Truth & Tenderness (23 page)

Matt let out a heavy sigh and walked around the small living room. Jim—well, Evan looked up and saw Jim was frozen, intent on Alex’s shaking form.

“Did she say why he wanted the information?”

Alex shook his head.

Biting his tongue, Evan exhaled. “So this woman tells you she’ll pay for the information. How much?”

“Five thousand dollars for the security codes in the office, another grand for me to disconnect the sprinklers.”

Matt made a disgusted sound from across the room.

“Just tell me his name, the guy who paid you,” Jim said suddenly, set on full glower, imposing his sheer size over the kid’s still form.

“He didn’t give me his name. Just a bunch of cash. We met out at Newark Airport. He flew in from Canada and—”

Jim interrupted, a note of anger in his voice that made Alex cringe and Matt snap to attention. “Where in Canada?”

“Um, Toronto. We met in the United lounge.”

“Matt” was all Jim had to say.

Matt was already doing a search on his phone. He turned it to Alex after he found what he wanted. “This the guy?”

Alex squinted at the picture, then nodded. “Yeah. His hair’s different and he’s gained some weight, but that’s him.”

Evan leaned over to see what Alex was looking at. His stomach dropped when he saw Tripp Ingersoll’s face staring back at him.

E
VAN
RETURNED
to a crime scene in chaos. The press had settled at the front of the building, already updated on the situation. Multimillionaire Bennett Ames was the victim of a break-in and possible arson.

“Erin, it’s me again. I need crowd control at the entrance,” Evan snapped into his phone as the press on the fringes recognized the police captain in their midst.

They turned around and focused their attention on him. Half the press corps wanted to know if crime was on the rise in the neighborhood and the other half wanted to know if this had to do with Bennett and Daisy’s divorce.

Evan paused to take a deep breath before waving his hands to get their attention. “I have no comment at this time. We’ll schedule a press conference at the precinct when we have more information.”

Behind him, he heard the siren of a newly arrived car.

“Contact the press office for information,” he said before turning and heading for the sidewalk.

A black-and-white had taken Alex in for booking while Jim and Matt met Evan back at his office. No one talked. It seemed like they were all stewing in their own concerns.

Evan slammed the door, shaking up the quiet.

“So you’ve been illegally investigating Trip Ingersoll,” Evan said, trying to keep his anger in check. “That’s something.”

Jim didn’t sit down. He stood with his legs apart and his arms crossed over his chest. “I was gathering information, which I then shared with the police who have jurisdiction over one of the murders. What they choose to do with it is not my concern.”

“Right.” Evan flopped in his chair. “How’d he find out what you were doing?”

“A reporter called me on my way back from Oregon.” Jim slumped the tiniest bit. “There must be a leak in the Ashland Police Department,” he said. “What concerns me the most is that if he was coming back from Toronto, that means he met with his wife, Tracey.” His mouth slid into a tight line after that, and Evan flexed his hands into fists until the urge to punch something passed.

“We need to make sure she’s all right,” Matt offered, but Jim didn’t say anything.

Evan pulled everything together, tucked it all neatly into his game face. “I’ll call the Toronto PD. Jim, just write down everything—how you contacted her, where you met.” Evan pushed a pad and pen in Jim’s direction. “I’m going to call the FBI as well, just to give them a heads-up. Let’s see if we can contain this.”

T
HEY
COULDN
’
T
contain it. The damage done to Bennett’s offices started a round of front-page news. A new resident—famous, rich, able to afford the best security—the victim of a deranged stalker or disgruntled ex-employee or maybe just another example of this neighborhood going to hell.

Most of the papers kept their histrionics in that direction, but the
Post
had a hatchet job on all of them so thorough that Matt knew it was personal. His own checkered past was the lead, with a bit on Jim being sued back in Seattle and Evan’s personal relationship with “one of the suspects.”

Matt was a suspect?

Fuck them.

Matt burned with the shame of having his past thrown up again, and watching Jim and Evan get thrown under the bus pissed him off to no end. He hid in his home office, brooding and alone, ignoring calls from Liz and Vic, even his old partner, Abe.

Not again. He didn’t want any of this again.

Evan didn’t even bother to promise to be home. With Casper gone from his PR liaison role, Evan was managing the press deluge with personnel loans from the main office. None of them seemed to be able to direct the masses toward something less tabloid. No one gave a shit about parking or congestion, but this was a story they could get extra mileage out of. Recognizable names, lurid details.

Jim was hidden at the penthouse with Griffin, Daisy, and little Sadie. Bennett stayed at a hotel down the street because Griffin refused to sleep in the same space as him. A few clients had put projects “on hold” for various reasons, but most of their base was still gung ho. Matt made calls for hours, remained charming even though he wanted to punch a wall.

Then there was the brass.

Evan didn’t tell him, and that was the rub. He had to hear from Helena.

H
ELENA
BREEZED
into Evan’s office with two humongous cups of coffee and Shane, who was carrying his computer. She had been classified “not on active duty” as the NYPD tried to woo her into picking something else instead of resigning.

So she decided, as announced to Evan, that she and Shane would assist him during this incredible clusterfuck.

“What do we need?” Helena asked breezily, setting Shane up on the sofa and giving herself a corner of Evan’s desk.

“Statements clarifying that this isn’t some incredible soap opera full of melodramatics. A cloning machine and one of those thingamajigs from
Men in Black
.” Evan took the proffered coffee and fell on it like a starving man.

“I’m on the statements, but if you can find a
Men in Black
thingy, I’ll buy two,” Shane said, opening his laptop.

“How about me?”

Evan looked Helena up and down. She was wearing a mint green lightweight suit and white blouse with pearl earrings and a gold watch. Everything about her was polished and perfect—like Casper, but at least he knew he could trust her with his very life. He picked up the phone and asked the operator to connect him with the PR department. He had a good idea for Casper’s replacement.

“I’m not saying yes on a permanent basis,” Helena said primly, sitting across from Evan with her hands folded on her lap. “I’m going to need to see a salary and benefits package.”

Two senior NYPD officials showed up unannounced at his door a few hours later. Helena and Shane disappeared quickly. Evan offered them chairs and coffee.

They didn’t want anything.

“Evan, we’re a little concerned about this… problem you seem to be having,” said Mr. Higgins. “This precinct is a positive in the shitstorm of crime in this city. You were given it so you’d have every opportunity to prove yourself. And now? All my good press from this place is in the shitter.” His thick round face turned red with anger. “I have stories pointing out your relationship to the man involved with the break-in—”

“No, excuse me. Two things, Mr. Higgins—you knew about Matt when you approached me. Period. That hasn’t changed. And he wasn’t involved, as evidenced by the arrest of the man on accessory charges. He admitted to selling the codes.”

“Yes, I know. We can read.” Mr. Alsta pulled out a cell phone. “But there isn’t much to combat when the Ingersoll lawyers are screaming that Jim Shea has been stalking their client, trying to frame him for murder.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Evan snapped. He itched to point out they suspected Tripp in the break-in, but at this moment, he knew any speculation relating to Ingersoll would set the two men off.

“No, that’s page four of the
Post
and page eleven on the
Daily News
,” Mr. Higgins responded in the exact same tone.

“I want it to die down, Evan. I don’t want to see Mr. Shea or Mr. Haight in the papers, on the investigation, quoted or otherwise mentioned,” Mr. Alsta added. “And tell your boyfriend,” he said, his dislike clear, “to stay out of the investigation. This has to stop being such a mess—a mess attached to your name.”

Evan tightened his mouth into a flat line. “Of course.”

“I
TALKED
to Howard over in Ashland,” Jim said, shutting the study door behind Matt.

“What do they have?”

“The DA agreed with him. They’re issuing a warrant for Tripp in the next twenty-four hours.”

“He’s in Toronto.” Matt sank down in a chair, a headache throbbing behind his eyes. “Extradition, then—that’s going to be fucking ridiculous.”

He realized Jim wasn’t answering, and when he looked at his friend, he saw the expression on his face—and panicked. “What is going on?”

“We haven’t had a chance to talk about everything, but when I was in Ashland, Howard and I developed a theory,” Jim murmured. “About how Tripp got all these girls into his car, why Tracey could always alibi him.”

Matt’s stomach fell to his shoes. “You think she’s involved. Against her will, maybe—she left him…,” he tried.

“Or his parents have cut him off during their own split…”

Matt picked up the thread dangling. “And what? They divorce, she gets money.”

“She gets half of everything.”

A mirthless smile slid across Matt’s face. “Half of the stuff his parents won’t let him touch. Like trust funds.”

“They can keep him away from whatever they want.”

“But they can’t keep Tracey from it legally.” Jim kicked the nearest object, a sturdy leather sofa that trembled under the force.

“Jesus Christ.”

Matt had no idea what their next step was.

G
RIFFIN
THREW
his unread book onto the couch, rolling his head on his shoulders until his neck cracked.

Jim and Matt were holed up in the penthouse study, frantically discussing things Griffin was not privy to. Which, on a good day, was annoying as fuck. At the other end of the apartment, Daisy and Bennett were “having a serious talk” in the sunroom. Even the baby was asleep, leaving Griffin to his own devices.

He had no devices.

Work was paused; the wedding was paused—his life was fucking paused and nothing could be done about it. He almost called his father, but what could he say? “Screwed up again, considering applying for a job at Banana Republic”?

Bored and agitated, Griffin got off the couch and wandered around the penthouse.

He walked past the study twice, stepping on the creaky floorboard just because. On the third pass, when Jim opened the door and then stuck his head out, he pretended to be surprised.

“Come in here. We want to talk to you.”

In Bennett’s study—done in a serious man palette, missing only the animal skin rugs—Griffin settled on the couch. Matt sat in the desk chair and Jim took the chair closest to Griffin.

“What’s going on?”

“Jim and I have been talking to the Ashland cops today. A warrant’s been issued for Tripp in Oregon, but no one thinks he’s anywhere near there. We think he’s in Toronto.”

“Tracey,” Griffin said with a grimace.

Jim nodded.

Griffin put his hand over Jim’s. “Is she okay? Do we even know?”

Jim looked sick suddenly, white-pale and green around the gills.

“They’re traveling together,” Matt said softly.