A Man to Trust

A Man To Trust

Cheryl Yeko

SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

New York

A MAN TO TRUST

Copyright©2012

CHERYL YEKO

Cover Design by Rae Monet, Inc.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Published in the United States of America by

Soul Mate Publishing

P.O. Box 24

Macedon, New York, 14502

ISBN-13: 978-1-61935-136-3

www.SoulMatePublishing.com

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

To my friend, Diana Molitor,

whose enthusiastic support helps keep me motivated,

even when my muse is missing in action.

Thanks, Diana!

First, I’d like to thank my editor, Debby Gilbert, for her encouragement and support with my manuscripts. 
I’d also like to thank my critique partners at Romance Rising Stars. Thank you for all the great critiques. A special shout out to two great authors, Callie Hutton and Liza O’Connor, who have only been a keystroke away when I’ve needed a fast critique or expert advice. Thank you!
I want to also thank my family for believing in me.  A big hug for my brother, David, for actually reading my romance novels.  And, of course, my mother, who is my biggest fan and most avid promoter.

Angela Beebe bit down hard on her lower lip and flung open her bedroom closet door. It had been over a year since Scott’s murder. Why did Detective Bauman want to meet with her again? They already had her testimony for the upcoming trial. She had nothing more to say.

She flipped through the hangers looking for an outfit to wear, something that would give her an extra boost of confidence.

Her stomach churned as her thoughts drifted back to the last time she’d seen her husband, Scott, alive. She had hated the sheer white dress he’d insisted she wear to the Milwaukee Repertory Theater that night. The way it clung to every curve, stopping at the tops of her thighs and molding tightly against her bottom. Its deep V neckline and low-cut back exposing more than it concealed.

A shudder rolled through her at the bitter memory
,
the unending despair at being forced into the role of Scott’s trophy wife.

Her cat rubbed against her leg and Angela jumped, bringing her back to the present. “Shelby,” she said with a shaky laugh, leaning down to pet her. “You startled me, girl.”

Her thoughts turned to the handsome detective with the piercing eyes and her heart raced. Jake Bauman, the detective who’d come to her home that late summer night and informed her of Scott’s death. He’d been gentle and caring, going out of his way to offer comfort. It had been so long since a man had shown her any respect or consideration, she’d treasured his kind actions.

Dark memories of her marriage crept in, and she tensed as waves of humiliation and anger rolled over her like a flash flood. She took a deep breath, clearing her mind of any idealistic thoughts regarding the detective. She had no room in her life to feel anything for a man. Ever again. Retrieving her cell phone from the nightstand, she hit speed dial for Stacey Holland, her one and only friend.

After her marriage, she’d lost most of her friends, driven away by Scott’s possessiveness. Angela sighed and brushed her bangs off her face, waiting for Stacey to pick up. After Scott’s murder and the media frenzy that surrounded it, she’d lost what few friends she had left. Except Stacey. Stacey had ignored the bad press and given Angela a job at her Baubles & Bangles Boutique in Wauwatosa, not far from Angela’s home, teasing that her notoriety brought in curious shoppers.

Angela pinned the cell to her ear with her shoulder when Stacey answered. She quickly brought Stacey up to speed on the situation as she searched through her closet for a pair of shoes.

“. . . I don’t know what he wants,” Angela complained.

“Damn, Angela. Do they still think you were involved in Scott’s drug operation?

She heaved a sigh of frustration. “Maybe.”

Angela reached for her favorite pair of black pumps with rhinestone buckles. Once free from Scott’s dominance, she’d thrown out all the clothes he’d forced her to wear, replacing the revealing garments with much more conservative outfits. Her first step toward erasing him and the control he’d held over her from her life. Except for the shoes. She had a weakness for beautiful shoes.

“Isn’t Bauman that gorgeous detective I saw on the news right after the murders?”

“Yes. That’s him,” Angela said wryly. “He must still think I single handedly murdered Scott and his minion and then dumped them into the lake.”

After Scott was connected to a major drug ring between Chicago and Milwaukee, she’d come under suspicion. Images of the dark-haired detective studying her with suspicious eyes flashed in her mind. The unpleasant taste of bitterness filled her mouth and her hand tightened on the hanger.

He’d looked at her as though she were a criminal. A woman of such low moral character she’d married a drug dealer and aided him with his illicit operations. Sold poison to children.

She searched through the closet until she found her long, black skirt. Tossing it on the bed with her shoes, she turned back to look for something to pair it with.

“Angela, I don’t think that’s true.” Stacey’s voice turned serious. “He’s just trying to do his job. Maybe if you told him the truth about your marriage he’d—”

Angela cut her off. “No. I’m not even going there.”

Stacey was the only one who knew anything about the hell that had been her marriage. She’d shared some of the details one evening over a bottle of wine. But even Stacey didn’t know the full extent of Scott’s abuse. She found it too painful to talk about. Her hand involuntarily moved to her breast, hovering over the scar that hid beneath her clothing.

Angela shook off her pity party. “Listen, why don’t we get together when you get back into town? I’ll be ready to unwind and have a glass of wine or three.”

Stacey’s soft chuckle floated across the line. “Okay, girlfriend. You’re on. I only have two days left at the Buyer’s Conference. How’s business been?”

“Busy.” Angela sat on the edge of the bed. “The new line of summer clothes you brought in has been a big hit.”

“Great. And how’s your grandmother? Did she get over that cold yet?”

“Yes. She’s much better, thank goodness.” Her grandmother recently moved into a retirement community that catered to the elderly, offering various social outings and activities throughout the year. Angela snorted. “If she and her friend hadn’t snuck into the center’s swimming pool in the middle of the night she wouldn’t have gotten a cold.”

Stacey chuckled. “I don’t know, sounded like a pretty good time to me, totally worth it. Especially when those two distinguished gentlemen from down the hall joined them.”

Angela smiled thinking about the antics of her grandmother. With her mother now gone, her grandmother was the only family she had left.

Stacey continued. “By the way, I’ve got a bunch of ideas from the conference and can’t wait to get back so we can brainstorm. My flight gets into Mitchell at four Wednesday afternoon. Why don’t you stop by around six? I’ll fix dinner. We can go over what I learned and you can tell me all about the inquisition.”

Angela laughed. “It’s a date.” She paused, a wave of emotion rolled over her bringing tears to her eyes. “And Stacey, thank you. I don’t think I could have gotten through this past year without you.”

“I’m sure you would have been just fine, hon. But, you’re welcome. Now, go knock ‘em dead.”

Angela ended the call and tossed the phone into her purse. She frowned, remembering the way she’d been treated like a suspect, interrogated and threatened with prosecution. Unable to link her to the crime, they’d been forced to release her.

Any comforting words the detective had for her the night of Scott’s death quickly turned to accusations. Intent on solving the crime, he’d focused on her as an accomplice. Not only with dealing drugs, but with double murder.

Well, she was done. Done with fear. It had been her constant companion for far too long. She’d been held powerless in its grip during her marriage. After Scott’s death, she’d feared Detective Bauman would unjustly link her to her husband’s misdeeds and send her to prison. It had been all consuming, eating at her insides.

Filled with determination she finished dressing, grabbed her purse and sweater from the bed, and headed for the door. She was done hiding in her home as though she were guilty of a crime.

Detective Jake Bauman glared at his partner, Rick Smyth, slapping the folder down on the table in front of him. Thunder cracked outside as a quick April storm rolled through, darkening the sky, as the heavy winds rattled the windows.

“Rick, we should have enough evidence to convict Slater for the murders of Scott Beebe and Daniel Collins without Angela Beebe’s testimony.” Jake was convinced she’d been a party to her husband’s drug operation. “I want to put her away for her part in the drug ring as much as you do, but anything she says on the witness stand is suspect. The defense will tear her apart.”

It had been almost a year since he’d knocked on Angela Beebe’s front door to inform her of her husband’s death. She hadn’t struck him as being very upset at the news. On the contrary, he could have sworn he saw relief flash across her face before she’d masked it. He pushed the image of Angela out of his mind, ignoring the heavy thud of his heart at the thought of the beautiful widow.

Rick frowned. “I disagree—”

I’m tellin’ you, she can hurt our case,” Jake said.

Beebe had been discovered floating in a small lake on Slater’s property. Wrapped in blankets and chains, he’d floated to the top two weeks and a day after he’d last been seen alive. Twenty-four hours later, Daniel Collins, a notorious member of the Chicago Raptor gang, had floated to the surface as well. Evidence was discovered showing it to be a drug deal gone bad.

“We don’t have a choice,” Rick said. “Without her testimony we can’t be certain the jury will make the connection between Beebe and Slater.”

“Nothing is for certain, Rick. You know that. I think our chances for conviction are better without her.”

Rick grimaced. “I’m sorry, Jake. The State wants her testimony. It’s out of my hands.”

“Dammit.” Jake wanted Slater to go down for the murders. Wauwatosa was a small, safe community and he wanted to make it clear that violent crimes wouldn’t be tolerated. The mere chance that Slater could elude the justice he deserved because they’d put an unreliable witness on the stand, was untenable. “I don’t like it, Rick.”

“Duly noted.” He stood. “What time are you meeting with her?”

Jake glanced at the clock on the wall. It was close to five-thirty. “In about half an hour.”

“Most of the staff will be gone for the day. Do you want me to stick around, maybe play good cop to your bad cop?”

Jake chuckled. “No, that’s not necessary. I think I can handle it. Nate’s going to hang out until after the interview.”

Rick had been his partner for nearly a year, ever since Rick’s previous partner, Nate Stone, was promoted to lieutenant. Rick and Nate, along with Jake’s brother, J.D., had taken down a corrupt political power broker who’d tried to murder his own niece for her inheritance. The subsequent investigation had nabbed about a half-dozen dirty politicians as well. All three detectives had received commendations, but Nate had gotten a promotion, and the girl. Jake grinned. Lucky bastard.

He turned to Rick with a raised brow. “And besides, it’s your turn to be bad cop. Don’t think I’m not keepin’ track.”

Rick laughed. “Yeah, whatever, buddy.” He slapped Jake on the back as he passed. “Good luck then. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yeah, tomorrow.” He picked up the folder and skimmed through the notes he’d taken at her interrogation the prior year.

Detective Bauman: What did your husband do for a living?

Angela Beebe: He owned a vacuum sales and repair shop.

Detective Bauman: Were you aware that your husband was dealing drugs?

Angela Beebe: No.

Detective Bauman: Did you ever have a suspicion that he was involved in any illegal activities?

Angela Beebe: Yes. I had a suspicion.

Detective Bauman: Did you report your suspicions to the police?

Angela Beebe: No.

Detective Bauman: Why not?

Angela Beebe: I don’t know.

Detective Bauman: What was the basis of your suspicions?

Angela Beebe: He had a lot of late-night meetings and there were large amounts of cash in the house.

Detective Bauman: How much cash did you see? Can you give me an estimate?

Angela Beebe: A couple hundred thousand.

Detective Bauman: How do you know it was a couple hundred thousand?

Angela Beebe: I helped him count it.

Detective Bauman: You never asked him where he got it?

Angela Beebe: No.

Detective Bauman: Why not?

Angela Beebe: Silence.

Detective Bauman: Ms. Beebe?

Angela Beebe: Yes, Detective.

Detective Bauman: Why didn’t you ask him?

Angela Beebe: I, I just didn’t.

Detective Bauman: Could he have brought the cash in through the business?

Angela Beebe: I don’t believe so.

Detective Bauman: Was it a cash-based business?

Angela Beebe: Yes, but it only brought in around $30,000 a month. I saw more like $200,000 every few months.

Jake flipped the folder shut and tossed it on the table. Angela Beebe was being offered immunity for her testimony. But his instincts told him she was hiding something.

He strode over to the squad room coffee pot to pour himself a steaming cup of brew. He grimaced at the bitter taste. It must have sat there most of the afternoon, but he faced a long night and needed the caffeine kick.

Jake turned and took in the disarray of the squad room, currently under renovation. The drywall left thick layers of dust on the floor. He eyed Rick’s footprints leading to the door and peered into his cup to be sure it was clear of the grit. Brows furrowed, he leaned back against the counter and glanced over to the table where the report lay. He just wasn’t comfortable with her testimony.

She was lying, he was sure of it. No way was she innocent. Not only had she helped her husband count his drug money, she’d hosted business meetings for him at their home. She’d seen Slater at one of those meetings and could ID him in court. Even though she played dumb, he wasn’t buying it. She was in it up to her pretty little neck. He frowned. If she perjured herself, she would be prosecuted.

His mind flashed back to the way she’d looked when he’d met her a year earlier. Beautiful, with long black hair piled onto the top of her head and held into place with a rose clip. Wearing a little black dress, showcasing a killer body that a man could sink into and find paradise. It would be a damn shame for a woman that beautiful to waste away behind bars.