Playing With Fire (14 page)

Erin quivered at the thought of being questioned by Nate.
She’d barely survived yesterday. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take.

“I’m… I’m not sure how to answer him… or what questions I
shouldn’t answer.”

“Just watch me, Erin. I’ll give you clues. For example, I
don’t think you should discuss the abuse. I’m glad you told me about it, but for
the moment, let’s hang onto that. I want to see what kind off an investigator
this asshole is. Or if he really has made up his mind.”

Erin scrubbed at her eyes. She didn’t want to think it was
true, that Nate believed she was guilty. God, if only she had gone to him. Gone
to him when she got that note under her door. Asked him to help her. But she
couldn’t. She didn’t want him to know all the horrible things about her and
Dylan. What had happened, why she left. But now? Now Nate believed something
even worse. He thought she had killed her husband. Oh, God.

Erin forced herself to listen to Blake. He was still
talking. Still muttering about Nate.

“Damn, was I mistaken, Erin. I thought the creep was in love
with you. Hounding you like a dog after a bone. Now it seems he’s more
convinced than anyone that you committed these awful crimes.”

A tsunami of pain flooded her but she managed to respond
calmly, to hide the hurt gripping her.

“It does seem that way, doesn’t it?”

She gave a resolute sigh.

“I’m ready Blake. Let’s go.”

~~~

Erin took a sip of water from the bottle Officer Coulter
placed in front of her. But her mouth was so dry it was hard to swallow.
Sitting in the restaurant with Blake, the decision to come here had been
straightforward. Now she wasn’t sure. Panic was starting to flutter at the
edges of her reserves and she wasn’t sure she could stave it off.

She listened as Blake made casual conversation with the
court reporter, who sat off to one side of the room. His easy pleasant manner
made Erin grateful that he came with her. When Officer Coulter introduced the
reporter, he explained that she was responsible for transcribing their
conversation. He asked if that was okay with Erin. After Blake nodded his
agreement, Erin consented. In addition to Officer Coulter and Officer Maze, who
had come to the firehouse to pick her up, there was one additional detective
present. He introduced himself as Officer Hanson. Glancing around the room, she
struggled to orient herself. Was it just yesterday that she was here, at the
police station? It seemed impossible, more like a month ago rather than a
single day. But then, she had stopped counting days. They were all a blur. Not
sleeping contributed to the blur.

She knew Nate would be in the meeting, but nevertheless wasn’t
prepared for when he walked in.

His tall, lean body filled the doorway. Unlike the other
officers who were in uniform, he was wearing his usual jeans and t-shirt. His
badge hooked on his belt loop was the only giveaway that he was a cop. His
tousled sun-streaked hair and dark golden skin spoke to hours in the sun.
Against her will, she remembered the scrape of his beard stubble on the
sensitive skin of her neck and chest. His jeans hugged his strong muscular
thighs. Erin looked down, unable to chase away the memory of his body pressed
against hers — or his soft sexy murmurs in her ear. Only her dry mouth kept her
from moaning. But when she allowed herself to peer up at him, Nate didn’t look
the way she remembered. He looked hard, cold, distant. He met her gaze for a
split second then turned his attention to Blake.

He said with a sneer, “See you brought your lapdog with you,
Erin.”

Nate glanced over at the court reporter and said with a
wink, “You don’t need to capture our salutations, Cassie. I’ll let you know
when the meeting starts.”

The plump young woman flushed and returned his wink.

“You got it, Nate.”

Blake straightened in his chair.

“To the contrary, Miss Peters. I respectfully request that
you include all of the detective’s out of line remarks. They will be useful in
my report to his Chief.”

Nate eased his long legs into his chair and leaned back. He
grinned at Blake but there was a decided edge in his voice.

“Well, well, well. So the little puppy dog barks. Does he
bite, too, Erin?”

Gazing at Blake, Nate’s expression switched to a frown.

“Just wanna make sure I understand. Was that a threat,
Richards? If so, heads up. Give the Chief time to respond. He’s still working
his way through the last dozen or so reports on my ‘out-of-line’ behavior.”

Nate held Blake’s gaze until Blake looked away. Seeing the
flush on Blake’s face, the tic twitching beside his eye, Erin wondered if she’d
made a mistake asking Blake to come with her. He didn’t deserve to be treated
like this. While she was deciding if they should leave, Nate turned on her.

“How are you today, Ms. McFadden? Or may I call you Erin? I
believe the only name you don’t respond to is your legal name, Sarah Marie
Masterson.”

Erin choked, gasping for air. She doubled over clutching at
her abdomen. It felt like he’d kicked her in the stomach. She struggled to get
her breath. She grabbed quick shallow breaths of air, trying not to faint.
Tears burned her eyelids. Willing them not to fall, she bit down hard on her
bottom lip. The acrid taste of blood filling her mouth confirmed she broke the
skin.

Through the roar in her ears, she heard Blake talking to
her, felt his steadying hand on her elbow.

“It’s up to you, Erin. You don’t have to take this. We can
leave now.”

She glanced up to see Nate staring at her. His jaw was
rigid, his lips pressed together in a tight line. She thought she saw a flash
of regret behind the anger in his eyes, but it quickly disappeared.

Erin had learned a lot about protecting herself from men in
the last six years. She scrubbed her hand against her mouth and chin, then
wiped the blood on her pants. The red smear galvanized her. She gripped the
arms of her chair and sat up straight. She shook her head.

“No, Blake. I’m fine. I’ll stay.”

She looked up at Nate.

“You may call me anything you wish.”

His eyes darkened to hard sharp coals and she saw a
momentary flush on his cheeks.

“Fine. I’ll call you Erin.”

The ticking of the clock broke through the uneasy silence.
The only other sound was Cassie’s fingers tapping on her keyboard. When she
finished what she was transcribing, she looked up expectantly at Nate.

He nodded to the reporter, and then focused his laser gaze
on Erin. She forced herself not to look away.

“Why did you leave your husband, Erin?”

Erin flushed, then glanced at Blake. He pressed his lips
together, the signal to avoid the question. She remembered his warning not to
go into the abuse she’d suffered. He considered that their ‘ace in the hole’
and didn’t want to give the card to Nate. She licked her lips praying for
moisture.

“I… for a number of reasons.”

Nate whistled and gaped at Blake.

“Damn, counselor. I don’t wanna tell you how to do your job,
but you might have told your client she coulda expected that question. Helped
her work out a nice pat little answer. Surely you could have come up with
something. You know, maybe the stingy bastard cut her allowance, or only let
her use four of his six cars. I dunno. I thought you silver-tongued legal
beagles had
all
the answers. Least you could do is share them with your
client.”

Blake made an obvious effort to control his anger but the
dark red flush on his face gave him away as did his stiff response.

“Ms. McFadden is quite capable of constructing her own
answers. It is also her privilege to answer or not answer your questions, no
matter how insulting they are.”

Nate raised his hands with an innocent shrug as if he didn’t
know what the fuss was about.

“Okay, Erin. Let’s try another hard one. Did your husband
sleep around?”

“I… I don’t know—”

Nate interrupted.

“Did your husband consort with other women?”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

Nate turned to the reporter. “Please indicate that Ms.
McFadden shrugged as though she didn’t know or care how many women her husband
slept with.”

Erin glared at him.

“That’s not what I meant. I don’t know how many women he
‘slept’ with. It was a lot.”

Nate’s lips twitched. “Thank you for the elucidation.”

He waited until Cassie finished typing.

“Did it bother you, that he sought other women, in addition
to you?”

“No.”

“Hmm. Why not? Make it easier for you to have lots of men.”

“Don’t answer that, Erin.” Blake’s voice was sharp. “You’re
over the line, Stryker.”

Nate tossed him a nonchalant shrug. “So? Put it in your
‘report.’”

He turned back to Erin.

“You didn’t seem surprised yesterday when I told you that
the bodies found in the fire were your husband’s and Camilla Elliott’s. Let’s
presume for the moment that you didn’t put the bodies there. When did you learn
their identity?”

Erin closed her eyes, trying to count back the days. She
couldn’t remember now if it was four days or five days. It was so jumbled.

“I… I think it was five days ago.”

“You heard it on the news?”

“No. Someone put a note under my door.”

“A note?” Nate frowned at her. “What kind of note?”

“A copy of the press release. It was addressed to me. To
Sarah Marie Masterson.”

Erin saw Nate and Dan Coulter exchange a glance. She wasn’t
sure what she’d said that puzzled them. Before she could analyze it, Nate asked
the question she’d been expecting and dreading.

“When you received this ‘note,’ who did you tell that Dylan
Masterson, the murder victim, was your husband?”

Erin looked down at her hands, wondering if they always
shook like this. She noted, not for the first time, how ragged, how unkempt her
fingernails were.

Nate’s stern voice pierced her trance.

“I asked you a question, Erin. Who did you tell that Dylan
Masterson, the murder victim, was your husband?”

Erin tried to answer but now her throat was as dry as her
mouth. Speaking was impossible.

Nate persisted.

“Did you tell your boss, Lt. Lang? No? How about Chief
Halloran? Did you tell your Chief? No? Hmm, how about the police?”

Erin looked up at him and shook her head.

“To confirm, for the record, Ms. McFadden. Please answer
audibly, yes or no. In the ‘four or five days’ that you ‘knew’ your husband was
one of the murder victims, did you come forward and convey this information to
any of the police or fire officials you know, or, for that matter, to anyone?”

Erin shook her head.

“Yes or no, Erin?”

“No.”

“Were you on the pipe, Erin?”

Nate’s question slammed through the fuzz in her brain. Erin
was stunned, incredulous.

“I… I don’t know what you mean….”

“C’mon, Erin. Even we ‘hicks’ — as I believe your counselor
referred to this department — or perhaps it was just me. Yeah, even in the
backwoods of Minnesota we’ve heard about all the good stuff you jetsetters have
access to. How about it, Erin? You sample a little hash, mesc? Acid? No? How
about XTC, Bolt? Ludes? My understanding is that your hubby had expensive
taste. Don’t tell me you didn’t take advantage of his gold-plated stash?”

Looking away from his mocking smile, Erin shook her head.

“Let me see your arms, Erin?”

Blake suddenly shot to his feet, scraping his chair against
the tile floor. “That’s enough! We’re leaving. Come, Erin.”

Nate’s voice was soft, laced with danger. “Sit down,
counselor. Now.”

He waited, then added, “No one forced Ms. McFadden to come
here. She came of her own volition. Erin will decide when she is leaving, not
you.”

Blake glared at Nate, then looked to Erin. When she remained
seated, Blake sunk back into his chair, a dark flush staining his cheeks.

Erin waited until Nate turned away from Blake, and met her
eyes. She tried to reconcile the man she thought she knew with this hateful
person glaring at her. She slowly put her arms on the table, and turned them
over so that the smooth pale flesh was available for Nate’s inspection. He
frowned and made a dismissive gesture as if it wasn’t necessary to show him her
arms.

Without dropping her gaze, she asked in a soft, barely
audible voice, intended only for Nate.

“Why are you doing this to me, Nate?”

Nate flushed. A mix of emotions contorted his face, the
creases on his cheeks hardened into deep grooves. He made a visible attempt to
lighten his expression, but shot her an ugly grin.

“I ask the questions, sweetheart. You answer them. As many
as your puppy dog allows you to.”

Erin’s heart thrummed painfully in her chest. His derisive
response confirmed her fears. Nate believed she was guilty.

Again, the only sound in the hushed room was the ticking of
the clock and Cassie’s fingers tapping on her keys.

“Who did you send $1,500 to for the last 28 months, Erin?”

His question was startling enough that even his officers
responded with a shuffle of papers or in the case of Charlie Hanson, a soft
whistle.

“Don’t answer that, Erin. He is trying to confuse you by
jumping from one topic to another.” Blake interjected.

Erin ignored him. After a short pause, she said to Nate, “To
Simon. Simon Bergner.”

“His address?”

“PO Box 1528, Phoenix Az. 85044.”

Nate motioned to Officer Maze, who nodded, excused himself,
and left the room.

“He a friend of yours, Erin? Must like him a lot, if you
send him that much money every month.”

She closed her eyes and tried to swallow, but it seemed like
weeks since she’d had enough spit in her mouth to do that.

“He’s a private investigator.”