Authors: Linda Howard
Her mouth fell open. “Are you out of your ever-lovin’ mind?” she snapped.
“It’s possible,” he agreed, “but I don’t think so.”
Amusement was the last thing he wanted to see on Madelyn’s face, but there it was, chasing out the astonishment. “Do you really think Jaclyn will go out with you after the way you’ve treated her?”
Eric had to tamp down the rush of anger. It wouldn’t help his case to go off on Jaclyn’s mother. But at the same time … to hell with it. “The way I’ve treated her? I’ve busted my ass to make sure she was cleared and protected, and done the best I could in a bad situation. Because we dated once, I—”
Madelyn’s head jerked back. “Dated? What’re you talking about? Jaclyn would have told me if she’d dated you.” The tone was very much the same she would have used if she was telling him her daughter would have told her if she had a fatal disease.
Probably Jaclyn had kept the news of their night together to herself because it hadn’t really been a date, and because she wasn’t the kiss-and-tell type—not that he could say that to Madelyn. “We’d just met,” he explained. “But because I knew Jaclyn personally, I had to be even more objective with her than I would have with anyone else, or I’d have been jerked off the case faster than you can spit. We’ve been shorthanded, so I did what I had to do. That doesn’t change how I feel. I’m interested in her—hell, I care about her—and when my partner gets back from vacation tomorrow, if I have to, I’ll take myself off the Edwards case so I can keep an eye on Jaclyn full time until the killer is caught.”
Was it his imagination or was there a subtle softening of Madelyn’s eyes? She was easy to read, more open in her expressions than her daughter. “Will the Hopewell P.D. approve that particular duty?”
“If they don’t I’ll take my vacation and do it on my own time.” And he would, too. He just hadn’t realized it until the words left his mouth. Like it or not, Jaclyn had become important to him.
Maybe Madelyn saw that, because her mouth relaxed, though a touch of sadness filled her eyes. “All right,” she said, then repeated it more firmly. “All right. I believe you. Go for it, young man, but I think you should know that Jaclyn has real trust issues.”
A jolt of anger made Eric’s spine stiffen, because too often, in his world, “trust issues” were directly related to physical abuse. “Her ex?” he growled.
Madelyn sighed and shook her head. “Nothing so dramatic, just a lifetime of dealing with her father. Maybe she’d have been better off if I’d divorced Jacky when Jaclyn was still a baby. I knew even then that, well, let’s just say that Jacky Wilde is a walking emotional disaster. Not to himself—Jacky always looks after number one—but to everyone around him. All her life Jaclyn has been collecting broken promises from her father, and that’s something that’s hard for a child to get past even when she’s all grown up. Then her own marriage fell apart so fast … She’s afraid to trust herself, much less a man.”
And in Jaclyn’s eyes, he hadn’t exactly proven that he trusted her, or that she could trust him. In fact, the opposite was true, not that he could have handled the situation any differently. Still, he felt as if he was on more solid ground now, because he not only understood exactly what he was up against, but maybe now he had someone on his side. He probably wouldn’t have stood a chance if Madelyn disapproved of him, but with her understanding and support he at least wasn’t going under for the third time.
As the photographer was finishing up, Jaclyn saw Eric talking to her mother and a stupid but powerful rush of panic made the blood roar in her ears. The only thing they could possibly have to talk about was her, which made her feel as exposed and vulnerable as if someone had walked in on her in the shower. Lovely. She’d feel a lot better about it if her mother continued to scowl at him, but even as she watched, Madelyn’s expression changed, softened.
Great.
Then the doors were opened, and the guests began to file into the room. Instead of a sit-down dinner there was an impressive hot buffet, and round tables, each seating eight, were arranged around the glossy hardwood dance floor. The bride had suggested the more informal setup so her friends and family would be able to mingle, visit, have a good time. There was informal, and then there was so casual shoes weren’t required. She couldn’t help contrasting this reception with the one the day before, and an unwilling smile tugged at her lips. She had regaled the others with tales from
Hee Haw
Hell, as Bishop had named it, but she’d also had to admit that in the end she’d had a blast.
For a while Jaclyn was too busy with her duties to think about Eric Wilder … almost. Every time she turned around he was there, directly in her wake or just a few steps away, watching. His alertness worried her, made her wonder if he knew something he hadn’t told her. He had a history of not telling her stuff.
She took a quick survey of the crowded room and had an unpleasant surprise. Movers and shakers stuck together, so she should have expected that she’d recognize two of Carrie’s bridesmaids. If they were here—and that struck her as kind of cold, considering tonight was the funeral home visitation for Carrie—then how many other people in the room had been connected to Carrie? That gave her a chill, because likely Carrie’s killer had been someone connected to her.
Suddenly she felt hideously exposed again, but this time in a very real, imminent-danger kind of way. Her head kept swiveling as she looked from face to face, until finally she thought she had to take a break or scream from the tension. The reception was proceeding well, people still filing in and offering congratulations to the bridal couple, and until it was time for the cake to be cut her duties were on hold. She grabbed a cup of punch, nonalcoholic, took a long sip, and retreated to a quiet nook where at least she didn’t feel as if a gun was pointed at her back. All she wanted was a minute of solitude to get her nerves under control—
As if Eric would allow her that luxury.
He walked up, leaned against the wall beside her. “We need to talk,” he said in a lowered voice.
How many times had he said some variation of that?
“Something’s going on, isn’t it?” she asked nervously.
“Yes.”
She sucked in a quick, shallow breath. “Okay. What do you need me to do?”
“Just watch everyone as they come through the reception line. That’s all. Tell me if anyone rings a bell.”
She went pale. So she was right. The killer was here—at least, the person Eric thought was the killer was here, and what he thought was good enough for her to be scared.
“I can’t stand here forever,” she muttered some time later. “I really, really need to visit the ladies’ room.”
“Okay,” he said, his expression unreadable, but Jaclyn thought he was disappointed. He’d hoped she would recognize someone—the gray-haired man, obviously—but the only people she’d definitely recognized were the two bridesmaids. She had carefully examined everyone, not just the gray-haired men, but no one had seemed familiar to her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, wishing she’d been a better witness. More than anyone, she wished she’d been a better witness! “I know I’m no help.”
“I wish you could make an identification,” he said, “but I definitely don’t want you to say you recognize someone when you don’t. That would hurt the case, not help it. And sometimes, eliminating people is as important as including them, because that helps you know who’s left.”
That made sense. She didn’t think he meant it, but it made sense.
She wound her way through the knots of wedding guests as she made her way out of the main ballroom. Long before she reached the doorway, he was following in her footsteps, watching.
And he saw her walk past Senator and Mrs. Dennison. Not close by them, but close enough that Mrs. Dennison saw her, recognized her as one of the event planners. It figured that she would notice things like that. The senator’s back was turned; he didn’t see Jaclyn and she didn’t see him. Eric held his breath, hoping Jaclyn made it past without being spotted, because while he’d wanted her to see the senator he sure as hell didn’t want the senator to see her, especially this close to him.
Mrs. Dennison gave a quick smile, reached out, and caught Jaclyn’s arm, stopping her. Eric picked up his pace, all but shoving his way through the crowd. Senator Dennison continued talking to some other man and for a second Eric thought Jaclyn would make it through, but then Mrs. Dennison reached for her husband’s arm, getting his attention so she could introduce the two.
Eric wasn’t close enough to hear what was said, but he was close enough to see the senator lose every bit of color in his face. And Jaclyn was smiling, her calm, gracious manner never revealing that she was dying to pee. She even chatted for a few minutes, before excusing herself and continuing on toward the bathroom.
Senator Dennison stared after her with an expression gone as cold and blank as a statue’s.
Since Friday night’s failed attempt, it had been impossible to find another opportunity. Jaclyn hadn’t been back to her town house; she was staying somewhere else, and locating her during the day so she could be followed hadn’t worked out. No one seemed to know what event she was working; either that, or no one was saying. But now here she was, and following her from here would be easy.
In a way, it might make sense to wait a while longer before trying again. Locating her was the hard part. Just find out where she was staying, then let things rest. Eventually the cop would let his guard down; he’d have to leave Jaclyn on her own at some point. Eventually she’d go home. But what if Jaclyn remembered what she’d seen Wednesday afternoon before that happened? What if something—a visual, a scent, a dream—jogged her memory? The cops might try hypnosis or something, and then it was over. Done and done. Once the cat was out of the bag, it couldn’t be put back in.
Today. Like it or not, complications or not, Jaclyn Wilde had to die today.
Chapter Twenty-six
TAITE SAT IN THE BORROWED CAR, WHICH WAS IN THE
shade of a tree across the street from the huge church and reception hall. The businesses in the redbrick building behind her were all closed on a Sunday afternoon, so she had the parking lot to herself.
She kept her eyes on the building across the street, waiting and watching. Discovering that Jaclyn Wilde would be there hadn’t been nearly as difficult as finding her Friday night. This was a big wedding, perhaps the wedding of the summer now that Carrie’s had been called off. She supposed you could say the wedding had been called off, given that the bride had been killed. Anyway, a lot of the people who came into the boutique talked about their plans as they shopped, which was how she’d found out Premier was handling this wedding, and that meant Jaclyn would be there.
For the first time since this had all started, Taite was worried. Since yesterday morning, the Hopewell cops had been calling her again. Detective Wilder had left three messages, and the other one, Sergeant Garvey, had left one. Why were the cops calling her again? They couldn’t know about Friday night. There was no way.
Was there? How could there be? She’d been so careful. But for the first time, a trickle of uncertainty made her doubt herself and her plans.
Damn
Douglas and his fucking fund-raiser, his airtight alibi. His Friday-night appearance had been so public, he couldn’t offer her an alibi when she needed one. She’d provided him with one when he’d screwed up and was in a total panic, but when she needed him, was he able to reciprocate? Of course not. And this was all because of his stupidity, his lack of control. Douglas had his weaknesses—every man did. But she’d had no idea he could be so violent when pushed to the edge. If he’d only told her what was going on, she could have helped him. They could have come up with a plan, a good plan. Instead she was having to act spontaneously, and that was always dangerous.
Taite hadn’t been home since yesterday afternoon, and she’d turned off her cell phone hours ago, tired of hearing it ring and seeing the same numbers come up on the display. If the cops kept calling they’d eventually just show up on her doorstep, and she couldn’t be there when that happened. She needed time to construct an unshakable out-of-town timeline before she returned any of the official calls. She needed to psych herself up to present a completely provable case. A few phone calls, a few favors called in … she could make it work. Chicago, maybe. She made several trips a year to the city, and there were people there who owed her. The big thing was, she would have had to drive, because obviously her name couldn’t appear on a passenger list anywhere, which meant she had to come up with a good reason for driving.
Or Jaclyn Wilde had to die. Without her, anything they had against Doug would just fall apart. Taite had had his car cleaned, because he’d been stupid enough to park at the reception hall, stupid enough to let himself be seen, stupid enough to act without thinking and risk everything she’d worked so hard to build. Being his mistress had worked out better than she’d ever thought it would. She had his balls in the palm of her hand, and they both knew it. The fool had actually fallen in love with her, gave her everything she wanted, and now she was in danger of losing everything. But Taite thought she’d covered his tracks fairly well. Unless Jaclyn could identify him, no judge would risk making an enemy of a future U.S. senator by issuing a search warrant without overwhelming cause.
For Taite, the solution was very simple. Eliminate Jaclyn, the only person who could put Doug at the reception hall when Carrie had been killed, and her very nice life could go on without disruption.
She wished she could simply have hired someone to do the job, put a layer of deniability between herself and the act, but it wasn’t as if she had “hit man” on her speed dial. Besides, what assurance would she have that she could trust a hit man? Anyone who chose that line of work was automatically untrustworthy. Every so often a murder-for-hire would be reported in the news, and invariably it was some undercover cop a nitwit had tried to hire. She was determined not to be that nitwit. Besides, if she went that route she’d have to get rid of the hit man, too, once the job was done, and then she’d be back to square one. If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.
She was coldly furious with Doug; this was all his fault. He’d let Carrie goad him, let her trigger a momentous loss of temper. Kabob skewers, for God’s sake. If he’d wanted to get rid of Carrie it could’ve been done in a hundred different ways, all of them less ridiculous. Most of them wouldn’t have led right back to him. She could have helped him plan a method of disposal that would leave people wondering where Carrie had gone. She could’ve been another runaway bride, and eventually people would have stopped looking. It wasn’t as if anyone would actually miss Carrie, except maybe her parents, but if they had any brains at all it wouldn’t take them long to realize how much nicer their lives were now that Carrie was gone. God, she’d been such a bitch. Taite had always been amazed that Carrie had been able to turn on the sugar and fool people whenever she wanted.
But instead of careful planning, Doug had lost his temper and now here they were: Taite was left cleaning up his mess so her own life wouldn’t be ruined. Without Doug, her home would be taken away, her lifestyle would suffer. She wouldn’t even have the dream that one day he’d leave his bitch of a wife and marry her.
He owed her. He owed her big-time. When this was done he was going to owe her a shitload of diamonds, and maybe a beach house. Make that
definitely
a beach house.
If she got good at this, maybe Mrs. Hoity-toity Dennison could be next. It was the time crunch that made the planning of Jaclyn’s murder so difficult. Next time, she’d be able to plan properly.
Not that Fayre Dennison was the type to just up and disappear. Her murder would need very careful planning.
Douglas wasn’t getting off scot-free. No, this was his mess and he had to help clean it up. Taite knew she couldn’t very well drive all over town with no car tag, not after Friday night, and she didn’t dare let anyone see her own car in the vicinity of Jaclyn’s demise. So she was driving a borrowed car, one Doug had provided—one of Mrs. Dennison’s vehicles, a BMW sedan. Taite thought that was a hoot. She almost wanted to be seen—well, the car, not her personally—so the high-and-mighty Mrs. Dennison could be grilled about her whereabouts this afternoon. Wouldn’t it be cool if she didn’t have an alibi? If the cops began to think that maybe Mrs. Dennison killed Carrie to keep her out of the family?
In fact, it might be a good thing if someone did take note of the car. Taite wore gloves, so she didn’t have to worry about prints, and the hat and sunglasses made a decent disguise, at least from a distance. All she had to do was get off one good shot, then get the hell out of Dodge and ditch the car somewhere. It would eventually be found, but the important thing was there wouldn’t be anything to link her to it.
It was early in the evening but still light out—ah, summer—as the bride and groom made their getaway. Finally! Taite was getting a little cramped, sitting in the car for so long, and her hands and head were sweating beneath the gloves and hat. Soon after the bride and groom departed, wedding guests started climbing into their cars and making their getaways, car after car peeling out of the lot, heading in all directions. No one paid the car across the street any attention at all. Taite had made certain she was parked at the back of the lot, in the shade, so even if anyone glanced in her direction the car might look empty.
She even saw Doug and his bitch wife leave. Good. Now no one could place Mrs. Dennison at the church while Jaclyn Wilde was getting killed somewhere else. Now it would be Doug’s word against his wife’s, and the evidence would point to her. It struck Taite as a neat solution.
Finally, Jaclyn Wilde left by the side door. Twilight was deepening by then. She wasn’t alone; she never was, damn it. There were two older women and a pretty black girl with her. They all hugged, and after a few words headed for separate parts of the parking lot. One of the women headed for a Jag that looked just like Jaclyn’s. Taite had wondered about that car when she’d seen it in the lot, had wondered if somehow Jaclyn’s car had been repaired and returned so soon. It hadn’t seemed likely, but the detail had jarred her. Nice to know there was a logical explanation.
Naturally, Detective Wilder was close by, following Jaclyn out to the parking lot. Taite was almost glad. The job she had to do would be easier if she could get Jaclyn alone, but he could go, too. She might as well get two birds with one stone, if she could. It would be best if she could concentrate on one at a time, Jaclyn first and then Wilder, but she didn’t know what the night might bring. Besides, killing a cop wouldn’t be so easy, and would rain all sorts of hell down on the scene, but she was prepared for anything. If she had the chance, she’d take it, just because he’d been such a pain in the ass.
“Where are you staying tonight, Jaclyn?” Taite whispered. She wondered if the wedding planner and the cop had come here in one car, wondered if that would make things easier or harder. It didn’t really matter. From here on out she was going to have to play it by ear. When an opportunity presented itself, she’d make her move.
Jaclyn got into a Toyota, and Taite had to grin. Boy, wasn’t that a comedown from the Jag? Detective Wilder continued walking, and now that the parking lot was mostly empty she could spot his car, at the far end of the lot. Separate cars, then. Probably just as well. Somehow, some way, she needed to get Jaclyn Wilde alone. A few seconds were all she needed.
Jaclyn said she just wanted to get back to her hotel room and fall into bed. Alone. Eric suspected she didn’t
really
want to do that, but she thought it would be best that way. She was protecting herself from him, which annoyed the hell out of him but at least now he understood where her objections were coming from. He didn’t intend to give up, though; they had something good. At the very least, they had something that had the potential to be very good, and eventually she’d admit it.
“I’ll go straight to the hotel,” she promised. “You don’t have to follow me to the hotel and lock me in.”
“Yeah, I kinda do.”
She looked momentarily exasperated, but then she cast a glance over her shoulder at the church, and visibly shivered. “It’s okay,” he said gently. For now, anyway. Nothing could happen to her on his watch, because he couldn’t live with himself if it did. Friday night’s attempt had been too damn close, and the thought of how close she’d come to a bullet still sent his blood running cold.
She nodded tiredly, then unlocked her car and tossed her purse into the passenger seat. “I’ll be right behind you,” Eric said, and continued walking toward his car.
She had to wait on some traffic, so even though he had to walk farther, he was right behind her as she left the lot. She drove the speed limit, and stuck to the slow lane. He wondered if she did it to annoy him, and grinned at the thought. Everyone knew cops drove faster than the speed limit; it was kind of a job requirement.
Traffic was light, so as he followed her Eric had plenty of time to think, to consciously admit some things to himself. He wanted her. Not just for a night here and there, not for a date or two. She’d gotten under his skin in a big way, and he might as well not fight it. He wanted her, bad coffee, trust issues, and all. It had been a long time since he’d wanted anyone or anything this damn bad. He even liked the way she poked at him, like she was doing now with her overly cautious driving. If this was her normal mode of driving, she wouldn’t have been paying a speeding ticket the first time they’d met.
His gaze was on her taillights, and his mind was definitely elsewhere, so the red light caught him off guard. He’d have been tucked right on her ass, otherwise. Jaclyn made it through on yellow. Was she trying to get away from him? Trying to annoy him? It wasn’t like he didn’t know where she was headed. Had she run through that light because she was driving as absentmindedly as he was, and maybe for the same reason? Maybe she was thinking about last night, or last week, or the possibilities for tonight. Even better, maybe she was thinking about the possibilities for next week, or next year.
After checking oncoming traffic and finding none, Eric thought about going through the red instead of waiting for the light to change, but a woman in a tight exercise outfit made a quick turn and popped into the crosswalk directly in front of him, jogging, her ponytail dancing with each step. He made a disgusted sound in his throat. She had to be the slowest damn jogger he’d ever seen.
Headlights suddenly loomed behind him. A light-colored car, a BMW, flew past him on the left, blowing through the red light and almost taking out the jogger. The woman jumped back, directly in front of Eric’s grill. She yelled at the car that had almost mowed her down, and then shot her middle finger toward the taillights.
Directly ahead the street shifted from four lanes to two, with turn lanes in between, and oncoming traffic began blaring horns at the Beamer. The Beamer swerved, then sharply pulled in right behind Jaclyn. Damn, that had been close.
And why take the chance of running the red light, and getting ahead of exactly one car? The payoff was way too small for the risk. Except—
“Shit!”
Eric popped the red light onto his dash, turned it on, and lowered his window to scream at the jogger, who was still standing in front of his car staring at the offending BMW. “Lady, get the fuck out of the way!”
The woman turned sharply, anger plain on her face. Maybe she’d been about to argue with him, maybe shoot him a bird, too, but she saw the flashing cop light and obeyed, lurching back onto the sidewalk. As he shot past her he saw her smug, vindicated expression as she sent a “gotcha” smile down the road.
Jaclyn and the other car were too far ahead of him. He could feel every foot that separated him from her, panic moving like shards of ice through his veins. If he were right, he couldn’t get there in time. He knew it. He could see it happening in front of him, and there was nothing he could do about it. To make things even worse, as he shot through the intersection another car made a right turn in front of him, slowing him down even more. No one seemed to be registering the light yet; oncoming traffic wasn’t moving to the side, and the asshole in front of him wasn’t pulling off the road.