Memories of Us (16 page)

He straightened, looked over his shoulder to find Celia eyeing him, her expression strained. “You watched the tape.”

She bit her lip. “Yes.”

And it had hurt her. He could see the remnants of that pain in her eyes. He dropped his head. Damn it. The idea of her watching him screw Jessica turned his stomach. Shit, everything was going to hell.

That wasn’t his baby, missing and possibly endangered.

Jessica hadn’t taped him fucking her.

And Celia hadn’t watched it.

Damn it, what if it was all true? How was he going to handle this?

First, he’d offer Celia an out. No reason for her career to go down with his. If she was as smart as he knew she was, she’d take it and run. The level of sorrow that ricocheted through him with the thought startled him. He couldn’t have gotten in that deep that fast with her.

He cleared his throat. “Keep me informed. I want to know about anything you turn up, immediately.”

Eyes closed, he waited for the soft click of the door closing behind her.

The soft touch of her fingers fluttered over his back. She smoothed the hair at his nape, and surprised, he lifted his head to look at her. She gazed back at him with solemn eyes.

“All the way over here, I kept thinking the easiest thing to do was walk away from you now.” A slight smile trembled around her lips and disappeared. “I can’t do it.”

Relief rushed through him and he released the breath he hadn’t even known he was holding.

“God, Cee.” He tugged her into his arms, burying his face against the tousled silk of her hair. She wrapped her arms around him, rubbing soft circles at the small of his back. For the first time that day, he let go of some of the tension, soaking in the comfort of having her in his arms.

“Yeah, St. John, I’d say your judgment is completely cloud-free.”

At Cook’s cynical tone, Celia jerked in his arms and tensed. Tom let her go and turned toward the door, where Cook stood waiting with Tick Calvert. Cook leaned an arm on the doorjamb and smiled, a predatory expression.

“Counselor, we’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Like finding the person who’d really killed Jessie.

And finding the baby.

“Mr. McMillian, although you’re not under arrest at this time, I need to advise you of your rights.” Cook scratched the date and time across the top of a Miranda waiver form. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to talk to an attorney and have him present with you while you are being questioned. If you cannot afford to hire a lawyer, one will be appointed to represent you before any questioning, if you wish. You can decide at any time to exercise these rights and not answer any questions or make any statements. Do you understand each of these rights I have explained to you?”

Tom narrowed his eyes at the investigator and resisted the overwhelming urge to call him an idiot. “Yes.”

Unperturbed, Cook checked off an affirmative box. “Having these rights in mind, do you wish to talk to us now?”

He clenched his teeth. “Yes.”

Cook slid the form across the table. “Sign here, please.”

Tick pulled a chair away from the wall, glanced at Celia, standing near the door, and indicated the seat. Her posture tight and uncomfortable, she shook her head. “I’m fine.”

Tom lifted his eyes, met her gaze briefly before turning his attention to the two Chandler County investigators. Tick turned the chair around and straddled it, arms folded along the back. “Tom, I know you’re pissed because we pulled you in here. I can understand that, but you have to look at it from our point of view. You had a relationship with Ms. Grady. Your prints are in her bedroom. Her phone records show your number as the last one she called the night she was killed. There’s that video and the baby. If you were me, who would you be looking at?”

“Me.” Tom laughed, a short, wry sound. “Only one problem with your line of thought, Tick. I didn’t kill her.”

Cook looked up. “Oh man, that’s a new one. Hell, Tick, he didn’t do it. Let’s turn him loose right now.”

Celia shot a deadly glare at the back of his head. “Cook, stop.”

Tick gave them both a quelling look and sighed. “Tom, why don’t you start by telling us where you were Thursday night.”

Again, Tom’s gaze shifted to Celia. Her face was pale and the line of her throat moved with a swallow. His mouth thinned. “I—”

“We were together.” Celia tilted her chin, her gaze focused on Tom’s. “We had dinner at his place.”

Tick glanced around at her. “What time did you leave? Or did you spend the night?”

“Ah hell, I need some air.” Cook jerked a pack of gum from his pocket and shoved back from the table. He glared at Celia as he pulled the door open. “It’s Turello all over again, isn’t it, St. John?”

Her face reddened, temper snapping in her eyes. She looked at Tom. “Excuse me.”

She walked out, the door swishing closed behind her, and Tom frowned. What had that been all about?

Tick tugged a hand through his hair. “What time did she leave, Tom?”

He pulled his attention back to the other man. “A little after nine.”

Tick nodded. “Did you go anywhere after that? Anyone else come over?”

“No. My mother called from Rome, around ten. We talked for fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. I worked until eleven-thirty or so and went to bed, alone.”

Another nod. “Ms. Grady’s call to your number was very short. What did you talk about?”

“We didn’t.” That had to have been the hang-up on his voice mail, the call he had let go because he hadn’t wanted to be pulled away from Celia. A frisson ran up his spine. What if he’d answered? Would Jessie still be alive?

Tick shrugged. “Why not?”

Tom met his gaze straight on. “Ms. St. John and I were having dinner. I didn’t take the call because I didn’t want us to be disturbed.”

“So you didn’t know Ms. Grady was pregnant?”

Frustration burned his throat. “Not until this morning, when Ms. St. John informed me of that.”

“Would you be willing to give us a DNA sample?” Tick glanced up, his gaze assessing.

Tom settled back in his chair. “Bring it on, Investigator.”

“What the hell?” Celia caught up to Cook on the department steps. Anger pulsed under her skin, seeking an outlet. “Where do you get off, Cook, bringing up Turello like that? I thought you were my friend.”

“Yeah.” Cook popped a piece of gum in his mouth, chewing hard. “So did I.”

“What does that mean?” She wrapped a hand around the rough iron railing. “Just say it.”

He turned on her. “You fucking lied to me.”

A harsh laugh bubbled in her throat. “What?”

“You lied, St. John. ‘If it’s him, it’s him.’ Isn’t that what you said, when you were giving me that line of bullshit about not hiding anything to protect him?”

“I’m not hiding anything.”

“Like hell.” Shaking his head, he fixed her with a condemning stare. “Why didn’t you tell me this morning you’d been with him Thursday? Why not just say you were screwing him?”

“Because I knew what you’d think.”

“What? That you’ve lost your damn mind? Hell, St. John, he’s your boss. And now he’s a suspect in a murder investigation I let you in on. You should have said something then.” He looked away. “I trusted you and you fucking lied.”

“Cook—”

“You’re off the case. Both of them—Grady and the baby.”

“You can’t—”

“Like hell I can’t. Maybe you’re not seeing clearly, but I sure am. I refuse to let your infatuation with McMillian get in the way.” He spun and stalked back into the building.

Celia gripped the railing until the uneven paint scraped her palms. Jesus above, what was she doing? Trusting McMillian, believing in him. Making the same mistake she’d made with Turello? She shook her head, blinking away a sudden burning rush of tears. No. He was different, nowhere near the lying bastard Turello had been. She knew McMillian in a way she hadn’t known Turello.

Turello had dazzled her from the beginning, with his good looks and flattery. She’d never really known him, not until she’d finally realized the ugliness beneath his handsome façade.

She’d known McMillian as a professional first, had seen his dedication to the law, to making sure those who broke it paid the consequences. Hell, that was the very thing that had drawn her to him from the start.

He was a stand-up guy, gray areas and all.

“Celia?”

She dragged in a deep breath before turning to face McMillian. He stood at the top of the steps, watching her, his face expressionless. She lifted her chin. “Ready to go?”

A frown tugged his brows down. “I thought you’d want to talk to Cook and Calvert.”

“I’m off the case.” The words hurt her throat. She started down the steps.

“What?” Icy tension coated the word. His loafers scuffed on the concrete and he caught her arm as she reached the sidewalk.

“You heard me.” She couldn’t make herself face him, didn’t want him to see how badly her pride was hurt. She’d never been removed from an investigation. Ever since Turello, her record had been impeccable. “Cook kicked me off the case. He’s worried about my objectivity.”

“I’ll talk to Reed.”

“No.” She shook her head, staring across the parking lot, nearly deserted in the dusk of late evening. “I don’t want you fighting this battle for me.”

“Why not? Aren’t you fighting for me?”

She stilled. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Tugging away from his easy hold, she continued down the sidewalk. Three steps away, she stopped, a humorless smile twisting her mouth. Of course, he’d insisted on driving. She had nowhere else to go. Shaking her head, she faced him, still standing where she’d left him.

She was in with him for the long haul, obviously.

She tapped the center of her chest, where her father’s uniform button lay at the end of her chain, over her heart. “In here, I feel like I know you and I know you couldn’t have done this.”

A wry half-smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “Thanks.”

Ire flashed over her. He didn’t get it. How could he? She really didn’t get it herself. She just knew how she felt. “Stop it, McMillian. Just…stop.”

He closed the distance between them and tapped a gentle finger against her forehead. “The cop in here wants to side with Cook and Calvert, doesn’t she?”

“Yes.” She shrugged, not sure how to explain her torn loyalties. “But I can’t.”

“You don’t know how glad I am to hear that.” One of his rare grins appeared, banishing the strain of the day from his features. He cupped her chin, staring into her eyes for a long moment. Emotion glimmered in his blue eyes and then was gone. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

In the car, she glanced sideways at him as she fastened her seatbelt. “So how did it go?”

He started the engine. A grim smile played about his mouth. “I answered Calvert’s questions and made him happy. Agreed to a DNA test.”

She nodded. She’d expected as much—he’d want those DNA results as much as Cook would.

He pulled onto Durham Street and braked for the stoplight. A couple of pickup trucks rumbled through the intersection. “I want you to continue the investigation on your own.”

Startled, she glanced at him. “McMillian, it’s not my case.”

“I want to know what happened to Jessie. I need to know if the baby…” He cleared his throat, thumping a finger on the steering wheel. “I trust you, Celia.”

“You realize we’d be stepping all over Chandler County’s toes.”

His mouth twisted. “I can handle the heat if you can.”

She swallowed a sigh. If Cook had been pissed with her before, he really wouldn’t be happy when he learned she was poaching his case.

“I’ll need copies of the lab and autopsy reports,” she said. “And you’re going to have to assist me with the victimology. I’ll need you to help me get into Jessica’s life.”

“Why?” The light turned green and he accelerated. He looked at her quickly, and from his expression, she knew he was discomfited by the idea of them delving into Jessica’s life together.

“Because that’s where the answers will be. More than likely, we’ll find them in the twenty-four hours before she died.”

“I found a company in north Georgia who can do a twenty-four-hour turnaround on DNA testing. I talked them into doing a test on Sunday, if we send this out by courier tonight.”

Celia’s voice washed over him and Tom glanced up from Jessica’s banking records. The office lay quiet and deserted around them. He pulled off his reading glasses and laid them aside. “That was fast.”

She held aloft a plastic evidence bag. “I need to swab you.”

He nodded and pushed out of the chair. “What do you need me to do?”

Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, she smiled, the expression holding little humor. “Just open up and say ‘ah’.”

Hands clenching the edge of the desk, thighs spread, he leaned against the end and opened his mouth. She stepped between his legs, a long swab in hand.

“This will only take a second.” Her gaze flitted up to his and away. With her this close, he could smell her—faint traces of soap and shampoo, the warmth of her skin. Despite the day’s stressful events, arousal tugged at him, a low, hot pooling below his belt. Her eyes trained on his mouth, she scraped the cotton swab down the inside of his cheek. “That’s it.”

She stepped away and dropped the swab in the bag. He straightened, watching her graceful hands as she sealed the bag and labeled it.

“Who’s Turello?”

“Who’s Turello?” A visible tremor shook her fingers as she recapped her pen. When she finally looked at him, her eyes were bleak, although a wry smile flitted around her lips. “I guess Bryan Turello is my Kathleen Harding.”

Her name didn’t send all the old pain and frustration crashing through him. Thinking of her, even for a second, did nothing. All of his attention, his being, was focused on Celia.

“God, I was so
stupid
.” A harsh laugh burst from her lips.

“Stupid?” He reached for her, pulled her back into the cradle of his thighs. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to smooth away the tension the old memories brought her. He brushed her hair away from her face. “I doubt that.”

“Naïve, then.” She didn’t look at him, her gaze fixed on his throat. “I was a rookie with the DCPD. Turello was my training officer. He was a decorated road cop, very smart, very good looking.” She swept a finger over his collar, her face pensive. “Very, very charming. I fell hard. I was sleeping with him within my first two weeks on the force. That was a really intelligent decision, let me tell you.”

She’d been beating herself up for it ever since. One more thing they had in common—an inability to forgive themselves for past failures. He rubbed his thumb along her jaw. “What happened?”