When a Secret Kills (21 page)

Frank opened his eyes into a squint and tried to figure out where he was. An annoying beeping echoed in his left ear. Disinfectant teased his nose.

A hospital.

What happened?

He grunted and tried to move.

“He’s coming around, Doctor.”

Frank blinked again, but his eyes wouldn’t stay open.

“Frank, Senator Hoffman, can you hear me? You had a heart attack. You’ve had surgery. We’ve taken you off the respirator and you’re breathing on your own.”

Memories swept over him; the stress returned. Frank winced and decided he liked the blackness better. No pain, no thoughts, no dead governor to haunt him.

The doctors and nurses fussed over him and he just wanted them to go away and let him think. He’d had a heart attack and surgery. Well, what did he expect? Colton’s accusations from their lunch together swept to the surface. Cold fear surged. He needed to talk to Elliott. A sharp stab of pain hit him in the chest and he gasped.

“Just a moment, sir. I’ve got something for that pain, right here. Do you feel any nausea?”

Did he? “No.”

“Good. And here you go.” The nurse injected something into the port and Frank felt himself swimming off again. But first he had to know.

“What’s today?” he heard his voice croak.

“Thursday. You came in earlier and went immediately to surgery.”

Thursday. And Saturday was the reunion. He drifted, welcoming the darkness, the escape from the weariness that had become his life. No, he had a good life. A great life. One where Jillian could point her finger and declare him a murderer. Panic set in. Suffocating him.

He couldn’t let that happen.

Only he was trapped in a body that had betrayed him.

Think!

But he couldn’t.

The drugs worked fast and soon he returned to the blackness.

Colton stood in the three-car garage and stared at his uncle’s boat. Jillian and Hunter stood beside him. He’d thought about leaving her to ride back to the hotel with Blake, but he felt better off knowing she was with him.

One fact remained. His uncle was unconscious in the hospital. He wouldn’t be issuing any murderous orders today. If that’s what he’d been doing. And staring at the boat, he now had no more doubts, no rationalizations, excuses . . . nothing.

The smell of fresh paint assaulted him and sadness nearly crippled him. He looked at Hunter. “Guess you need to get a sample of that paint to compare to the cloth that Rick has.”

“Yeah.” Hunter’s voice was subdued, but he’d come prepared. He pulled out a small camera and took pictures. Once he finished with the pictures, he took out a tool and started scraping the paint into a small vial. “Want me to call Rick and have him come haul the boat?”

“Yes. He’ll need to go over it and see if there’s anything in there that can connect it with Serena’s house bomb.” Colton felt a muscle jumping in his jaw. He stood back and let Hunter do all the work. No sense in him messing up the investigation. He couldn’t work this anymore. At least not in an official capacity. Hunter and Dominic would have to keep him informed. The fact grated, but it had to be that way. Jillian hadn’t said a word since they’d arrived to find the boat in the garage.

And yet, he reminded himself, none of the evidence pointed to his uncle. Not yet.

If the paint on the boat came back a match to the paint on the cloth, then yes, there were some serious questions about his uncle’s involvement in the attempts on Jillian’s life.

Hunter made the call to Rick. When he hung up, the three of them turned to find Ian watching from the door. “Everything all right, Colton?”

“We’re going to find that out, Ian.” He took a deep breath. “Hunter’s gotten a warrant. Someone is going to come get the boat. It’s evidence in a case. Hunter’s going to stay with the boat until it’s hauled away.”

Ian lifted a brow and nodded without saying anything else, but Colton could read the questions and concern in the man’s eyes. Unfortunately, Colton couldn’t answer them right now.

While Hunter waited with the boat, Colton took Jillian by the arm and entered the house. He made his way through the sunroom, then out onto the porch where Jillian had said his uncle had murdered a man. He felt her stiffen and draw in a harsh breath. “Are you all right?”

“No.”

Her strangled answer worried him. “You want to leave?”

“Yes. No.”

“Okay.”

“Just let me stand here a minute.” He watched her glance to
ward the hall in the direction of his uncle’s office, then back to the sunporch. “It’s just like I remember.”

He tried to imagine the scenario like she’d originally described, but couldn’t picture it. Serena’s revelation that the governor had definitely not died in a car wreck but had indeed been shot had shaken him. The fact he’d been shot in the back had surprised them all.

That was a fact that didn’t jibe with Jillian’s story.

So what did he believe?

He could hear his aunt talking on the phone in the den, so he waited. He did not want to tell her everything he was going to have to tell her.

He waited five minutes. Then ten. Finally, he heard her footsteps coming toward him. “He’s still unconscious,” his aunt said from the doorway.

Colton turned and nodded. He’d expected as much.

His aunt eyed Jillian curiously. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Jillian said, her voice a bit breathless. “I’m Jillian.”

The phone rang again. His aunt sighed and closed her eyes for a brief second. When she opened them, she said, “That thing hasn’t stopped ringing since Frank went in the hospital. I hate not to answer, it might be the hospital.” She bit her lip as she eyed Jillian, then looked back at Colton.

He said, “It’s all right. Jillian knows almost everything about . . . everything.”

The phone demanded attention. His aunt drew in a breath. “All right. The notes are in his office. Why don’t you wait there? I’ll try to just be a minute.”

“Okay.” Colton took Jillian’s small hand in his and strode down the hall to slip inside his uncle’s sanctuary. He almost felt guilty, like he was trespassing and bringing a traitor with him.

But no, his uncle was the traitor, not Jillian.

He stepped to the side and studied the room that had been tastefully decorated by his aunt. She’d created a man’s space.
A heavy cherry desk dominated a large portion of the area. A leather couch lined one wall. A matching leather chair was behind the desk. Pictures of Frank with well-known people dotted the credenza behind the leather chair. The place was neat to the point of immaculate.

Colton walked to the credenza and picked up a picture.

“Nice office,” Jillian said from behind him.

“Yeah.” Colton frowned.

“Your aunt decorated it for him, didn’t she?”

He lifted a brow. “Yes.”

“I can tell.” She took a seat on the couch.

Hunter walked in and Colton asked, “Did Rick get here that fast?”

“No. Katie’s there supervising. I figured you might need some moral support.”

Colton gave his friend a sad smile. “I won’t turn that down.” Hunter didn’t have to say it, but they both knew it would be best to have another detective with Colton at all times. Just to keep everything aboveboard.

He studied the photo in his hand.

Frank, decked out in his Army uniform with his buddies from his unit around him, stared back with a slight smile and narrowed eyes. Special forces. His uncle had been trained to fight. To kill the enemy. And now Jillian was the enemy and his uncle was after her. Colton wondered if he too was considered an enemy. Would his uncle decide to get rid of him now that he knew Colton was a threat? A chill swept through him, followed by a wave of nausea. He couldn’t believe what he was thinking.

He put the picture back. Deciding to wait on the couch beside Jillian, he took a step toward it, then stopped. A small piece of paper lay just under the wheel of the leather chair.

The scrap stood out in the neatness of the room. Colton leaned down. The words made his heart skip a beat.

I KNOW WHAT YOU DID. TELL. OR I WILL.

Without a word he showed it to Hunter, who lifted a brow. “Who’s that from?”

Another chill shuddered through him as he read the words again. “I don’t know.”

Jillian? Would she do that? He looked at her and she looked just as confused as the rest of them. No. Surely not. But if not her, then who? Who else knew what happened that night and wanted the senator to know it? His gut twisted.

Aunt Elizabeth returned. “That was Carmen. She was at a friend’s house when I called. She’s on her way back to the hospital now.”

Colton nodded. “Is this one of the letters?” He pointed to it.

She read it and swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“There’s more?”

“Yes.”

Elizabeth swiped her palms down the front of her khaki pants, a nervous gesture Colton had never seen from her before. She looked at Jillian again. “Do you mind waiting in the hall?”

Jillian started, then shrugged. “Sure.”

She left the room and Colton frowned. He didn’t like her out of his sight.

Elizabeth walked to the desk and slid her hand under the drawer to pull out a key. She looked at Colton. “He keeps the drawer locked but taped the key to the bottom of it. Frank could never keep track of keys.”

Colton lifted a brow, but made no comment on his aunt’s actions. While he didn’t agree with the way she went about searching for evidence against her husband, obviously his uncle had given his wife a reason to doubt him. He felt a pang of hurt for the two of them. She slid the key into the lock and Colton heard the low click.

He opened the drawer and Elizabeth reached in to pull out a manila envelope. “I don’t need to read them again.” She motioned to the leather chair. “Have a seat.”

Colton’s eye caught a name written on a piece of paper in the desk. “Wait a minute. What’s this?”

Hunter pulled on a pair of gloves and reached in to grasp it. “It’s a name. Jillian’s name with a bull’s-eye drawn around it.”

He looked at his aunt. “Uncle Frank thinks Jillian Carter is sending these notes?”

“I don’t know. Like I said, he’s never mentioned the notes or her to me.” Her brow creased. “Is Jillian Carter the girl in the hall?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s ask her.”

“In a minute.” Colton opened the envelope. Then closed it. “This is evidence.” He handed it to Hunter. “You need to process it.”

She frowned. “Evidence? Evidence for what?”

Colton’s heart beat with a painful thud in his chest. He was going to have to tell her his suspicions. “Aunt Elizabeth, I need to talk to you about Uncle Frank.”

Wariness flashed in her eyes. “All right.”

“Someone has accused him of murder.”

She froze. Then lifted a brow and gave a cool little laugh. “Well, that’s just silly. Who’s making these accusations?” She paused and flicked her gaze toward the envelope still in Hunter’s hand, then toward the hall. “The person who sent those notes? This Jillian Carter girl? If she sent those notes, I want her out of my house. Don’t you understand what this has done to your uncle? And you dare bring her here?”

Her outrage cut through him, bringing a surge of guilt along with it. “I’m not sure if it’s the same person or not. I’m thinking not. I know Jillian and it’s not her style to send threatening notes, but we’ll let the lab see what they can find on those letters.”

“Find something like what?”

“Prints, for one. They’ll examine the kind of paper, the ink, everything.”

“And you’ll be able to track the person that way?”

“Possibly, if it’s a special kind of paper.”

“Then—” She stopped and waved a hand in dismissal. “That’s not important right now. Who is he supposed to have murdered?”

Colton glanced at Hunter, who nodded. “Harrison Martin.”

“Harrison?” She gaped at him.

“I know it sounds crazy, but . . . yes.”

“If someone has made this accusation against Frank, what’s going to happen?”

“Right now, there’s no proof.” Except some disturbing coincidences.

“So what’s going to happen?” she asked again. Anxiety pulled her brows into the bridge of her nose. He noticed the fine lines around her eyes for the first time.

Colton rested his hands on her shoulders. “Nothing for now. There’s still no proof that he’s done anything wrong.” Other than there was a bullet in the governor. A bullet Jillian said his uncle put there. And as soon as ballistics finished the report, he’d know if it was an antique bullet. Colton glanced at the gun collection on the wall. Which one?

Elizabeth fussed with the necklace at her throat. “What about the media? Do they have wind of this yet? That he’s been accused of murder?” She lifted a shaking hand to her lips. “Oh, this is just awful.”

Colton’s heart thumped in sympathy for his aunt. “No. Nothing about that yet. And we’re going to do our best to keep it that way.” At least until Frank was arrested. The thought sickened him, but it also felt inevitable. The pieces were slowly coming together. Soon, they’d have the big picture.

“Oh, he’ll be horrified. It’ll ruin his chances in the election.”

“That’s why we need to get to the truth before that happens.” He paused, then asked, “What can you tell me about the night Governor Martin died? June 6th, 2002.”