Memories of Us (15 page)

“Are you finished getting your jollies over there, Cook?” She made sure her voice was damn level. Showing anything now would be completely untenable. Anger flashed in her. McMillian deserved better than this.

Cook stepped back, frowning, his gaze trained on the screen. “I don’t think he knows he’s being taped.”

“What do you mean?” She flicked a look at the television and away. Heaven help her, how would she be able to look at McMillian again without seeing this?

“Look at her.” With a gloved finger, Cook pointed at Jessica’s face. “What do you see?”

What did she see? Her lover thrusting inside someone else, red nails clutching at his ass, pulling him deeper.

“St. John. Look.” Exasperation filtered into Cook’s voice. “She’s acting. And she keeps glancing at the camera. The angle’s wrong for a tripod. It’s more like…”

Squinting, he walked to the bed and looked along the adjacent wall. “There. See? She could hide it in the plant shelf.”

“Sure, but…” Compelled, Celia looked at the television again. “What makes you think he doesn’t know?”

Cook shrugged. “She’s watching the camera. He’s focused on her. Well, on what they’re doing anyway.”

On screen, McMillian tensed, his body stiffening, his guttural groan filling Celia’s ears. She swallowed. “So she kept a video diary of her sexual conquests. Big deal.”

Cook punched the eject button and shot her an amused glance. “You’re smarter than that, St. John. Think.”

“Blackmail?” Celia shook her head. “She has a thriving practice.”

“Maybe she got greedy. Could be one of them decided to cut off the gravy train, permanently. Maybe he decided to take care of the problem her baby represented at the same time.” He snapped a new inventory sheet on his clipboard and shook out an evidence bag. “And maybe we have a veritable library of suspects here.”

Her gaze darted to the DVD case in his hand.
McMillian
had been scrawled on the clear plastic in bold, black marker. “But that means…”

“Yeah.” Cook glanced up, his eyes gleaming. “Your boss is a suspect.”

“Well, I’ve talked to everyone local in her address book.” Investigator Tick Calvert dropped into the chair facing the empty desk adjacent to Cook’s. He scattered a handful of peppermints across the desktop and offered one in Celia’s direction. Brows lifted, he eyed the television Cook had set up on the counter running along one wall. “So that’s the movie?”

Trying to ignore the ache pulsing at her temples, Celia reached for a mint. “One of them.”

Thank God Cook had taken a break from analyzing the films. He’d paused the DVD, so she had a few minutes’ reprieve from listening to Jessica’s theatrical moaning. She was beginning to agree with Cook—Jessica had been quite the actress and none of the men involved seemed to realize they were being taped. Celia glanced over her shoulder. On the screen, Jessica straddled a state representative, frozen in time.

At least it wasn’t the film of her and McMillian.

Celia bit down on her peppermint, breaking it into tiny pieces. “So what did you get from your interviews?”

Tick flipped open his notebook. “Not much. The weirdest and probably most important thing? No one knew she was pregnant.”

“Nobody?” Cook strolled in, paging through a fax. He picked up the remote and settled in his desk chair.

“Not even her OB/GYN.” Tick ran a finger down the page. “Hadn’t seen him since her annual physical early in May; she wasn’t due for another until next month. Couple of friends and neighbors noticed she’d put on some weight, but knew nothing about a pregnancy.”

“Get this.” Cook held the fax aloft. “It’s our preliminary autopsy report and some early fingerprint results.”

Celia stared at him. “You’re kidding. It’s barely been six hours since they removed the body.”

“Guess screwing the DA gets you moved to the top of the line. McMillian called Botine as soon as he left Grady’s place this morning, asked them to ‘expedite’ anything we needed.” Cynicism coated Cook’s voice. “Wonder if he’d have done that if he’d known his prints were going to turn up in her bedroom. On the back of the headboard.”

Her stomach dropped. “Big surprise. They’d been lovers.”

Cook handed off the autopsy report to Tick. “You don’t think he did it.”

Shrugging, she tried for a smooth expression. “No, I don’t.”

“Why not?”

With Cook leaning back in his chair, studying her, she tapped her pen on her notebook. “Why would he?”

Surprise flickered in Cook’s eyes and he exchanged a look with Tick. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because she was trying to shake him down? That movie, her baby. That kind of shit kills political careers and it’s no secret he wants to be more than the local DA.”

“Fine.” She crossed her arms over her midriff. “Then why did we find the movie? Why not take it with him, if that’s why he killed her?”

Cook’s broad shoulders moved in a casual shrug. “He had the baby to deal with. Could be he panicked and forgot the DVD.”

A disbelieving laugh bubbled from her throat. “Have you met him? I don’t think panic is in his vocabulary.”

Shaking his head, Cook tossed his pen down. “Oh, shit.”

Celia tensed.

“What?” Tick glanced up from the report, his dark gaze alert. Ignoring his partner, Cook fixed Celia with a disgusted look. “You do have a thing for him.”

She tilted her chin. “That’s ridiculous—”

“And you’re approaching this the wrong way because of it.”

Heat flooded her face, her stomach turning. How had they ended up here? Maybe the floor would open and swallow her. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He settled deeper into the seat. “It means you’re looking for reasons why it’s
not
him, rather than approaching the case objectively. You don’t want it to be him, so you’re going to prove it’s not.”

Anger, at him, at herself, trembled in her. “And you’re objective? How many other directions have you considered?”

“At least eight.” He flipped open a folder and slid a sheet of paper across the desk. “Those are the men on the other videos.”

She lifted the sheet, scanning the list. All political figures. The state representative. A municipal judge, a mayor, three district attorneys, a police chief, a county administrator.

And McMillian.

“St. John.”

At Cook’s grim voice, she looked up. “What?”

“I can handle the fact you don’t want it to be McMillian. I can even understand it.” His dour expression matched his tone. “But if we’re going to work together, I need you to be honest with me. I can’t be worried you’d hold something back to protect the son of a bitch.”

Her anger returned, flaring hotter. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“I’d hate to think so, but you’ve got to promise me that whatever the hell is going on with you two isn’t going to cloud your judgment here.”

“There’s…” She couldn’t force the denial out. They’d gone beyond sex and claiming there was nothing between them would be a flat-out lie. “If it’s him, it’s him.”

Tick examined her, openly assessing. “And you could take him down if you had to?”

“Of course.”

He held her gaze for a long moment, his chocolate eyes serious. “That’s all we need to know.”

Cook harrumphed, pulling a stack of Jessica’s financial records forward. “Just remember, you believed Turello too.”

Celia tugged hard at her necklace. He had to bring that up. “That was different. I was younger; he had me snowed.”

Gray gaze gleaming, Cook gave her a curt nod and reached for his pen. “Good. Then don’t let McMillian turn into a blizzard.”

She shook back her hair, meeting Cook’s gaze straight on. “Trust me. He won’t.”

“This is interesting.” Tick’s voice broke the tension. He tapped the report. “Ford checked Grady’s blood type against your deceased baby, on the chance it was hers.”

Celia leaned forward. “And?”

“Could be. Your baby’s blood type was AB positive. Grady was A negative. From the pieces of placenta left in Grady’s uterus, Ford knows Grady’s baby was AB positive. She’ll have to run DNA tests to know for sure.” He laid the paper aside and pointed at the television with the small stack of DVDs beside it. “That blood type info can help us rule out the men on those tapes.”

Cook nodded. “Because the father has to be AB or B positive.”

“Exactly.” Tick shrugged. “But.”

“But what?”

“Time of death is off for Grady to be the mother. Your baby was discovered Tuesday night, right? Ford thinks Grady was killed sometime Thursday evening, which fits with what I heard in those interviews. People saw Grady Wednesday and Thursday.”

Thursday evening. Celia rubbed a hand over her eyes. She’d been with McMillian Thursday evening…dinner by the pool, the interlude in his bed. She was his alibi.

The cop in her knew she was only a partial alibi. She’d left his home once she’d left his bed. There’d been the rest of the night to kill Jessica Grady. He’d had plenty of opportunity. Just like Turello.

Except he was nothing like Bryan had been. Bryan Turello had smooth-talked and charmed her into believing him, believing he was innocent of the accusations lodged against him.

McMillian didn’t have to say a word. She couldn’t believe him capable of what she’d seen at Jessica’s home. That level of belief frightened her beyond words.

“I thought I’d find you here.” Celia, standing at his office doorway, dragged Tom’s attention away from the motion he was drafting.

Or more like, attempting to draft. Although he’d spent the day closeted in his office, he couldn’t keep his mind away from the images of Jessica’s body, the idea that he might have fathered her baby.

He tossed his pen on the legal pad and leaned back, happier to see Celia than he had a right to be. “Anything new?”

She eschewed the chairs before his desk and leaned against the windowsill. Late evening sunlight glinted on her hair. She clutched the sill’s edge, tapping her short nails on the wall. “Preliminary autopsy report is in. Some fingerprint results.”

He hated the way she avoided his gaze. “I suppose some of the prints are mine.”

Nodding, she darted a glance at him, her eyes shuttered. “Yes. In the bedroom. What blood type are you?”

He frowned. “B positive.”

A visible tremor ran through her. Foreboding crashed through him.

“What aren’t you telling me, Celia?”

Her chest lifted with a deep breath. “Jessica’s baby had AB positive blood. She was A negative. Even without DNA, we know the father had to be AB positive as well or—”

“B positive.” He jerked a hand over his hair. “Damn it all.”

“You really don’t want to be this baby’s father, do you?”

He glanced at her. How to explain he didn’t want to be any baby’s father, ever again? He couldn’t do it, couldn’t live wondering every day if he’d have to bury another child. He cleared his throat. “What I want doesn’t matter now, does it? There’s a very good chance I am.”

“Did you know about the video?”

The odd note in her voice sent a shiver over his spine. “What video?”

Arms crossed, she lifted an eyebrow, her expression bordering on mocking. “Oh, come on, McMillian, no need to be coy. I’ve seen it.”

She was doing the cop thing with him. Angry disbelief shuddered to life in him. She stood there, after everything, working her interrogation techniques on him. Like hell.

He crossed to stand before her, close enough he could feel the warmth of her body, and glared. “What video?”

For a long moment, she stared at him, her blue eyes cool and measuring. “In her bedroom, we found a stack of DVDs. Homemade movies.”

“Homemade…” He gazed down at her. Surely she didn’t mean what he thought she meant. “Sex tapes?”

She nodded.

He rubbed a hand over his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose before looking at her once more. “I’m on one?”

Another nod. “Yes.”

“Shit.” He spun away to pace the office. “Fuck.” His stomach roiled. “Son of a bitch.”

“The others are also men who are well-connected politically.”

“The others?” He stopped, staring at her. “How many others?”

“Eight.” Her shoulders moved in a tight, uncomfortable shrug. “One is a municipal court judge from Bryant County.”

“Hell.” He dragged a hand over his face again. “I don’t believe this.”

“You didn’t know, did you?” Celia’s soft voice washed over him, oddly comforting, its earlier edge gone. “That she was taping you.”

He shot her a look. “Of course I didn’t know.”

“Cook’s theory is that she may have been blackmailing the men on the films. And that one is the baby’s father.”

“And one of them killed her?” He narrowed his eyes. “Like me?”

A low laugh trembled from her lips, completely lacking in humor. “Of course I don’t think it’s you.”

“But Cook does, right?” He turned away, rested his hands flat on the desk, his head falling between his shoulders.

“McMillian?”