Dark Whispers (13 page)

She’d lied to secure her early retirement and for the money Rison Medical offered her. Money she needed for her husband’s treatments, but neither the money nor the treatments had saved him. He died anyway. On his deathbed he’d begged her to tell the truth. She had called Natalie. They’d met at the funeral home. She’d given Natalie the amended statement. That was the reason Natalie hadn’t remembered any of this when she was at her house today. She and Stuart had met at the funeral home where the poor woman had been picking out her husband’s coffin.

Natalie gasped for air.

The evidence was here.
Somewhere
.

If she had to take this room apart she would find it. She started with the desk. She removed drawers, dumping their contents on top of the desk, and then looking on the underside as well as in the cavity. When every single drawer in the room had been emptied, she moved on to the shelves and cabinets.

“What’re we looking for?”

Natalie dropped the books she’d moved from the shelf. Her heart launched into her throat. “Good Lord, you scared the hell out of me.”

Clint was at her side, retrieving the books before she could get a breath past the band around her chest. She might have helped him with the books if she hadn’t gotten lost staring at his naked torso.

“Where do you want these?”

Just watching his muscles bunch and flex as he reached and grabbed and then straightened made her wish for a long cool drink.

“What?”

“The books?” He held up two handfuls.

“Look through them for any document I might have hidden.”
Focus, Natalie
. “Then put them in the stack over by the chair.”

She turned back to the bookshelves.
Keep your wits
. This was too important to be thinking about anything else.

As they rifled through book after book, looked on top of and under every item in the room, she explained her most recent memories.

“I don’t understand.” She braced her hip against the desk and rubbed her temples with her fingertips. The inability to find what she absolutely knew she had possessed was so damned maddening. “It has to be here.”

He turned the leather executive chair upside down as if it weighed nothing at all and made sure nothing was taped on the under side. “At least now you know you had evidence.”

“If I can get Mrs. Stuart to talk, I won’t need the evidence. Her husband urged her to tell the truth. I can use his final wish as leverage.”

Clint placed the chair back on its wheels. “It’s been two years. His dying wish may not carry as much weight now.” He threaded the fingers of one hand through his hair.

Natalie so needed something to relieve her dry throat. “True. I guess when I failed to follow through she decided to put it all behind her. Now her life is about self-preservation. I can understand that.”

He came around to her side of the desk. “You should go back to bed.”

This close, his scent enveloped her, made her want to lean into him. Memories of the way he’d kissed her had her knees growing weak.

“Don’t look at me that way, Natalie.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she lied.

“You’re just getting your life back and you still have a long way to go. You don’t need a man like me.”

She dared to touch him, the slightest brush of her fingertips across his contoured chest. His skin felt hot and so smooth. “What kind of man are you?”

Those dark brown eyes blackened. “A man with a not-so-appealing history that too often comes back to haunt him.”

“That part of your past is irrelevant to me.” Her heart pounding, she reached up and touched his lean jaw, trailed her fingers along the sharp angle and traced the softer, fuller ridge of his lips. She trembled while he stood stone still. “You aren’t attracted to me? Your kiss said differently.”

He curled his fingers around her wrist and pulled her hand away from his face. “The kiss was a mistake. A lapse in judgment. You hired me to help you solve this case. Have you changed your mind? Maybe you’ve decided you want to hire the man I used to be.”

She watched his lips move as he spoke and she wanted to feel them against hers again more than she wanted to draw in her next breath.

He backed her against the desk and pressed her down onto the cluttered surface, his face not an inch from hers, his body crushed intimately against hers. “Are you sure this is what you want?” He brushed his lips across hers. “I can pleasure you like no one else ever has.” He tasted her mouth again. “I can touch you so intimately you won’t ever think of sex the same way. Is that what you want?”

She couldn’t speak...she whimpered.

“Tell me that’s what you want. That you want me to do this now. Here. And I’ll do it.”

Anger flared in his eyes.

He didn’t want this.

He didn’t want her.

She flattened her hands against his chest. “Get off me.”

“I thought this was what you wanted,” he growled.

“No.”

He moved off her so fast, she lost her balance just lifting herself up.

He stood at the window staring out into the darkness. His arms folded over his chest. The rigid set of his shoulders told her he was furious.

Part of her wanted to apologize but the other part, the needy woman inside, wanted to demand why he didn’t want her. She’d thought he did when he kissed her that once.

She chose the coward’s way out. “Good night.”

He said nothing as she left the room.

Tomorrow morning she was going back to see Imogene Stuart. And then she was getting justice for the Thompson family.

Chapter Thirteen

Southwood
Road
Saturday, September 24, 8:30 a.m.

Clint poured the remainder of his second cup of coffee down the drain. He rinsed the cup and set it on the counter. He should apologize for his behavior last night. Natalie was not speaking to him this morning. She’d taken her coffee into her home office and closed the doors.

He’d walked past the door half a dozen times. From the sounds on the other side she was either still searching for the evidence Stuart had given her or she was attempting to organize the mess she’d made last night. He should offer to help.

No. He plowed his fingers through his hair. Spending too much time in a confined space with her was a bad idea. He braced his hands on the sink and stared out the window. His freshman year in college he’d learned to disengage emotionally with the blink of an eye. The call came and he stepped into character. It was that simple. In the beginning the need to disengage was about survival. He turned off his emotions and turned on the charm along with his physical prowess. He’d done his research, learned how to give what his client wanted even if the client didn’t know how to articulate the desire. The human body had all sorts of pleasure points. He learned how to manipulate each one.

He hadn’t gone looking for the work that had changed his life. Supply and demand—that had been the name of the game. He hadn’t been naive. He’d recognized his looks were his most readily marketable asset. So he wrangled a fake driver’s license that said he was twenty-one and hit the classier bars in hopes of landing a bartender position. He knew how to work a crowd and he was banking on good tips keeping his rent paid.

Regrettably for him, that year it seemed every damned body wanted to tend bar. After the tenth rejection he’d basically given up. An older man, probably Clint’s age now, had stopped him as he left the last ill-fated interview. Clint remembered being impressed with his suit and the Rolex he wore. The man had explained how Clint could earn all the money he would ever need. Women with only money to keep them company would gladly take care of him for a little attention. Of course he’d resisted the idea at first. When an eviction notice landed on his apartment door, he did what he had to do.

He refused to regret his decision or the time he’d spent giving his clients pleasure whether it was nothing more than an escort to a dinner party or it was a no-holds-barred all-nighter.

In all these years since he’d left that part of his life behind, he hadn’t been able to teach himself to engage emotionally. Relationships never lasted. Until he’d joined the SPU he’d even avoided maintaining friendships. He had spent his entire adult life dodging emotional entanglements. Period. The problem was the past two years working with Jess and the team had undone most of his hard-earned indifference and desire for solitude.

He watched the people he considered friends form permanent bonds and have children and suddenly he felt the building need to have those things, as well. It was the proverbial want what you can’t have syndrome. Or, in his case, it was what he didn’t know how to have.

“I’d like to apologize.”

Clint turned around, surprised that Natalie had managed to get as close as the kitchen doorway without him sensing her approach. “Apologize for what?”

Her shoulders stiffened ever so slightly. He liked the soft blue sweater she wore. It matched her eyes. The jeans did a stellar job of reminding him of all those lush curves he’d felt beneath him last night. Desire stirred at the memory.
Very bad move
.

She brought her cup to the sink. He stepped aside. She rinsed the cup as he had and placed it on the counter. “I’ve allowed the stress and uncertainty to cloud my judgment. I haven’t been thinking clearly.” She met his gaze. “Rest assured it will not happen again. I’d like to pay another visit to Imogene Stuart. Since I can’t find the evidence she gave me, perhaps I can convince her to cooperate.”

He was supposed to be happy to hear this news. She’d just taken full responsibility for his misstep. Instead, he wanted to kiss her until she admitted she wanted him as desperately right now as she clearly had last night. The concept that touching her or kissing her might not happen again was unacceptable, yet she was right. It could not happen again.

His cell vibrated, preventing him from repeating last night’s stupidity. He answered without checking the screen, which would have required he take his eyes off hers and for some ridiculous reason he couldn’t do that. “Hayes.”

“It’s Lori. Imogene Stuart is dead.”

Clint looked away from the concern gathering in Natalie’s eyes. He didn’t want her to see the defeat in his own. This was a major setback. Potentially, Stuart was the only person who could confirm what Natalie remembered about the Thompson case. “What happened?”

“Her daughter came to pick her up for a weekend trip they had planned. When she didn’t answer the door she went inside and found her still in bed. She thought she’d had a heart attack or maybe a stroke, but the ME says she was suffocated. We think the perp used her pillow. Sometime between midnight and three this morning.”

Damn. “Was anything taken from the house?”

“There’s no indication of forced entry. Nothing out of place. The daughter doesn’t believe anything is missing, but she’s pretty upset.”

Clint blew out a disgusted breath. “They took the only thing that mattered.” Stuart was dead, her life stolen. The truth snatched again from the Thompson family. Natalie would be left with regret for putting her in the line of fire with yesterday’s visit. She would shoulder the responsibility for the woman’s murder. “Let me know if you find anything or if the family knows anything at all about our case.”

“Will do,” Lori assured him.

Clint thanked her and ended the call. “That was Lori. Imogene Stuart is dead.”

“Was she...?”

He nodded.

Natalie pressed her hand over her mouth. Tears brimmed on her lashes.

“There doesn’t appear to be anything missing in her home. If she kept a copy of the evidence she gave you, it could be hidden there somewhere or in a bank deposit box. Lori will give us a hand on that end by searching thoroughly and questioning the family. At this point, that’s about all we can do.”

Natalie hugged her arms around her chest. “I want to talk to April, in person, and then I intend to talk to Vince.”

She was distraught and definitely not thinking clearly. “Do you think it’s a good idea to tip our hand since there’s a good chance Farago is involved on some level?” Natalie’s safety was Clint’s primary concern. As badly as he wanted to nail these bastards, he would not sacrifice her security.

“I intend to finish this before anyone else dies.”

When she would have walked out, he stopped her with a hand on her arm. The contact was like grabbing a live wire. The heat and energy rushed through his body. “It’s my job to finish this,” he reminded her, “but more important it’s my job to protect you.”

“Don’t worry.” She drew away from his touch. “I’m well aware of what you’re here to do.”

He supposed it was better for her to be angry with him than to keep testing the boundaries he struggled to maintain. His focus could not be divided—as tempting as taking what she’d offered was. The brain injury she’d suffered made her even more vulnerable. As foolish as the idea was, he didn’t want her to want him only to get through this hard time in her life. It was an irrational idea, but as hard as he worked not to be, he was only human.

Before entering the garage, he scanned for signs of entry during the night and then he checked his car for any indication of tampering. He’d learned the ways to protect himself from that kind of surprise. Alarm systems could be bypassed but there were other measures. Like the tape he’d put in strategic locations around the hood as well as the doors. He checked for loss of fluids and damage to the tires.

When he felt confident there were no surprises, he opened the passenger door for her and then climbed behind the wheel. She was focused inward, likely beating herself up for yesterday’s visit to Stuart.

He backed out of the garage. When the overhead door had closed, he rolled out onto the street and drove in the direction of her sister’s house. “This isn’t your fault, Natalie.”

“It is my fault. You mentioned that someone might be watching us and I disregarded that warning.”

He glanced at her, wished he could touch her. Damn him, last night had been the straw that broke the camel’s back. Beyond that one kiss, he’d managed fairly well to restrain his desire for her—his need to touch her—and then he’d gone stupid and tried to scare her off. All he’d actually done was push himself over the edge he’d been avoiding for years.

“The people responsible for this want you to feel that way. Don’t give them the satisfaction, Natalie. They did this. You tried to stop them once and they almost killed you. Now you’re back, fighting for justice again.”

She shook her head. “If we can’t find proof of what really happened in the Thompson case, they’ll get away with it. Mrs. Stuart will have died for nothing. If my brain would work right...maybe...”

He spared her a glance, the worry in her eyes making his gut clench. “We won’t let that happen.”

She stared straight ahead. “You’re right. We have to find the truth. The Thompson family and the Stuart family deserve justice and I want my life back.”

He wished he could promise her the kind of outcome she and those families deserved. Unfortunately, even if they found the evidence she needed, he suspected some things would never be the same again. Too many of the people she cared about were involved and the TBI would always have an impact on her life.

There were some things that couldn’t be undone. They would know soon enough if her sister had played a part that couldn’t be taken back. Certainly Vince Farago had. His actions may have been with the full knowledge of Rosen. How often did such a big case get turned around at the last moment without the involvement of the upper echelon of the hierarchy?

Never.

18th Avenue South, Five Points
10:20 a.m.

N
ATALIE
STARED
AT
her cell. “April never goes anywhere without her cell. I don’t understand why she hasn’t called me back or at least responded to my text.”

“Maybe she’s at the spa.” Clint hoped her sister was just out spending her husband’s money. “You sure about this?” He glanced at the craftsman-style cottage that sat on a postage-stamp-size lot in one of the city’s most highly sought after neighborhoods. Vince Farago had good taste if nothing else. Bastard.

Natalie followed his gaze. “I’m sure. I’m only a couple of years late.”

Clint wasn’t so certain. A confrontation with Farago or maybe even Natalie’s trust in him likely had set the events of two years ago in motion. Someone at the firm had learned what she was doing and taken steps to stop her. Whatever Farago or one of his cronies had done then, he wouldn’t have the opportunity to do it this time.

They exited the car and walked up the cobblestone path leading to the sprawling front porch that was larger than the front lawn. Farago wasn’t married but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a companion inside. Proceeding with caution was necessary. Until this was over, the last thing they needed was word to get out that Natalie Drummond was delving into the Thompson-Rison Medical case. There were far too many legal issues that might put a stop to their investigation.

Clint rang the bell and waited. Farago showed up at the door wearing jeans and nothing else. He stared at them for a moment before opening the door as if he understood he wasn’t going to like the purpose of their visit and certainly didn’t want the neighbors overhearing.

“What an unexpected surprise,” Farago said, his tone as well as his posture suggesting their visit was no surprise at all. “I was just about to have coffee,” he went on. “Come in. Join me.” He glanced at Clint, but his gaze lingered on Natalie the longest.

Clint wondered if the two had shared more than a working relationship. Not that he could blame Farago. Natalie was a beautiful, smart, sophisticated woman. She deserved a hell of a lot better than either of the two men staring at her just now.

“We need to talk,” Natalie told him, her voice cold.

Farago ignored her icy tone and closed the door behind them. Beyond the entry hall, the living space had been opened up into one large room that looked out over downtown Birmingham.

“Nice view,” Clint commented.

“I hear yours is better.” Farago picked up a glass and downed the orange juice.

“I wasn’t aware you kept up with my real estate ventures.”

“Only the ones that involve the most valuable residential real estate downtown.” He set the glass aside and reached for a mug. “You’re sure you won’t have coffee?”

“No thank you,” Natalie said with a firm shake of her head.

When Farago looked to Clint, Clint shook his head, as well.

“So.” Farago filled his cup. “What do the two of you want to discuss this morning? Frankly, I’m surprised to see you after the unpleasant exchange we had yesterday.” He looked from one to the other. “Don’t be shy, have a seat.” He gestured to the stools flanking the island.

Ignoring his invitation, Natalie demanded, “Tell me why you ignored the truth in the Thompson-Rison Medical case?”

Farago looked at her for a long moment then shrugged. “What truth are you referring to? We all have our own versions of the truth, after all.”

“The day before I ended up in the hospital fighting for my life, I learned the only truth that mattered in the case.” She moved closer to the island. “But I think you already knew that.”

He grabbed a piece of browned bread from the toaster and tore off a bite. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said between chews.

“Imogene Stuart told me everything.” Natalie shook her head. “She told me all about the cover-up. Even gave me the evidence I needed to prove it. But then I took that untimely dive down the stairs.”

Farago tossed the bread onto the counter. “What cover-up are you talking about?” He shot Clint a glance. “Has she had her meds this morning?”