Deceptions (11 page)

Swearing, Ben hurried after the prisoner and his guards.

The DA didn't move. “I shouldn't have authorized that talk,” Jamison White said. “That was a mistake I won't be repeating.”

Elizabeth took a breath and made herself ask, “Are you going to offer him a deal?”

The DA's eyelids twitched—a small, but telling movement. “It depends on what he has to say to me.”

Her heart slammed into her chest. “He's a murderer! He belongs behind bars!”

“He's a tool I can use,” Jamison argued right back. “A domino who can make others fall. You don't understand, Ms. Snow. This case isn't just about you.”

“No, it's not.” Her hands tightened. “It's also about Detective Chafer. You remember her, right? The woman he kidnapped? That guy is twisted. When he hunted me at Mac's place, he was taunting me. Enjoying my fear. You really think you can
deal
with a man like that?” Elizabeth shook her head. “You can't. You'd be a fool to trust him.”

Jamison clenched his jaw. “Then I'm a fool. Because I
will
be learning about that man's past. I will get him to tell me everything that he knows, and if I have to deal to do it, so be it. Other victims and their families deserve closure, too.” He jerked his thumb toward the front of the station. “Now, I think your time here is done. If I have any more questions for you, I assume I can find you easily enough.”

“You shouldn't assume anything,” she snapped, but he was gone. The DA had already stormed down the hallway and left her behind.

Elizabeth glared after him. “I don't think I like that man.”

Mac's fingers curled around hers. “We got what we needed. Let's go.”

Right. He kept saying that, but she didn't feel as if they'd gotten anything. She'd already known that Nate had been in North Dakota. No big surprise. And— “Would you slow down?” Elizabeth demanded when they pretty much ran out the front of the police station. “We did
not
learn anything. We didn't—”

He turned toward her. “We learned quite a few important things.”

She stared at him.

“Nate is the key. Our focus needs to shift back to him. You said he was born in Texas, right? That was one of the reasons you wanted to come here.”

Hesitant now, Elizabeth nodded.

“Then we need to get his birth certificate. If he's still got family in the state, we need to talk with them immediately. We need to figure out just why he went all the way up to North Dakota. What was so damn important up there—”

“Important enough that he was killed for?” But wait, that wasn't exactly what the killer had said. He'd told them that if Nate had just kept going...another hour...if he hadn't stopped for her...
Dear God, is it my fault he's dead?

Mac's fingers curled around her shoulders. “Whatever you are thinking, baby,
stop.
”

She blinked up at him.

“You wear your emotions so clearly. I can see your pain, and I hate it.” He leaned toward her and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “If I could, I'd make sure you never felt any pain ever again.”

When he pulled back, there were so many emotions in his gaze. Emotions she didn't understand, not fully. “Mac?”

He shook his head. “You're not ready for that—not yet.”

What was he talking about?

Mac backed up a step. “Let's get Nate's birth certificate. We can get his records and go from there.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Okay, let's do this.”

He smiled at her. “Have I told you how damn sexy you are?”

Her jaw dropped. That man really needed to work on his timing.

“No?” Mac murmured. “My bad. You're the sexiest thing I've ever seen.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear.

His hand lifted, and his fingers tangled with hers. “I can see why Nate forgot everything else when he met you.”

“Why I got him killed?”

“No.” Anger hummed in his denial. “Why you just mattered more than whatever mission he was on up there.”

“I don't understand you.” She wished that she did.

His fingers squeezed hers. “You will.”

* * *

“H
OW
IS
HE
?” Ben Howard demanded as soon as he entered the small medical area at the PD.

The nurse on duty turned toward him. “Broken nose. Possible concussion.” She whistled. “Just what happened in that interrogation?”

A very angry McGuire happened.

“This man needs to be transported to the nearest hospital,” she told him flatly. “I can't take care of him here.”

Behind Ben, the DA swore. Jamison had just entered the room and obviously caught the nurse's words.

“When I evaluated him last night,” the nurse continued, “I told you he should be checked out more thoroughly—”

“You told me the bullets hadn't done any permanent damage.”

On the exam table, the prisoner groaned.

“I told you they hadn't
penetrated
because of the vest.” Her words were clipped. Her blond hair glinted under the bright light. “But he has severe bruising. His ribs are tender and—”

“Transport him,” the DA said flatly.

Ben shot the fellow a stunned look. “Are you serious? You know what a threat this man is!”

“I know that I need him alive. In good working order.” Jamison pointed toward the guards. “One guard will accompany him at all times. And I'll go, too. If he wants to talk, I'll be there to listen.”

Bad plan. Terrible plan. “You shouldn't make a deal with a devil,” Ben told him softly. “Things like that have a way of turning back and biting you.”

Jamison shot him a glittering glance. “I know how to do my job. Are
your
hands always clean, Captain?”

Ben's jaw tightened.

“We deal with devils all the time. So don't act all high and mighty as if you've never crossed the line. That man there—”

The guy groaned even louder. His nose was still gushing blood. Hell, Mac had sure pounded him.
Mac's lucky the DA didn't order his arrest right then.
But... Ben suspected the DA was a bit afraid of the McGuires.

Most people in the city were.

“That man there has information that I want.” Jamison nodded. “And I will be getting him to talk.”

“It's your funeral,” Ben muttered.

But Jamison wasn't listening. The DA had already moved closer to the groaning prisoner. “You know who I am, right?” Jamison asked.

The Fixer's gaze rolled toward him.

“I'm taking you to the hospital,” Jamison said. “I'm getting you the care you need, and in return, you
will
be sharing your secrets with me.”

When the prisoner smiled back at Jamison, a chill slid down Ben's spine.

* * *

“H
OW
ARE
YOU
going to access his birth certificate?” Elizabeth demanded as she paced Mac's office. “You can't search birth records online. You have to request that info in writing through the Texas Department of State Health Services Vital Statistics Unit.”

He glanced up at her, his brows raised.

“What?” She shook her head. “I'm a librarian. I know things, okay? Research is my business, and I've actually helped other people track down their families.”

The woman was so damn hot. And smart. But he needed to stay focused right then. “Normally,” he allowed, “that is the way things work here.” The fully legal way. They weren't going that way. “But, baby,” he said as his fingers tapped frantically on the keyboard, “have a little faith in me, would you?”

She turned toward him. Elizabeth put her hand on his shoulder and leaned down close to him. They'd gone to McGuire Securities to get some much-needed privacy—and so that Mac could get to work uncovering the mysteries around Nate Daniels.

“How are you getting access to this material?”

He'd just pulled up a PDF copy of Nate's birth certificate.

“That's not legal,” she said as her fingers tightened on him. “That's—”

“Connections,” he said simply. “I told you, I know a few people in the government.” He scrolled down and saw the name of Nate's mother. “Gloria Daniels.” Then he looked at the father listed. “Unknown.”

“Why would she—”

“Maybe she didn't want the father to know about Nate.” He gave a long sigh. “You can't keep secrets forever.” His eyes narrowed on the screen. “We're looking at this the wrong way.”

“We are?”

“Yeah, we need to see what was happening in Gloria's life the nine months
before
Nate was born.”

She tapped his shoulder.

“Let me,” Elizabeth said. “When it comes to research, I really do know how to find info pretty well myself. In
legal
ways.”

Right. He shot up and gave the woman her space. Her fingers started moving over that keyboard, typing fast.

“You want the year before, right? Well, Gloria was living in Dallas back then. Let's just see if any old news stories have been archived in the
Dallas Times
...”

Now he was leaning over her.

And he saw the hits that came up on the screen.

“She was working in PR,” Elizabeth said, scanning the screen. “Here's a picture of her at a fund-raiser...a big political event from the look of things.”

Yes, it was one of those perfect press photos. Everyone was smiling for the camera. Mac noted the men in that photo, specifically, the man with his hand around Gloria Daniels's slender waist.

“Wesley Sutherfield,” he said, reading the man's name from the screen.

Elizabeth stiffened. “I know that name.”

He did, too. It was familiar, ringing a bell, but...

“Wesley Sutherfield.
Wesley.
” Her brow had furrowed as she glanced up at him. “That used to be the name of a politician in North Dakota.”

“You sure about that?” But excitement began to beat in his veins. If Sutherfield had lived in North Dakota,
that
would explain why Nate had been in that state. He'd been going up there to find his long-lost father.

Is that what got you killed?

“Yes, yes, I'm sure. I remember there were campaign posters up everywhere for the guy when Nate and I—when we left. He was running for governor. He won in a landslide victory.” She started typing on the computer. This time Mac noted that she was searching for both Gloria Daniels
and
Wesley Sutherfield.

The hits came up, one after the other on the
Dallas Times
site.

In each old picture, Wesley and Gloria were together, and he was always touching her. “Lovers,” Mac said flatly. Because it was all too easy to read the other man's body language.

“You think...you think the governor was Nate's father?”

Yeah, he did. “I think we're staring at Nate's missing father.” No wonder Gloria had listed him as
unknown.
If word had gotten out that the married man had a child with his lover, Sutherfield's career would have crashed and burned.

“Yeldon's notes said he had DNA proof, right?” Mac asked. “I don't know how he did it, but he made the connection to the governor, and somehow he got DNA proof. A link the guy couldn't deny.”

Elizabeth started typing again. Only this time...she was pulling up information on the death of Gloria Daniels.

“Car accident,” Elizabeth whispered as she read the other woman's obituary. “Nate was in the backseat. A hit and run when he was just a kid. No wonder he didn't want to talk about his mom.” Her fingers went back to typing. She hit a news site and found a grainy old photo of the wreck.

Mac swore. It appeared that someone had crashed directly into the driver's side and... “The other driver left the scene?” he said, reading over her shoulder.

She kept searching. “I don't think they ever found the guy.”

Mac would call Ben and see if the captain could contact some of his cop buddies and dig up the old accident report. Gloria had been killed just outside Dallas. He knew that Ben had once worked the Dallas beat, so maybe the man could call in a few favors.

“That's the governor today.” When she typed in the governor's name, hundreds of stories appeared. And just like that, Mac knew why the guy's name had rung a bell. There had just started to be some talk about the fellow being a potential vice-presidential candidate.

Wesley Sutherfield.

“He's been married for over thirty-five years,” Elizabeth said as she pulled up a new article on the man. “If he is Nate's father, then he was cheating when he got Gloria pregnant.” She glanced back at him. “Scandals and politics don't always go so well together.”

Mac glared at the guy's image. Wesley Sutherfield smiled back at him. The guy was polished, his white teeth flashing, his suit perfectly pressed. Every inch the perfect politician.

And the perfect killer?

“I think we need to pay North Dakota a little visit.”

* * *

T
HE
AMBULANCE
DIDN
'
T
have its siren on. The vehicle wasn't hurtling through the traffic. The idiots around him didn't care if he suffered.

That's fine. They'll be suffering soon enough.

“I want to know how many people you've killed.” It was the DA talking. Still running his mouth off. A guard—a uniformed cop—was nearby, with his hand hovering close to his holster even as he crouched in the back of the ambulance.

They didn't strap me down well enough.
Because he'd done a good job of acting as if he was in agony. A man battling pain wasn't usually perceived as a threat.