Читать книгу Spin Control - Kate Donovan - Страница 11

They took separate cars to the Hotel Charlton, giving Suzannah a chance to adjust to what had happened. It was obvious that Judge Taylor saw this as an opportunity to punish her for getting his ruling reversed on appeal. If she made any further attempts to resist, he might even hold her in contempt. She had to be very careful, not just for her own sake but for Justin’s.

She knew why the FBI agent had chosen her. He thought she was a great criminal-law attorney because of her success in the Driscoll case. Poor guy—not only was he wrong about that but he simply didn’t understand how much Taylor hated her or how much all that resentment would work against him now, too.

Like it or not, their best strategy for the short run was to cooperate completely with the judge. Hopefully Suzannah’s role in the case wouldn’t be too taxing. She really had only two responsibilities: the first, to make sure the defendant didn’t skip town, which made her a glorified babysitter; and the second, to make sure the government defense attorneys didn’t sell Justin down the river to protect the FBI’s reputation.

She could do both of those things while also working on her Hawaii presentation. The government lawyers could handle the big defense issues, do the footwork and keep her informed so that she could make the final strategy decisions.

It didn’t sound so bad, assuming Justin cooperated. And assuming he was innocent. Not that it really mattered, because if he wasn’t, she was going to strangle him. So either way justice would be done.

Once she reached the hotel, she found a seat in the coffee bar adjacent to the lobby, rejecting any thought of going to his room to check on his progress. There was a slight risk that her new client might ditch her and dash for the border, but in the long run, that would be a good thing, wouldn’t it? In any case, she wasn’t ready to be alone with a suspected murderer who had a reputation as a charmer. Better to stick to public places for the moment.

Keeping one eye on the elevator, she ordered a mocha, then checked her office voice mail to see if any messages had come in. Then she sent some brief e-mails to her colleagues, just in case they heard rumors about what had happened with the Jailor. And finally she attacked the job of reorganizing her obsolete calendar and task list.

Forty things to do in two short weeks, all of them trumped by a murder case. Ugh!

Justin finally appeared, ambling toward her in tan slacks and a sexy black polo shirt. And she had to sigh, right out loud. He had looked so good just two short two hours ago, with his shaggy hair, sexy smile, golden tan and great body. Now he just looked like a pain in the ass.

“That was fast,” she told him, tucking her PDA into her purse.

His tone was warm as he settled into the seat across from her. “I know you’re mad, but—”

She held up her hand to stop him. “I’ve adjusted, actually. Let’s just get started, shall we?”

“Great.” He motioned to a nearby waitress, who almost tripped over two other customers getting to him right away, then breathlessly introduced herself as Janet.

Gracing her with one of his sexiest smiles, he ordered a latte with an extra shot, plus a refill for Suzannah.

“Should we get something to eat, too?” he asked his new attorney. “It’s almost lunchtime.”

She hesitated but then remembered her policy of making him pay through the nose for ruining her vacation, so she nodded. “The quiche looks good. And a small salad?”

Justin nodded, then told the waitress, “I’ll have grilled cheese if you’ve got it.”

“It’s not on the menu, but I’m sure I can talk the cook into it.”

“That would be great, Janet. Thanks.”

Suzannah watched the woman hurry off on her mission. “I guess you get a lot of that?”

“Pardon?”

“Females falling all over themselves to do your bidding?”

“She’s just trying to do a good job. Anyway…” He exhaled sharply. “I know I screwed up your morning, to put it mildly. And I realize criminal law isn’t your specialty, even though you kicked some serious judicial ass on that appeal. So I just want you to know you’re off the hook as of now.”

“Pardon?”

“You earned your fee by getting me released on bail. That was my big concern this morning. Now I can take it from here. After tomorrow’s court appearance, you can just do whatever you were already planning to do this week.”

When Suzannah glared, he laughed and said, “I know, I know. The judge wants me to brief you, and I will. But take my word for it—this thing will never go to trial. I’ll conclude my investigation and find the real perp long before that happens. I promise you that.”

“Oh, you promise? Well, that’s a relief.” She glared again. “I’m the attorney of record in a murder case. I take that very seriously. I take everything very seriously—a fact you’d better start respecting. I’ve spent ten years building a sterling reputation and I don’t want this case to torpedo it.”

“I told you, it’ll never go to trial.”

“Because you’ll solve it first? No offense, but I’d rather not count on you. Especially considering you’re an accused murderer.”

He leaned back in his chair and studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Fair enough. So how do you want to approach this? I can give you details or just the big picture.”

“Let’s start with the punch line. Who is it you’re supposed to have killed?”

“A woman named Gia Masterson. She was a witness in a case I’ve been investigating.”

“Gia Masterson?” Suzannah bit her lip. “In that case, I already have the big picture. From reading the newspapers. Not that I’ve kept up with it faithfully, but she was shot a couple of weeks ago, right? And a few weeks before that, she inherited a huge fortune from her father when he was murdered by the Angel of Mercy serial killer.”

When Justin nodded, Suzannah rubbed her eyes, acutely aware of the ache forming behind them.

The Angel of Mercy, as the papers had dubbed him, had been in the headlines for a couple of months. He apparently thought he was receiving psychic signals from vegetative patients who were begging him to free them so that they could go to heaven. Unable to resist, he had finally begun infiltrating nursing homes, using his position and training as a licensed vocational nurse to put the patients out of their misery once and for all.

Rallying herself, Suzannah asked carefully, “Any chance the Angel of Mercy killed Gia, as well? I mean, I know he usually goes after people in comas, but…”

Justin shook his head. “I’m not even sure the Angel of Mercy killed the father, much less the daughter.”

“Ooh, that’s new. The papers made it sound like a slam dunk.”

He nodded. “We tried to keep it quiet while we investigated. Horace Masterson was the fourth in a series of patients supposedly killed by the Angel—by lethal injection—in nursing homes. But given Masterson’s enormous wealth and the fact that his company handles top-secret government research, the possibility of a copycat killing with financial or political motives couldn’t be discounted.”

“Hmm…And since Gia inherited her father’s money, she was a suspect in his murder, even though the Angel of Mercy was the prime suspect?”

Justin hesitated. “Putting aside the whole mercy-killing angle, the Masterson case is pretty complicated. For one thing, Gia could have pulled the plug on her father any time she wanted. He’s been brain-dead and completely dependent on life support for more than three years because of a massive stroke and a slew of complications. Gia had a durable power of attorney over his health decisions. But she worshipped her father, almost to a perverse degree. She swore she’d never—ever—order life support removed, even though doctors said there was no hope of his regaining the slightest awareness. And since Gia had full authority to handle Masterson’s financial affairs, she was able to pay for endless excellent care.”

Suzannah frowned. “So that’s why you called her a witness, not a suspect, in her father’s murder investigation?”

“It’s complicated,” he repeated. “But yeah, I don’t think Gia killed her father. On the other hand, I don’t think the Angel of Mercy did it, either. My instincts are generally pretty good in these cases. That’s why the Bureau sent me in the first place. And right from the start I was sure a huge chunk of the puzzle was missing. Unfortunately I went off in the wrong direction.”

“How so?”

He hesitated, then explained. “Like I said, Masterson Enterprises handles top-secret government projects. At the time of Horace’s murder, his company was being considered as the contractor for a project known as Night Arrow. Night Arrow,” he added reverently, “is an amazing phenomenon. I’ll fill you in on the nonclassified details later, but take my word for it. It’s probably the biggest find—scientific or otherwise—of our lifetime.”

Taking a deep breath, he visibly checked his enthusiasm. “The point is, I focused on Night Arrow as the motive. I figured someone wanted to get their hands on the research—even take over Masterson Enterprises to do so—and the first stage was killing the old man.”

“But now?”

“Now I’m not so sure,” he admitted. “If Night Arrow was the motive, killing Gia was counterproductive. Because Masterson Enterprises lost any chance of getting the contract when Gia was murdered. Scandal and government research don’t go together. So,” he finished with a shrug, “I’ve put Night Arrow on the back burner for now.”

Suzannah wasn’t fooled. She had caught the gleam in his eye when he’d first mentioned the project, and it was a look guys usually reserved for sex and sports. There was no way he had truly abandoned his theory, but for the moment she would play along.

So she asked him, “Are you sure the same person who killed the dad killed Gia?”

“I’d bet my ass on it.”

“Okay…” She pursed her lips. “Gia was Horace Masterson’s sole heir. But Gia must have an heir, as well, right? So that person would have a motive to kill them both, right? First kill Horace so Gia would inherit his fortune. Then murder Gia and get everything—the whole Masterson estate—for himself or herself.” She gave him a hopeful smile. “So? You’re not Gia’s heir, are you?”

He laughed. “Hardly. She recently changed her will, but not to give it to me. Her sister, Mia, is her sole heir.”

“Mia and Gia?” Suzannah winced. “Cute. If they’re sisters, how come Mia didn’t get half of Masterson’s estate in the first place?”

“Horace Masterson disowned Mia about eight years ago. Kicked her out of the house, out of his life and out of the will—all for having an affair with the son of his archenemy.”

“He had an archenemy?”

“Cool, huh?” Justin grinned. “William Seldon and Horace Masterson were partners. Then William had an affair with Horace’s wife, Julia. Needless to say, the partnership ended. William is long since dead. So is Julia, for that matter.”

“But Mia had an affair with William’s son?”

“Correct. William’s son, Derek.”

“And then Horace disowned Mia.”

“Right. And since big sister Gia was such a slave to her father’s affection, she turned her back on Mia, as well. So Mia went to live with a cousin named Cynthia on the East Coast. Even after Horace Masterson had his stroke, Gia didn’t thaw out about her estranged sister. But then…” He gave an apologetic wince. “Can you handle more or are you overloaded?’

“You’re kidding, right? What finally made Gia thaw out?”

He chuckled. “Like I said, Mia had been living with their cousin. Apparently this Cynthia was something of a bridge between the sisters—she had visited them often as a child, and they both loved her. When Mia went to live with Cynthia, Gia turned her back on both of them. After Horace’s stroke, Mia wanted to come home to visit her dad at the nursing home. When Gia said no, Cynthia decided to intercede. She drove across the country and appeared on Gia’s doorstep to plead for a reconciliation between the two sisters. Gia sent Cynthia away. But Cynthia—who was exhausted and in tears—never made it home. She crashed her car into a power pole.”

“Oh, no.”

Justin nodded. “That’s when Gia came to her senses. She told me she finally realized how isolated she had allowed herself to become, physically and emotionally. So she contacted Mia and they reconciled as sisters. Mia moved back home and started visiting the old man—and since he was in a coma, he didn’t object, obviously. The sisters became genuinely close again. Closer even than regular sisters in some ways. I can’t imagine Mia killing Gia. But someone did it, and it sure wasn’t me.”

“So besides you, the Angel of Mercy, and Mia, are there any other suspects? In Gia’s murder, I mean.”

“Well, like I said, it’s always possible—although less likely now—that some outsider wanted to gain control of the company for political or economic reasons. But, ironically, the series of scandals hitting that family has probably ruined the company’s reputation, at least temporarily. So if someone killed Gia for wealth or secrets, they grossly miscalculated.”

“Okay.” Suzannah held up her hand, palm forward. “I can’t absorb much more for the moment. But there’s one last thing I need to know up front. Why would anyone suspect you of murdering Gia?”

He gave her a pained smile. “Promise not to get upset?”

“Oh, God, let me guess. You slept with her? A suspect?”

“A witness,” he reminded her with another, weaker smile. “Anyway, no one really thinks I had a motive to kill her. She was found alone in her bedroom, shot by a gun with my prints on it, about an hour after I had dinner with her. The circumstances indicated that there was a struggle, so the consensus was that I must have shot her in self-defense.” His blue eyes clouded. “They offered me a deal right away. If I would admit that she tried to shoot me and that I just acted to protect myself, there wouldn’t be any charges. I’d keep my job after a perfunctory investigation. That’s what everyone wanted, because my career’s been solid up till now. No one wanted to see it end over this.”

Suzannah gave him a sympathetic smile. “But you didn’t shoot her, so you didn’t take the deal.”

“Right. Someone shot her, and I’d be damned if I was going to let them get away with it. Or have that kind of crazy shit on my record. Unfortunately the evidence against me is fairly strong.”

“Like the fingerprints on the gun?” she murmured.

“I helped her load it before I left that night. She was getting nervous—about the Angel of Mercy coming after her next. Poor kid.”

“That makes sense. About the fingerprints, I mean, not the Angel.”

“Right. But it ticked the D.A. off big-time when I wouldn’t take his deal. So he slapped a murder charge on me. I think they all thought that that would make me cave and admit it was self-defense for sure. But I didn’t shoot her. End of discussion.”

“And those two guys the Bureau got to defend you?”

“They wanted me to take the deal, too. To save everyone the embarrassment.”

She bit her lip, acknowledging to herself that Justin had done the right thing firing those guys. But hiring her was still wrong, wrong, wrong….

“You believe me, don’t you, Suzy?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I believe you.”

“Good.” He gave her a confident grin. “You’ve already been such an incredible help, making sure they didn’t lock me up pending trial. I knew the D.A. was going to make Armstrong go for the jugular on that. But you handled it like a pro. Now I can solve Gia’s murder, see? Not just to clear my own name but to get that last piece of the puzzle I need to solve the father’s murder, as well.”

Suzannah shook her head in protest. “I’m guessing you’re on some sort of administrative suspension, aren’t you? I don’t think they want you running around trying to solve either case. You need to stay out of trouble, especially because you’re in my freaking custody. I’ll handle any investigating from here on out.”

“Just like I told the judge—you’ve got guts.” He reached across the table and grabbed her hand. “We’ll solve it together, then.”

“Are you nuts?” she demanded, pulling free, then glaring. “I don’t need to solve anything, and neither do you. The burden of proof is on them, and they don’t have a strong enough case to convict a respected federal agent. Fingerprints? A couple of hot dates? None of that adds up to motive, and jurors need a motive, not just evidence. Besides—” she settled down enough to give him a sheepish smile “—all I really have to do is load that jury with females and you’re as good as acquitted.”

To her surprise, the compliment seemed to rankle Justin. “I’d like to think it’s my professional accomplishments—not my sex appeal—that will give me credibility.”

“You’re charged with murder. We’ll use anything we’ve got. That’s my first strategy decision as your incompetent e-lawyer.”

He laughed. “Fair enough. Looks like we both have something to prove.” Pulling out his wallet, he dropped a handful of bills on the table. “So where do we go from here? Your law office?”

She studied him carefully, impressed by his enthusiasm, openness and clear desire to get to the truth. He was innocent—she’d stake the Twelve-Year Plan on that. And he needed more than a quick consultation under the dubious eyes of her senior partner.

He needed a lawyer.

“We’ll go to my apartment. I’ll wait while you get what you need from your room, then you can follow me in your car.”

His blue eyes widened. “You want me to move into your place?”

“I’m not that convinced you’re innocent,” she said, shaking her head in amusement. “Just bring what you need for the rest of the day. We can work at my kitchen table. It’s not as ritzy as this place, but it’s comfortable.”

“I’ll bet it is. And this hotel isn’t so great, believe me. The only thing it has going for it is a state-of-the-art fitness center.”

“You’ll be able to get a good workout in my bedroom,” she assured him, then she grimaced when he arched a playful eyebrow. “There’s a treadmill in there and some free weights, smart-ass.”

“Nice to know you’re getting some action at least,” he said teasingly. Then his smile softened. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Suzannah. I promise you won’t regret it.”

He followed her to her redbrick apartment house, parking in one of the visitor spots behind the four-story building, then catching up with her at the elevator. In some ways, it felt more like a date than a business meeting, which made a certain kind of illogical sense to Suzannah. Justin was sexy and charming and single, and while she rarely brought men home with her for any reason, she definitely never brought clients or associates to her apartment.

The reason was simple: this place was her sanctuary. Her refuge. An integral part of the Twelve-Year Plan. Knowing from the start that her decision to focus on her career might get out of hand, she had done virtually all of her law work downtown, even though it meant late nights and weekends at the office, returning home only when she was exhausted and depleted. Home was reserved for relaxation—watching movies and reading.

Fortunately her firm’s building had a guard in the reception area for anyone working late, and the office parking lot was well lit, courtesy of the all-night market adjacent to it. So all in all, the system had worked well for her.

Until today.

Opening the front door, she entered the apartment ahead of him and smiled proudly, reminded of the other reason she loved coming home to this tiny place. It was simply beautiful, with its gleaming hardwood floors, built-in shelves and cabinets and magnificent bay window in the eating area.

She had kept the living room furniture simple—two overstuffed chairs facing a matching sofa in front of a small brick fireplace, a brass trunk that served as a coffee table and additional storage and a pair of stained-glass floor lamps. Everything else, from the TV to the small desk accommodating her laptop and household files, was hidden behind cabinet doors.

“Nice place,” Justin murmured. “Sorta like a hideaway.”

She bit her lip, pleased by the description. “You can set up camp in the kitchen. I don’t have an office here, unfortunately.” Remembering the jigsaw puzzle scattered across the tabletop, she added quickly, “I’ll just clear my stuff away first.”

“I can work around it. Plus, when I want to take a break, I’ll do some of the easy pieces.” Still scanning the environment, he set his briefcase and duffel bag on a kitchen chair. “You’ve got yourself a busy schedule for a girl who’s supposed to be on vacation.”

“Pardon?”

He pointed to the large wipe-off board next to her refrigerator, where she had scribbled the date followed by a list of chores and appointments:

Court with Tony

Research, two hours

Confirm HA reservations

Reread P&P

Bubble bath

RS marathon

Call M&D

She knew her cheeks were flushed as she grabbed an eraser and got rid of the evidence. “Thanks to you, this list is irrelevant now.”

“M and D? Mom and Dad, right?” When she nodded, he smiled. “P and P?”

“Pride and Prejudice.”

“Are you running a marathon this week?”

Suzannah wasn’t about to admit that she had planned on watching at least a dozen episodes of Remington Steele. “RS is a guy I know. I wanted to remember that he was involved in a marathon.”

“And you actually schedule your bubble baths ahead of time? That’s kind of sad.” Justin’s finger tapped a piece of paper attached to her refrigerator by a magnet. “What’s this? More chores?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but that’s my shopping list.”

“Looks more like an anti-shopping list.” He began to read aloud. “‘No cookies, No candy, No ice cream.’”

“Never mind.” She snatched the page, crumpled it and threw it into the trash. “I’m going to change out of this suit. Make yourself comfortable, but no snooping. I mean it,” she added over her shoulder as she strode into her bedroom.

“I’ll just work the puzzle,” he promised.

She closed the door behind herself, then leaned against it and sighed. He was a little too observant and way too intuitive. What was it the prosecutor had said? That he had “made a career out of seducing and conning people”?

She definitely needed to stay on her toes. And she didn’t dare leave him alone for too long, so she quickly peeled off her clothes and wriggled into a pair of soft, faded jeans. Then she added a hooded sweatshirt of soft pink cashmere, zipping it halfway to partially obscure a white lace camisole.

Her pink fluffy slippers seemed a little much, so she put on pale blue socks instead. After checking her hair and makeup, she opened the bedroom door and stepped back into the living room, then froze as the sound of her best friend’s recorded voice greeted her.

“…and she says the killer’s gorgeous, but the little creep didn’t give me any other details. So call me! I’m supposed to be your best friend, but you’d never know it from the way you act. Sheesh!”

Sprinting for the answering machine, Suzannah punched the stop button, then turned to glare at her houseguest. “What’s your problem?”

“She sounds like fun. What’s her name?”

“Never mind.” Suzannah grimaced. “Was that the only message?”

“She left two. The first one was about the Sperminator. You’ll never guess what he did.”

Suzannah stared into his laughing eyes, muttered, “You must have a death wish,” then rewound the recorder and pushed Play.

The machine announced, “Message number one,” then Noelle West’s voice began again: “Hey, it’s me. You’ll never guess what the Sperminator did last night, so I’ll just tell you. He proposed again. For real this time. He said, and I quote, ‘I know we were only getting married because we thought you were knocked up, but I got kind of used to the idea.’ Romantic, huh? So where the hell are you? We need to talk.”

There was an emphatic click, then the machine announced, “Message number two.”

It was Noelle again, saying, “Hey, what’s going on? Why aren’t you answering your cell? I’m dying over here. First the Sperminator, now this hot new rumor about you. My cousin was in the courtroom and she said the hanging judge almost locked you up. But instead he hooked you up. With some killer. And she says the killer’s gorgeous, but the little creep didn’t give me any other details. So—”

Suzannah stopped the tape again, shaking her head in amused disbelief. The Sperminator had actually re-proposed? That was big, big news. It was a little embarrassing that Justin had heard about it and downright mortifying that he had heard himself described as a gorgeous killer, but it could have been worse.

“If you’re going to be spending time here, you need to respect my privacy.”

“The light was flashing,” he explained. “So? What’s your buddy’s name?”

“Noelle. And obviously I need to call her right away. Excuse me, please? Just for a few minutes?”

“Sure. She sounds great. Best friends? For how long?”

Suzannah hesitated but could see he wasn’t going to let it go. “Her family lived next door to my grandmother. Every time my parents got divorced, I went there to live for a while. So we’ve been friends, off and on, forever.”

She liked the fact that he was speechless, at least for the moment. Not that she blamed him. She didn’t usually share her parents’ bizarre marriage history with strangers, but she had a feeling Justin would run a background check on her anyway, so he’d eventually find out about the divorces.

“How many times—”

“Twice. Which means I got to attend two of their three weddings.” She smiled in wry amusement. “If my mother were here, she’d tell you it’s romantic. That’s how nuts my parents are.”

“But they’re set now?”

“God, I hope so.” She rolled her eyes in mock frustration. “Anyway, living with Grandma next to Noelle’s family was crucial to my sanity, so in a way, it’s a good thing they were so…so whatever. They’re fun,” she added quickly. “And lovable. But they got married when they were just crazy kids and they’ve somehow managed to keep that childlike quality right into their fifties. Anyway…” She backed toward her bedroom. “I’ve got to get the details on this Sperminator development. And you need to work on clearing yourself of murder charges. So why don’t we both get busy?”

True to form, Noelle had Suzannah laughing within seconds as she recounted the Sperminator’s beer-induced but still amazing proposal. More stunning still was the fact that Noelle seemed to be considering it!

“We’ll have to start calling him Steve, you know,” Suzannah told her friend. “Just in case you guys go through with it.”

“Speaking of men, I need details. About the murderer.”

“I told you, he’s innocent. An FBI agent with a spotless record. He was framed, and hopefully I can help unframe him without getting myself charged with contempt in the process. Wish me luck. I’d better get back in there before he starts rummaging through my files.”

“Is he as good-looking as my cousin said?”

“Yep. Picture a blend of Highlander and a young Obi Wan.”

“Which Highlander?” Noelle asked, her tone challenging. “Yours or mine?”

“There can be only one,” Suzannah reminded her with a laugh, wondering for the umpteenth time how Noelle could prefer Christopher Lambert’s Highlander to Adrian Paul’s. “Anyway, I’d better get back to him. I’ll call you when he leaves.”

“Are you sure he’ll be leaving? He sounds pretty sexy. Maybe he’ll sleep over.”

“He’s a client. And a murder suspect. Plus, he’s not my type.”

“Give me a break,” Noelle drawled. “You said yourself he’s a cross between your two favorite heroes. Does he have an accent?”

“Well, not Scottish, that’s for sure. If anything, he’s got the tiniest hint of a cowboy twang.” She expected Noelle to react strongly, but she said nothing, so Suzannah prodded her. “Noelle?”

“Sorry, I just drooled all over myself.”

“You’re such a nut.” Suzannah grinned and repeated, “I’ll call you when he leaves. Don’t elope or anything before then. ’Bye.”

She hung up the phone, then braced herself for another round with Justin. She was getting used to the idea of being his attorney, but having her privacy invaded was something else.

He cons and seduces people for a living. So be careful….

Taking a deep breath, she returned to the living room and found him dutifully working the jigsaw puzzle, just as he’d promised.

He had draped his leather bomber jacket over one kitchen chair and had slung his shoulder holster over another. Just those few subtle touches, along with his not-so-subtle sexuality, had given her home a strong infusion of masculinity that she found disorienting.

So this is what it’s like to have a man around the house, she teased herself nervously. Next he’ll be opening jars for you and taking out the trash.

Shaking off the confused mood, she walked over and sat at the table. “I’ve got more questions about the case.”

“Shoot.”

“Speaking of shooting…” She eyed the shoulder holster, which was empty. “They confiscated your gun and your badge, right? I mean, temporarily. So…?”

“Force of habit. I can put it away if it bothers you.”

“It’s fine.” She arched an eyebrow. “Don’t you guys usually have backup weapons? Something with the serial numbers sanded off or whatever?”

“Are you sure you want me to answer that?”

“Good point. Never mind.”

“What about you?” he asked. “A pretty girl, living alone. How do you protect yourself?”

“I use the dead bolt whenever I’m home. And I have a can of mace in my purse whenever I’m out.”

“You should keep the mace by your bed at night, too.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Good advice. Thanks.”

Her attention was attracted by a group of yellow self-adhesive notes he had attached in a row to the nearby wall. It appeared to be some sort of timeline.

His gaze tracked hers. “That’s my system. Must look pretty lame to an organizational genius like you, but it works for me.”

“Those look like Angel of Mercy notes. Shouldn’t we be concentrating on Gia’s murder?”

“They’re interrelated.”

“So you admit it’s possible that the Angel of Mercy killed Gia?”

Justin shrugged. “Anything’s possible. But it’s more likely that Horace Masterson’s murderer tried to capitalize on Charlie Parrish’s crime spree by committing a look-alike murder and hoping Charlie would take the rap.”

“Or—” Suzannah met his gaze directly “—Charlie killed them all. The three nursing-home residents out of a sincere but deranged belief that they wanted him to kill them. Then Horace. And then Gia because she publicly announced she’d never honor her father’s wish to have the plug pulled. Maybe Charlie found her attitude so arrogant and repugnant he wanted to punish her for it.”

“Gia said the same thing to me,” he mused. “The night she died.”

“What?”

Justin nodded. “She was nervous that night. More than usual. She kept saying she thought the Angel would come after her next because of the videotaped statement by her that was shown on the news after Horace was diagnosed. She said that was the kind of thing a truly insane man would never be able to forget.”

“Wow. What did you say?”

He shrugged. “I comforted her. Told her that wasn’t Charlie’s MO. He uses drugs, not guns. And he truly believes he’s helping the victims, not hurting them. He’s the Angel of Mercy, not Vengeance.”

“You talk about him like he’s rational. But I agree with Gia. He’s a nut. And probably getting crazier by the minute. All that killing—it might have made him feel powerful. Validated. Almost godlike.”

Justin grinned. “Very cool analysis. You remind me of a friend of mine.” He began digging in his briefcase and pulled out a manila envelope. “I meant to give this to you earlier. Don’t open it. Just put it somewhere safe.”

“It’s not a confession, is it?”

He laughed. “No such luck. It’s my friend’s phone number. If something goes wrong—if I get killed, for instance—”

“Killed?” Suzannah bit her lip. “You think the murderer might come after you?”

“I’m a loose end. Plus, I’m determined to solve Horace Masterson’s murder. And now Gia’s, too. The real killer would be smart to get rid of me.”

“Oh, God, I never thought of that.”

Justin flashed a reassuring smile. “The good news is, he’s also got a strong incentive to keep me alive. If he kills me, then everyone will know I was innocent. Right now the evidence against me is so strong the authorities aren’t looking anywhere else.”

“But you’re looking.”

And so am I….

He must have heard her thought, because he patted her hand and assured her, “The bad guys don’t have any reason to come after you. As far as they know, you’re handling the legal angle, not the investigation. And it was clear in the courtroom today that you were a reluctant participant. So I’m pretty sure you’re safe.”

She held up the envelope. “But if something happens…?”

“Right. If something goes wrong, call that number. It’ll connect you to SPIN. Have you heard of it?” When Suzannah shook her head, he explained. “It’s a backup agency for agents like me. The Strategic Profiling and Identification Network. They call themselves spinners and they’re effing geniuses. Literally.”

“Wait! Are you sure it’s okay to tell me all this?”

He laughed. “Yeah, it’s okay. The only confidential info is the actual identity of the spinners. Their whole system is based on anonymity. They use aliases, and our only contact with them is by phone.”

“So you have a friend, but you don’t know his name?”

“Her name.”

“Oh, right.” Suzannah rolled her eyes. “I should have guessed.”

“Her code name is S-3. I nicknamed her Essie.” He hesitated, then admitted, “I’ve known her real name for a while now, but I never use it. Anyway, she can get you any information you need. Plus, her instincts are stellar. Downright eerie, really. No matter how bad things get, she can always figure out a solution. So…” He squeezed Suzannah’s hand. “If something goes wrong—if I get killed or you get scared or start to doubt my innocence, anything like that—call S-3. Got it?”

“I’ve got a better idea,” she told him, pulling her hand free. “Let’s call her right now.”

“Huh?”

“She’s your friend. And she’s brilliant. We’ll brainstorm with her. Three heads are better than two, right?”

His eyes clouded. “It’s not that simple, Suzy. She’s not assigned to this case, so she’s not supposed to work on it. I’ve gotten her into trouble a couple of times over the last few years. I’ve promised myself I won’t do that anymore.”

“Too bad. We could use the help.”

“She’s got a tendency to go rogue, especially when her friends are in trouble.” He cleared his throat, then admitted, “I rely on her too much sometimes. It’s not fair to her. So I’ve gone cold turkey. I won’t call her. But if things go really wrong, I want you to.”

Suzannah studied his forlorn expression. “Are you in love with her? Even though you never met her in person? That’s so romantic.”

“I love her like crazy, but I’m not in love with her,” Justin said, chuckling. “I like my girlfriends to have bodies.”

“Like Gia?”

“Gia had one helluva body,” he agreed, fishing in his briefcase again until he found a folder containing a dozen or so photographs. “Here, see for yourself. The best rack money could buy.”

“Good grief.” Suzannah bit back a smile, wondering how such a tall, skinny woman had managed to carry herself upright with the giant breasts she had apparently bought for herself. “You said she was sweet. I’d say she was a little vain, too.”

“You’d think so,” he murmured. “But you’d be wrong. The boob job wasn’t because she wanted to look better. She just wanted to look different.”

“Pardon?”

“Look at this. It’s Gia nine years ago. Before she started having plastic surgery.”

Suzannah stared at the second photo, shocked to see a girl who only vaguely resembled the busty woman in the first picture. “She didn’t just have her breasts enhanced. She had—what? Her eyes? Her cheeks?”

“Eyes. Cheeks. Jaw. Bust. Six surgeries over a seven-year period.”

“She changed her hair color, too.”

“And wore blue contact lenses so her eyes wouldn’t look gray.”

“I don’t get it.” Suzannah shook her head. “She was so pretty.”

“So was her mother. So was her sister Mia.” His tone grew pensive. “Do you remember what I told you? That she was desperate for her father’s approval? But unfortunately she looked just like her mother and sister, the two females that had made him so angry. He apparently told her more than once that he could barely stand the sight of her.”

“Oh, my God. She actually did all this for him? And he didn’t try to stop her—his own daughter!—from mutilating herself? I mean, the end result was attractive, I suppose….”

“But it wasn’t her face. Or her body. She said that to me more than once. That she felt like a stranger to herself when she looked in the mirror. But at the same time, she kept having surgery. Breast implants. Then her eyes. Then the cheek implants—she had those after Horace went into the coma, by the way.”

Suzannah gasped. “Why?”

“She said she was sure he’d regain consciousness one day, and when he opened his eyes, she didn’t want the first face he saw to remind him of his unfaithful wife.”

Suzannah grimaced. “No offense, but that was one sick chick.”

“One sick father,” Justin corrected her. “The more I found out about Horace Masterson, the less sorry I was that someone had offed him. If it hadn’t been for the fact that his company did top-secret research, I would have considered his murder a petty crime.”

“Poor Gia.”

Justin nodded. “She was a lonely, frightened, sweet girl. It was pitiful. And it made her bizarrely irresistible. Not sexually but emotionally. I wanted to make her feel better. Feel loved. I screwed up, but it wasn’t what it looked like. Not lust, Suzy. Just…”

“Compassion?” Suzannah slid the photos of Gia back into the folder, then buried her face in her hands and peeked through her fingers. “What a mess.”

“Yeah, it’s rough. Maybe we should change the subject.”

“Okay.” Suzannah gave him a hopeful smile. “You said you’d give me more details about the Night Arrow project. Maybe now would be a good time for that.”

He beamed. “You’re fascinated by it, too?”

“Nope. Just fascinated by your obsession with it. There’s a difference.”

Justin’s cell phone began to ring, and he winced as he asked, “Do you mind if I take it?”

“No, please do.” Suzannah jumped up and went to the refrigerator for a bottle of water, glad for the chance to digest the information he had given her about Gia Masterson. The idea that any father could be despicable enough to contort his daughter’s affections the way Horace had done made Suzannah sick.

Then she scolded herself, remembering that Gia Masterson had been a wealthy, powerful woman who had turned her back on her little sister just when the girl had needed her most.

So get a grip, will you? Worry about Justin, not some crazy dead heiress.

He was arguing softly with someone, but his eyes were on Suzannah, and she realized he was looking a little guilty around the edges, which told her the caller was probably one of his girlfriends.

Did he really think she’d be bothered by that? What an ego!

“Okay, I’ll come over,” he muttered into the phone. “Just don’t do anything crazy. And don’t expect me to stay long. I’m not kidding, Mia. So…huh? Oh, okay…See ya.”

He closed the phone and laid it on the table, then gave his attorney a sheepish grin. “Hi.”

“Mia? As in, Mia Masterson? You’re in touch with her?” Suzannah eyed him sternly. “Do you want to go to prison?”

“I tried to get rid of her. But she’s freaked out about some premonition she had. She thinks whoever killed Gia is coming after her next.”

“Tell her to call 911.”

“I did. But she was crying….” He shrugged as if to say, Consoling beautiful rich girls is what I do. Don’t ask me to stop just because I’m on trial for murder.

Pushing back his chair, he stood and reached for his jacket. “I’ll be back in two hours, tops. I know we still have a lot to talk about—”

“We can talk in the car. You drive, I’ll lecture.”

“Huh?” He laughed warily. “You’re sure you want to come along?”

“Do you have rocks in your head? Or just in your pants?” Suzannah demanded. “Can’t you see what’s going to happen? You’ll go over there. Get your prints all over her and her house. Then after you leave, the Angel will swoop in and murder her, and Taylor the Jailor will lock me up. He released you into my custody, remember? You aren’t going anywhere without me except to your hotel room at night, and that’s only because I’m afraid to sleep with an accused murderer in the house.”

“In other words, it’s all about you?”

“Believe it.”

Justin laughed. “This is actually a great idea.”

Suzannah had to admit she liked it, too. Getting the facts of the case through Mia’s eyes, rather than just through Justin’s, made sense. And aside from Charlie Parrish, aka the Angel of Mercy, Mia was the prime suspect, at least in Suzannah’s mind. The younger Masterson daughter was inheriting millions of dollars from Gia, not to mention control of their billion-dollar corporation. Talk about a motive!

“Give me five minutes to change back into my suit—”

“Don’t do that,” Justin interrupted. Then he explained carefully, “Anyone can look professional in a suit. But you carry it off in jeans. Let Mia see that. It’ll drive her crazy and keep her off balance.”

“I don’t play games.”

“Trust me on this, okay? Sometimes a game is the best strategy.”

Because he cons and seduces people for a living, Suzannah reminded herself. And obviously he’s good at it, so…

“Can I wear heels at least?”

“Absolutely. The higher, the better.” Justin’s blue eyes began to twinkle. “You and Mia—man, this should be good.”