Deadly Intent (27 page)

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t lie to him anymore.

Reluctantly, she met his unblinking gaze. “How did you find out?”

“So it’s true.”

She nodded, slowly, to give herself a little time to get her thoughts together.

“Would you be more comfortable if we sat over there?” He surprised her by motioning toward the two easy chairs in front of the fireplace.

Since he seemed to be calling the shots, she followed him to the cosy corner. Unable to relax, however, she sat on the edge of the chair and clasped her hands on her lap.

“Go ahead,” he said gently.

The soothing sound of his voice helped her calm down. She talked for more than ten minutes, her voice growing stronger and more confident with each word, as if the simple task of finally telling the truth had removed a huge weight from her chest. She told him, everything, starting with the death of her biological father when she was five and the fire that had burned the McGregors’ house down, to her attempt to deliver the blackmailing money to Ian at Lake Carnegie and the letter she had burned along with its copy.

John didn’t interrupt her, not even when she mentioned taking the PPK with her to the lake. She half expected a stern lecture, a reminder that carrying a concealed weapon was a serious offense as well as a dangerous practice. Instead he asked, “Can you describe the man who attacked you?”

There was no hesitation there. The man’s face would be engraved in her mind forever. “It was Arturo Garcia.”

John nodded. “I figured that much.”

“Have you uncovered what he and Ian were doing at the lake together?”

“From the information we have so far, I gathered Arturo

found out where Ian was staying and went there to collect his money. Ian had to make a choice—tell Arturo about the forty-eight thousand dollars and offer to give it to him or be killed.”

“Then why would Arturo kill Ian before he could get the money?”

“My hunch tells me Ian had no intention of handing the money to Arturo. That’s why he lured him to the lake. He felt he had a better chance to kill him if—“

“Kill him?”

‘ ‘We found a garrote, made from a coat hanger, near the body. It looks as if Ian may have tried to use it on Arturo.”

“And instead, he got himself killed.” Abbie fell back against the cushion and was surprised when John leaned forward and took her cold hands in his, warming them instantly.

Their stare locked and held. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner, Abbie?”

As his gaze skimmed her face, she was suddenly acutely aware of him, of his masculinity, the way he looked at her with eyes that had turned warm and caring, and especially the way he held her hands with a grip that was both strong and gentle. “I was afraid you’d call the Palo Alto police and turn my mother in.”

“You thought I would take the word of a con man—two con men—instead of yours?”

“I wasn’t thinking rationally.”

“Not too many people would in the same circumstances.”

She gave him a hopeful smile. “Are you saying that you believe my mother is innocent?”

“I can’t answer that until I’ve checked Earl Kramer’s story, but I won’t turn your mother in on such flimsy evidence, Abbie. I’m not that kind of cop.”

Claudia had tried to tell her that but she hadn’t wanted to listen. “What about the letter I burned? Isn’t that destroying evidence?”

“If your mother didn’t commit a crime, that letter has no meaning.”

If. Suddenly, finding out the truth about that horrible night twenty-eight years ago had become her prime focus. Until then, there could be no peace of mind for her and for her family.

She looked down at their joined hands, remembering he had not told her everything. “John?”

“Yes?”

“What were you doing walking around the back with a flashlight earlier?”

“I was looking for your truck.”

“My truck?”

“The lab report indicates that the tire prints found throughout the lake parking area were made by Goodyear tires, found mainly on sport-utility vehicles. When I realized you drove an SUV, I had to check out your tires.” He pointed at the flashlight on the table. “I was about to take a peek through the garage window, when you walked out.”

“So I am a suspect, after all.”

“Not a murder suspect, just a witness withholding evidence.”

Gently, she pulled her hands away, but not because she was upset with him. Why should she be, when he had just volunteered to help her? “How did you find out that Ian was blackmailing me?”

“That’s not important.”

“It is to me. I have a right to know,” she added when he didn’t answer.

He seemed to give that statement a moment’s consideration. “Liz Tilly told me.”Liz. So her fears had been justified after all. And Liz was still the same bitch she used to be.

John stood. “I think I’ve kept you up long enough. Why don’t I let you get some rest. We’ll talk more about all this tomorrow.”

At the door they both stopped. She looked up and saw the change in his eyes, the way his gaze drifted to her mouth, lingered there for a moment before returning to her eyes. The effect was as potent as if he had touched her.

He spoke first, breaking the spell. “I’ll see you at the funeral?”

“Yes.” For some reason, she couldn’t manage much more than that.

She waited until the Plymouth’s red taillights had disappeared before going back in and closing the door. She listened to the silence, surprised at how empty the house felt now that John was gone.

She slept that night for the first time in over a week.

Twenty-Nine

The unseasonable weather that had plagued the Delaware Valley these past couple of days had been replaced by blue skies and a brilliant sunshine that burned through the trees and turned the pond in front of Wilbert Pharmaceuticals into glass.

The building where Clarice Ryan worked was located in Princeton Forrestal Center, a lush seventeen-acre park owned by Princeton University and occupied by research facilities and corporate offices of internationally known companies.

Wilbert was the park’s most recent addition, having moved its headquarters from Bordentown to Princeton two years ago. The three-story glass and stone structure, with its enclosed atrium and its own corporate art gallery, had already become a landmark every Princetonian talked about with great pride.

Clarice had been surprised to hear from John in the middle of the week, and even more surprised when he had refused to put off the meeting.

Although he knew Clarice had been promoted to vice president six months ago, nothing had prepared him for the size and elegance of her new office when her secretary ushered him in. With one quick glance, he took in the bank of windows overlooking the pond, the antique desk that held center stage and the oriental rug beneath it. There waseven a Van Gogh painting on one wall that couldn’t possibly be the real thing. Knowing Clarice, though, it probably was.

“Wow,” he said when she rose from behind her desk. “This is some digs you’ve got here. No wonder the price of meds is going through the roof.”

The remark, which he had intended as an icebreaker, brought him a cool stare. “What do you need to tell me you couldn’t discuss over the phone?” she asked.

In other words, the lady was busy and he should get on with whatever was on his mind. Fair enough. “May I sit down?”

She waved toward a green brocade chair. “All right. But I must warn you. I’m in between meetings.”

“This won’t take long.” He propped one ankle over his knee. “I’d like you to rethink our arrangement about Jordan.”

She sat down, a puzzled look on her face. “Rethink our arrangements? What does that mean?”

“It means that I would like to have custody of Jordan. Full custody.”

She leaned back in her chair, a shocked expression on her otherwise impassive face. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Not at all. Actually, it’s a very sound decision, and the more I think about it, the more it makes sense.”

“To you, maybe, but not to me.”

“I admit I have erratic hours, but since you became vice president, you have even less time with Jordan than I do. You travel more than ever before, sometimes out of the country and for several days. During that time, Jordan is shuffled from one household to another and that isn’t good for him. The neglect is beginning to affect his grades and his behavior.”

“Are you accusing me of neglecting my child?”

He shook his head, annoyed at himself for sounding so critical. That had never helped him before. “That was a poor choice of words. I’m sorry. The fact is—and this is Mrs. Rhinehart’s own observation—Jordan may feel neglected, and he’s reacting the only way he knows how—by forcing us to pay attention to him.”

“Jordan is not a devious child. He wouldn’t do that.”

“Maybe not consciously.” He gave her a second to think those last words through before adding, “He’s just nine years old, Clarice. You keep saying he needs discipline and focus. I say he needs continuity and familiarity. He needs a home he can come to every afternoon and he needs the same person to be there, day in and day out, baking cookies, making his dinner, helping him with his homework.”

Clarice let out a sarcastic laugh. “You’re going to do that? Bake cookies and make his dinner?”

“Not me. Percy.”

She folded her arms. “Percy.” She said the name with a certain degree of cautiousness, perhaps because Percy was one of the few people in the world who Clarice actually respected.

“Why not? Jordan and Percy already have a great relationship, and Percy, I’m sure you’ll agree, is one of the most reliable persons you and I know.”

Clarice allowed a smile to touch her lips. “I can’t imagine him with Jordan on a permanent basis. The boy can be quite a challenge.”

“Percy can handle him. He’s already proven that.”

“And he would be willing to leave your father to care for a nine-year-old?”

“He wouldn’t be leaving my father entirely. We came up with an arrangement that will suit everybody. A few

hours a week, while Jordan is in school, Percy will go to my father’s house to do all the things that need to be done and—“

“No.”

John brought his leg down. “I beg your pardon?”

“The answer is no. I won’t give up custody of Jordan.”

“Why not? You can see him whenever you wish.”

“I’m his mother, John. I shouldn’t have to see him whenever I wish. The boy should be with me. A judge apparently thought so, too, or he wouldn’t have granted me custody.”

“That was before you became vice president of this company. He might feel differently now that you—“

“Stop throwing my position in my face,” she said heatedly. “Yes, my job takes me away occasionally, but so what? A lot of parents have obligations that include business trips. You don’t see them giving up their children.”

“You could put your career on hold for a few years.” That wasn’t the smartest thing he had ever said, but he couldn’t help it. She was pissing him off.

“And have you support me?” The way her mouth puckered told John what she thought of that idea. “No, thanks.”

“You don’t have to look at it as support. I’ve never touched a penny of my grandfather’s trust fund. You say the word and I’ll turn the whole thing over to you and Jordan.”

“I don’t want your damn money, dammit.” Her composure was starting to crack and that was never a good sign. “I want to work!”

“Fine then. Work. Move up the corporate ladder. Just let me have Jordan.”

She jumped out of her seat. “I can’t believe your arrogance, John. Walking in here, making demands, accusing

me of neglecting my child, claiming he’d be better off with a...butler than he is with me.”

“Percy would give him the attention he needs when I’m not there.”

“Your father put you up to this, didn’t he?” she asked almost viciously. “He’s never liked me.”