrogation room. She wasn’t an arrogant woman, but she knew if anyone could delve into a killer’s psyche and unearth its secrets, it was her. Call it a gift, or maybe a curse, but people opened up to her. Particularly violent, delusional people.

“I’ll speak to Gideon tomorrow and let you know what happens,” she said as she rose from the chair. “And I need those files.”

Finn was already reaching into his desk drawer. He extracted a pitifully thin blue folder, rounded the desk and handed it to her. “Thanks for doing this. I know it’s probably not how you wanted to spend your vacation.”

She released a rueful breath. “Trust me, this will be much more exciting than anything else I could have planned.”

“The only excitement I want is the kind you get from making an arrest,” Finn answered with a sullen look. “We’re getting ten calls a day, demanding we get this, and I quote, evil murderer, off our streets.”

Jamie tucked the folder under her arm and shot him a reassuring smile. “Well, that’s why I’m here.” Her jaw hardened in determination. “I’ll do everything in my power to help you catch this guy, Finn. I promise you that.”