Mortal Sin (15 page)

His body tensed, and in one powerful groan, he arched up and exploded within her. His obvious lust set off her own orgasm in an intense wave. She clenched him, holding him tight, as they both sank back into the bed.

She never wanted to move again. She didn’t want him to leave. His arms wrapped around her tight, and he whispered love in her ear. She’d needed this night and morning with Anthony. All her doubts washed away in the rain of love he had shown her.

“I could stay in bed with you forever,” he said, his voice scratchy. “You give me peace, Skye. You give my calling greater purpose.”

She sighed. “I love you, Anthony.”

And then her alarm went off.

“So much for peace and hot sex,” she muttered as she reached over and slammed the alarm off.

“Be careful today,” he said. “And I will be here tonight even if I have to bring my library with me.”

She smiled. “I’m holding you to that.”

She took a fast shower, but when she stepped out, she smelled fresh coffee and eggs. She pulled on her uniform pants and a white tank-top and went to the kitchen. Anthony stood at the stove in his sweatpants, chest bare, dishing up eggs from a skillet. Not just eggs—eggs with bell peppers and onions and mushrooms and cheese.

“You’re a saint,” she said.

“Someday, I hope,” he responded.

She never understood that, because to her, how people acted in the here and now mattered more than tomorrow. But she kissed him and took the plate and sat down. “I’m starving.”

“I heard your stomach earlier.”

“Did not.”

He smiled and sat across from her with his own plate of food. “You don’t eat right, dear Skye. I saw all the empty granola bar wrappers in the backseat of your truck.”

“Busted.” She sipped the hot coffee. “It’s part of the job.”

“Not for everyone.”

“For me it is. But I certainly won’t turn away breakfast cooked by a hot, half-naked Italian.”

Anthony almost blushed. He was confident in everything, but still modest about his appearance and didn’t do sex talk outside of bed. And even his sex talk was sweet and romantic, not wild and crazy.

Her cell phone rang. She jumped up and grabbed it off the charger. “McPherson.”

“Sheriff? It’s Bruce Jorgenson.”

“I’ll be in by seven-thirty.”

“Yeah, I know but, well, I grabbed the crime scene report from the Bertrand homicide as soon as it came in. You need to see it before anyone else.”

“Why?” she snapped. She glanced at Anthony. Why did she get the overwhelming sense that she’d been wrong all along? That he had been involved in Bertrand’s murder? Had she been blinded by her love for this man?

And what would she do if Anthony was guilty?

Jorgenson lowered his voice. “There were prints in Bertrand’s office. Juan Martinez.”

“Is this a fucking joke?” Her former partner. Her lead detective, the one on leave. He’d been struggling over the last six months, but he wasn’t a killer.

Except… he hadn’t been himself. Not after being possessed by a demon.

“I’m sorry, Sheriff. Dr. Fielding pulled it and gave it to me first thing this morning. He said CSI can buy you a few hours, but it’s going to get out.”

Of course it would. The press loved vilifying cops. Even emotionally troubled cops who put their lives on the line every day.

“I’m leaving my house now. Wait for me.” She hung up.

Anthony was standing behind her. “What happened?”

She shouldn’t tell him—but Anthony had spent more time with Juan than anyone. “Juan’s prints were found in Doctor Bertrand’s office. At the murder scene. I have to bring him in for questioning.”

“Juan is not a killer.”

“No, he’s not. Except he did kill someone when he was possessed, almost killed both of us, and he hasn’t been right in the head since.”

“Recovering from such a violent demon possession is extremely hard, and sometimes harder for those who are as devout as Juan. Especially with what the demon did while in Juan’s body. Sex. Murder. Juan blames himself, thinks he’s weak because he couldn’t fight back. I’ve been working with him, but it takes time.”

“Time’s up, Anthony. I have to bring him in as a person of interest. At least as a potential witness. He’s going to have to go on record.”

“He may not be coherent.”

“How bad is he? Really, Anthony, not coherent? Juan?”

“Let me talk to him—”

“No. You have to stay out of this. Don’t you remember you had a confrontation with Bertrand the day he died? You’re not free and clear.”

Anthony bristled. “You don’t believe I had anything to do with murder.” It was a statement, but it was also filled with arrogance and hurt.

“No, but it looks bad.” She kissed him, but her mind was already at the crime scene, picturing a deranged Juan Martinez bashing Bertrand’s head in. “I have to go.”

Skye stood outside the door of Juan’s mother’s house, her hand raised to knock, but she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t even know what she was going to do.

He’s a murder suspect. You need to bring him to the station for questioning. If it was anyone else, you’d have brought along two deputies and hauled him away in handcuffs.

This was
Juan
, her friend, her former partner. Yet here he was, living with his mother because he’d been so traumatized by what happened six months ago that he couldn’t live with his wife and daughters. He had nightmares—when he slept. He had guilt—for sleeping with a woman who wasn’t his wife while possessed by a demon. And for killing a deputy. Again, while possessed. He couldn’t stop it the guilt; it ate him up inside.

No one would believe it.

Skye wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t witnessed it.

And now his prints had been found in Richard Bertrand’s home office. Why on Earth would he have been there? Because his mother was the housekeeper? Did Edith know more than she had told Skye yesterday morning? Still, they hadn’t found a murder weapon. Hence, if he wouldn’t grant her the right to search his house, she would get a warrant. There would be no problem getting the warrant with the physical evidence they already had. In fact, she should have already gotten the warrant. She might in fact putting the final nail in her election coffin because she wasn’t treating Juan like a normal suspect.

Except Juan had been her friend from the first day she started in the Santa Louisa Sheriff’s Department. She’d known him as a child because his sister had babysat her. He’d been her biggest supporter when she’d been appointed sheriff. He had dismissed naysayers and told her to trust her instincts.

And her instincts told her Juan Martinez, the cop, could not have killed anyone in cold blood. What motive would he have?

But he would have killed to defend someone else. If that were the case, he needed to come clean. Explain it. She would figure something out as long as there were no lies.

She took a deep breath and knocked on the front door. It was early, barely eight a.m., but Skye wasn’t going to delay any longer. All too soon the Assistant Sheriff Tom Williams would learn of the crime scene report, and then Martin Truxel would know, and she would have to arrest Juan. Unless she had answers.

Edith Martinez answered. She was a widow—Juan’s father had died in an accident when Juan was a teenager. She was very short and small and Skye was always amazed that she’d given birth to three kids. Juan was the oldest, and the only one who still lived in Santa Louisa.

“Skye.” She looked behind her and frowned. “Where’s Mr. Zaccardi?”

“I’m here on police business.”

The old woman shook her head. “I called him—Juan needs him. I think you should go.”

“I can’t.”

Edith frowned but didn’t budge. “My son can’t see anyone right now. Not even you.”

“I’m here on official business,” she repeated. Which wasn’t completely true. She hadn’t called it in. She didn’t know
what
she was going to do after she talked to Juan. But he had to tell her how his prints had wound up in Bertrand’s trashed office. He needed an alibi. She had to know where he had been every minute between four and eight p.m. last night.

She feared he would say he was at home. And his mother would be his only alibi. No one would believe it.

No forced entry.

As Bertrand’s housekeeper, Edith Martinez would have a key.

“Mrs. Martinez, please, I’d like to talk to him here, but I will take him to the station if you force me to.”

The woman reddened. “You’d do that? You’d arrest my son after everything he has suffered?”

“Tell Juan I’m here.”

“Leave, Skye. Do not come back.”

“If you make me leave, I will be forced to get an arrest warrant. Do not make me do that, Mrs. Martinez.”

The woman slammed the door in her face.

Skye stood there, stunned. She’d been over to this house many times for coffee and cake. Mrs. Martinez had always liked her. Juan and his wife, Beth, lived close by. Mrs. Martinez watched their two girls when Beth, a substitute teacher, worked. Mrs. Martinez had organized all the food after Skye’s father died, making sure that Skye ate, that she was cared for. Juan was a decade older than Skye, but they’d been friends since they were children.

And Mrs. Martinez had shut the door on her.

She turned to walk back to her truck, knowing she would have to get an arrest warrant. It would make all this official. What would Williams do? Truxel? Would they attempt to take the interrogation away from her? Could they? What would Juan say? Would he talk about the demon who’d possessed him? Would he sound crazy? Of course he would. To anyone who hadn’t been there, he’d sound insane.

Anthony drove up and parked behind her truck. That’s when she remembered that Edith had said she’d called Anthony.

He jumped out. “Skye—”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming over here? You knew I was looking for Juan!”

“Mrs. Martinez called after you left.”

“You should have called me. You can’t be here.”

She didn’t know if she was more angry that he hadn’t called or that Edith had denied her access.

“Let me talk to Juan first—”

“I can’t do that. He’s a murder suspect.”

“No, he couldn’t have—”

“People often do things we don’t expect them to.”

He looked confused. “Are you mad at me?”

“Yes!” Duh, wasn’t it obvious? “You should have called me. You were going to talk to him without me. I have to be the one to talk to Juan. I’m the cop here. You’re a civilian.”

“Skye, after everything we’ve—”

“Don’t. No. Stop.”

She couldn’t not allow Anthony to twist this around into something personal. She already felt betrayed, and she didn’t fully understand why. After last night… this morning… after the last six months, he should have understood the sensitivities of this situation.

“I’ll convince Juan to speak to you.”

“I’m getting an arrest warrant.”

“Please don’t.”

She tossed her hands in the air, stepping back from Anthony to break contact. It was like
he
had a damn spell over her. “I have to. It’s my job. That you don’t see that—I don’t know what to think anymore. You confronted Bertrand the same day he was killed. Then went to see Juan, and Juan’s fingerprints are all over the murder scene, but you don’t want me to talk to him.”

Anthony wisely said, “I’ll get you in. But please don’t arrest him.”

“I’m not making that promise.”

The door of the house opened and both Skye and Anthony looked up the walkway. Mrs. Martinez came running down the path. She ignored Skye, and grabbed both of Anthony’s hands. “Mr. Zaccardi! My boy’s not here. He’s gone. I don’t know how he walked out without me seeing him, but he’s not well. Please find him. You’re the only one who can reach him.”

“When was the last time you say him?”

She glanced at Skye and frowned.

“Please, Mrs. Martinez,” Anthony said softly, squeezing her hands. “Juan needs your help. When did you see him?”

“Last night. I brought him his dinner. I went to collect his plates, but he wouldn’t let me in.”

“What time did you bring him his dinner?”

“Seven.”

“And he was here at seven?” Anthony asked. “Did you see him then?”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “I brought his dinner inside. He was in the bathroom. I heard him. And I returned an hour later and the plates were outside his door. I wanted to talk, to pray with him, but he wouldn’t let me in. He told me to leave, that… that I should leave town. I will not abandon my son!”

“So you haven’t seen him this morning,” Anthony said.

“No. He is not well, Mr. Zaccardi. He didn’t eat his dinner. He hasn’t slept in days. He won’t let me clean his room.”

“I will find him,” Anthony said. “I promise.”

“I’ll put out an APB,” Skye said.

“No,” Anthony and Mrs. Martinez said together. Mrs. Martinez crossed herself and added, “
Por favor
, Skye, he’s sick.”

“I have to,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Let’s check his room first,” Anthony said. “Skye, there’s something I haven’t told you about Juan.”

Secrets? She wasn’t surprised. And that made her wonder if she’d been lying to herself about their relationship. And about Anthony himself. “You’ve been lying to me?”

“No.”

“What the fuck do you mean
no?
”

“I don’t lie.”

“Bullshit.”

Anthony bristled and Mrs. Martinez reddened. Anthony turned to the old woman. “Edith, I’m going to take Skye to Juan’s room. She needs to see it.”

It was clear Mrs. Martinez didn’t want to let Skye in, but she immediately deferred to Anthony. “I will call Beth. Maybe he’s there.”

“Good idea. Thank you.”

Anthony took Skye’s hand, but she pulled away. She was so angry and…
hurt.
Hurt that he’d been keeping secrets from her.

Whatever was going on with Juan was only one of them.

#

Anthony wished he had more time to prepare Skye for what had been happening with Juan over the last six months, but he hadn’t known what to tell her. Deep down, he wasn’t certain she would understand.