Deadly Lies (26 page)

Jackson pressed his hand to his chest, fingers splayed.

“Me?” Alex mimicked. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I’m busting my ass to find a killer, and Lewis has the gall to penalize me for it.”

Like venting steam from a simmering pot, his words came out in a rush.

“Jesus Christ. I’ve got important cases waiting. Like credit-card fraud compares to the murder of a teenager. Like I’m a fucking rookie or something.”

Alex shook his head, glaring at Jackson through narrowed eyes. The stack of new case files on his desk had grown. He didn’t need Kris to point out the obvious—that he hadn’t spent much time on them. He already knew.

“Then stop acting like a damned rookie. We all have that one case that we can’t let go of. Honeywell’s yours. We all get it, Alex, but maybe it’s time to pull your head out of your ass and move on.”

Alex let out a sigh and cast his eyes toward the ceiling. His cell phone rang, cutting through the heavy silence. He pulled it out of his pocket and stared at the call display. He closed his eyes for a split second before pressing it to his ear.

“Hi, Abby.” He evaded Jackson’s knowing look as he angled his gaze out the window. “No, nothing yet. How are you doing?”

He listened for a minute or two longer as Abby talked before he said good-bye. He set the phone down on the desk beside his keyboard. The sympathetic look on Jackson’s face spoke volumes, and Alex knew Jackson had his best interests at heart.

“Not so easy to do when it’s personal,” Jackson said, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. “And since I’m all up in your business, you’d better get control of that. History can be a dangerous thing when it comes to relationships.”

Jackson shot a meaningful look at Alex’s phone. A stab of guilt pierced Alex’s heart. He gritted his teeth.

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Do you think I’m too dumb to see where this is heading? You’d better think long and hard before you act. I’m living proof that there are some lines you shouldn’t cross.”

“Michelle?”

The last vestiges of Alex’s anger fizzled, and Jackson shook his head.

“Moved out. It’s over, man. Has been for a long time.”

“You never said anything.”

“No point.” Jackson’s stare was sober as he held Alex’s gaze. “Listen, just do as Lewis says. Hunker down and get through your caseload. Let Homicide do their job.”

“I can’t let Honeywell go. Not yet.”

“I know, but not at the risk of sacrificing everything else. I want this bastard, too, but you’ve got to listen to what Lewis is saying. Whether you want to admit it or not, he’s right.”

“He ordered me to take a couple of days off.”

“Then get the hell out of here. Why don’t you and Jill plan a weekend away? It may help you get perspective on things.”

The inclusion of Jill in Jackson’s statement was not lost on Alex. They weren’t just talking about work anymore. They were talking about his marriage.

“Pull your head out of your ass before it’s too late.”

“You know, if this cop thing doesn’t work out, you’ve got a real future as a therapist.”

Jackson’s deep, rumbling laugh filled Alex’s office.

“What do you say we get out of here? First round’s on me.”

Alex glanced at the stack of case files on his desk. Maybe Jackson was right. Maybe a weekend away would help. Jill had been working long hours, too. They’d hardly seen each other since she’d returned from the conference in California.

Rising from his chair, Alex thumbed the power switch on his monitor and grabbed his coat.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said.

Halfway down the hall, Jackson let out a wolf whistle that nearly deafened Alex. Kris Thompson walked past.

“Whoa. Look out. We’ve got a hottie coming through. Looking damn good, girl,” he called out loud enough for the whole floor to have heard. A furious blush stained her cheeks, and she averted her gaze, but not before Alex saw her smile.

“Very subtle. If you’re not careful, you’re going to earn yourself a crash course in sexual harassment,” Alex said as he strode down the hallway.

“No need. I already know how to harass.”

“She does look good,” Alex admitted.

“You know why, don’t you?” Jackson’s look was sly as Alex shook his head “She’s got herself a man.”

The deep rumble of Jackson’s laughter filled the hall.

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

“E
njoy your stay in Vancouver,” the desk clerk said with a friendly smile.

Alex gripped the access card and followed Jill through the ornate lobby of the Fairmont Hotel toward the elevator. Convincing Jill to spend a weekend in Vancouver had been much easier than he had anticipated. They had a full itinerary planned. Christmas shopping on Robson, dinner in Gastown, catch a Canucks hockey game. It was the perfect balance between he and she activities.

Unwillingly, he acknowledged to himself that the tension in his shoulders eased once they’d crossed the Canadian border. He was loath to admit that Captain Lewis was right about the therapeutic value of taking some time off.

Traffic in Vancouver was always a nightmare, but as they crawled along the Cambie Street Bridge, he saw the construction cranes draped in Christmas lights. That, coupled with the softly falling snow, helped set a holiday mood.

Normally, a weekend at the Fairmont would be well beyond Alex’s pay grade. But with Jill’s frequent trips to California, the accumulated hotel points made a three-night stay affordable. Traveling had its perks, and as he pushed open the door to the luxuriously appointed room, he vowed to make the most of it.

“So what did you want to do first?” Jill asked as she collapsed on the bed, arms folded behind her head.

“A little shopping, then dinner?”

Robson Street was the Mecca of high-end shopping for the Vancouver elite. Alex followed Jill from store to store. Carrying bags from Salvatore Ferragamo, Louis Vuitton, and La Senza, Alex felt his credit card smoking. But then, so was his wife. With each step, he felt his mood lighten.

After depositing Jill’s booty at the hotel, they took a stroll to Gastown. The melting snow made the cobblestone streets slick, and Jill wound her arm through his as they walked by the tourist shops. Native art figured prominently in the windows of the high-end art galleries. The iconic steam clock struck seven as Alex led the way into the Water Street Café.

The smell of simmering tomatoes and garlic filled the dining room. Sipping wine and nibbling on fresh pasta and bruschetta, Alex sat back in his chair and enjoyed the comfortable silence that stretched out between them. Jill looked tired. She’d been working hard, establishing herself in her new role.

“How did the demo go?” he asked.

Jill’s look was sharp, and she took a sip of wine before answering.

“It went well. Standing room only. In fact, the demand was so high that they added a third session.”

“Well, that’s great, isn’t it?” He was puzzled by the change in her demeanor. She seemed on edge. “How is everything going at work?”

“What do you mean?” Her tone was sharp, eyes wary. “Everything is fine.”

“With Jamie’s passing, and your promotion there’s been a lot of change. Has it been weird for you?”

Jill sipped her wine, considering his question.

“It’s been okay. Most people are supportive.”

“Not all?”

Jill cocked an eyebrow.

“Some people like to play politics.”

“Meaning?” he asked, curious about the dynamics of Jill’s work life. He knew she didn’t always play well with others.

“Well, there is this one woman, Dana Evans.”

“What’s her deal?”

Jill’s grin turned conspiratorial.

“She joined the company about a month before Jamie’s death. She’s aggressive. Ambitious. Apparently she and Jamie worked together at another company. Rumor has it, they were having an affair.”

“Really? Do you think there’s any truth to the rumor?”

Jill shrugged.

“Jamie was no choirboy.”

“Aren’t interoffice affairs at the management level kind of risky?”

“Jamie had a reputation as a ladies’ man.”

Jill’s matter-of-fact statement piqued his interest, and Alex wondered what else lay beneath the assertion.

“You never mentioned that before.”

Jill’s cheeks stained pink, and her eyes met his.

“Really? I guess it didn’t seem relevant.”

“Did he ever hit on you?”

His senses on full alert, Alex saw the muscles in her neck flex ever so slightly as she swallowed.

“Well, he was tipsy at our last ship party and got a little too friendly.”

Alex’s gut clenched.

“Did you break his fingers?” Alex asked. He was only half kidding.

“Not exactly, but I made my thoughts on the topic crystal clear. After that, it was never an issue.”

Alex considered her answer. Jill was a smart, beautiful woman. If Jamie was a womanizer, of course he would have been attracted to her. In his experience, a wedding ring wasn’t even a speed bump for most commitment-phobic men, less a deterrent than a draw.

Jill’s fingers brushed her arm.

“I’m sorry I brought Jamie up. Whatever he did is in the past. Let’s not let it spoil our night.”

“You’re right,” he said, trying to shake the growing sense of discomfort he felt. Was she lying? He couldn’t tell. But before either of
them could say more, his cell phone rang. Alex dug it out of his pocket. Checking the call display, he sighed and skipped the call. Glancing up, he caught the look in Jill’s eyes.

“Who was that?” she asked. Her legs were crossed, and he saw the tip of her boot swing back and forth impatiently, like a cat twitching its tail.

“It’s not important.” He hoped she would let it go. She didn’t. That wasn’t Jill’s style.

“Abby?”

Alex nodded and picked his wineglass up off of the table. He swirled the Cabernet around in his glass. Thick tears of wine rolled down into the bowl.

“She’s checking in to see if there are any updates on the case.”

“Wouldn’t you call her if you had news?”

“Sure, but everyone handles this type of situation differently. In Abby’s case, she finds it easier to call. Waiting for the phone to ring just makes her anxious.”

Jill arched her eyebrows, never shifting her gaze from his face.

“Is that all it is?”

“Yes,” he said, careful to mask the twinge of guilt he felt.

From the look on Jill’s face, it was clear she didn’t fully believe him, but for whatever reason, she let it go.

The wine worked its magic, and on the way back to the hotel, the snow fell harder, blanketing Gastown in a postcard-perfect layer of white. As they strolled back to the hotel, Alex draped his arm around Jill’s shoulders and pulled her close. He felt her stiffen, and he wondered if she was still thinking about Abby’s call.

They stopped in the hotel bar for a drink before heading back to their room. As the door closed behind them, Alex dropped the card key on the desk. Jill sat on the end of the bed to remove her boots.

Alex hunkered down in front of her. His hands ran up the length of her legs. She shivered at his touch. Slowly, gently, he removed her boots, setting them beside the bed. His lips touched hers. He felt her
hand circle around his neck and tangle in his hair, and he deepened his kiss.

Jill pulled back, her breath catching in her throat.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” she breathed, and kissed him again.

Placing his hand on the round firmness of her breast, he felt everything fall away. Abby. The case. Everything.

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

B
ack at home in West Seattle, long after she’d made herself a quick bite to eat and straightened up the kitchen, Jill logged on to her email account from the comfortable leather armchair in the living room. The rain outside was coming down in a dense drizzle, but the cheerful fire in the hearth was doing its best to ward off the late-night chill. Molly lay on the area rug, her back edged as close to the dancing flames as possible without setting her fur on fire.

Alex was working late. The cases that had accumulated since his return from California were finally getting some much needed attention, and that suited Jill just fine. The long weekend in Vancouver had left her with some extra work on her plate, too, and she set about scanning the new items in her in-box.

Most of it was run-of-the-mill stuff. She deleted junk mail from her favorite online shopping places, notifications of upcoming training courses and conferences, software build notifications. After parsing through a couple of dozen emails, she had pruned the list to less than ten—all things that she needed to read.

The latest project status reports assured her that all major work items were on track. She’d spend some time tomorrow adding a little extra color for her boss before sending it along. Rachel sent her a notification for an internal technical discussion that she should sit in on. She paused before opening the next unread message. She didn’t recognize the address. It was from a xmail account. With an email
moniker like [email protected], she figured it could only be one thing: spam. Typically this was the type of thing that her junk email filter weeded out. It was odd that this one had made it all of the way to her in-box. Her finger hovered over the Delete button for a second before she dropped her hand to her side.

Just spam
, she thought again, but an uneasy feeling churned at the pit of her stomach. Unable to ignore it, she clicked on the message.

I know your secret
.

An image. A single still frame of her face, eyes closed, made her heart lurch. Below the image, there was a link. In the few seconds it took for the video to load, Jill’s heart stopped.

Holy shit
. Peter had captured the rape on video. She could see her unconscious face slack behind Peter’s naked shoulder. She slammed the laptop screen closed and dropped it on the table as if the metal case had scorched her hands. Jumping to her feet, she started to pace.

Molly let out a soft yelp, her feet twitching as she slept. Jill watched the sleeping dog for a moment before she shifted her gaze back to the laptop. Who sent the video, and just what exactly did he know? That she was Peter’s victim, or that he was hers? If there was someone out there who knew the role she played in Peter’s untimely death, wouldn’t they have come forward by now?