Renegade Alpha (ALPHA 5) (13 page)

Lijah closed the door slowly behind her, his mind racing.

Not only was Jacob Stockton a US senator, but also a personal friend of the president.

If he really was responsible for the robbery, Hammond’s death, and now Peter’s—as unlikely as it seemed that a senator would risk his career for a jewelry heist, let alone murder—then Lijah knew he was going to need the help of way more than the two men Dair had promised to send him as backup.

Chapter 9

“You’re sure Michael was going to say the name Stockton?”

“As sure as I can be about anything that happened that night.” Callie barely glanced at him as she sat on the sofa in the safe house, arms wrapped about the knees drawn up beneath her chin.

It had taken them half an hour to reach the address Dair had given Lijah over the phone. He had also taken several more diversions before driving here, again just to ensure they weren’t being followed. Once he was assured of that, Lijah headed toward the safe house.

The security code Dair had given him to get inside the gate at the entrance to the driveway had been good. Lijah had also taken note of the ten-foot wall surrounding the main house, and that there were numerous security cameras and alarms. Dair had given him the information he needed to disarm those too.

The house itself was in darkness and seemed unoccupied, but as a precaution, Lijah had turned off the headlights of the car and driven slowly up the gravel driveway. He breathed a sigh of relief when no guard dogs came rushing out, barking and growling at them the moment they got out of the car, and no lights came on inside the house either when he disarmed the alarm beside the front door.

Dair really had come through for them.

Lijah realized how and why once he was inside the mansion, and turned on the lights and saw the wedding photographs of Dair’s cousin, Lucien, and his wife, Nicky, in all of the downstairs rooms. This mansion and the surrounding gardens belonged to Lucien Wynter.

Which explained the intensity of the security. Lucien was even more fanatical about securing the privacy and security of his new wife than he was regarding himself.

Lijah silently thanked the other man for the thoroughness of that protection.

Callie, as might be expected, had no interest in the luxury of their surroundings but instead stumbled through to the back of the house to find the kitchen. By the time Lijah joined her there, she had drunk several glasses of water and some of the color was returning to her face.

He just hoped that she didn’t look down at the front of her silk robe and see where some of her father’s blood had stained it.

“What more do you want from me, Lijah?” She glanced across at him.

Lijah wanted it not to be Jacob Stockton, was what he wanted.

The other man was personal advisor and friend to the president of the United States, and was one of the most powerful men in America. He was also extremely wealthy in his own right, as well as a pillar of his local community, with a forty-year marriage also tucked under his belt. Of the happy kind, not the usual “for the cameras only” kind politicians usually paraded in front of the cameras. The Stocktons’ only son, Richard, was well on his way to walking in Daddy’s political footsteps.

In other words, the senator was well above and beyond being accused of being a common jewel thief—even of the exclusive Felix Griffith’s collection kind—let alone of murder. Two murders, now that Peter was also dead.

“Why would he—”

“I don’t know, okay? You asked if I’d remembered anything about that night. I can’t help it if you don’t like what I told you.” Callie glared across at Lijah as he stood in the doorway, minus the Stetson but once again wearing a T-shirt, black this time.

How appropriate.

Black for death.

Black for mourning.

She drew her breath in sharply as the pain of loss once again ripped through her chest like an actual physical pain, stilling that breath and stopping her heart.

She wanted them to still and stop. Wanted the world to stop turning and time to stop ticking by.

 
“If you’re having trouble believing me, how can we expect anyone else to?” She gave a self-derisive shake of her head. “If we go to the police with this they’re more likely to lock me up than they are a senator.”

Lijah accepted that was probably true. Not just because the senator was so powerful, but because the man reeked of respectability in the world of less upstanding politicians. Stockton was well-known for his loyalty to his family, church, and government. And not necessarily in that order.

He had seen the other man speak on television several times. Aged in his sixties, tall and silver-haired, stately, the man oozed sincerity from every pore.

Lijah needed a lot more evidence, proof of the senator’s guilt, before he involved the authorities. Maybe not even then.
 

He moved to the drinks cabinet and poured two glasses of brandy before crossing the room to hold one out to Callie. “Take it and drink it,” he instructed firmly as she looked up at him defiantly. “Then I want you to tell me again exactly what Michael said, word for word.”

She reached out and reluctantly took the glass from him.

“I said drink it.” He stood over her until she had taken a tentative sip and then grimaced. “All of it.”

Callie drank, too weary to argue with Lijah over something so unimportant. She felt the burn of the alcohol all the way down her throat to her stomach.

“Okay.” Lijah crossed the room to make himself comfortable in the chair opposite, the booted ankle of one foot resting on his other knee as he stared across at her.

“Whose house is this?” Callie turned away to frown at their opulent surroundings. “I thought safe houses were usually cabins in the woods, with no amenities?”

Lijah grimaced at her attempt at humor. “Grayson Security prides itself on being the best. Besides, this estate belongs to Lucien Wynter.”

Her brows rose. “First his chauffeur and plane, and now this? He’s never seemed this obliging in the press.”

Lijah gave a hard smile. “He and Dair are more like brothers than cousins.”

“And does he make a habit of allowing his cousin to hide fugitives from the law in his homes around the world?”

He tensed. “We haven’t done anything wrong, and we aren’t fugitives.”

“Except leave—leave the scene of a crime.” Her throat moved as she swallowed.

“Your aunt’s house wasn’t the scene of the crime,” Lijah said gently.

No, it wasn’t. Callie knew her father had been shot, captured, and held prisoner somewhere else entirely. He had come back to her aunt’s house after escaping, only to die there. “I think I’m going to be sick again—”

“No, you’re not,” Lijah told her as he placed both booted feet on the floor and sat forward.

She closed her eyes to shut out the intensity of his glittering stare. She could still feel him sitting across the room from her, staring at her, but at least she didn’t have to look into those piercing indigo-colored eyes.

She swallowed. “As I said, when the men all went down to the basement for the jewelry, Michael spoke to me,” she began jerkily. “He told me—” She gave a shake of her head. Lijah didn’t need to know that Michael had told her he was in love with her. “I thought he said ‘get that bastard to stop’ but now I think it could have been “get that bastard Stock—” The men came back into the room before he finished speaking, there was a gunshot, and—and then Michael didn’t say any more.”

“So he didn’t actually say the name Stockton?”

She opened her eyes to frown across at him. “You think I’m wrong, don’t you?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” She sighed as she placed her empty glass down on the coffee table in front of her. “A robbery is hardly the sort of thing you’re going to believe of a respectable US senator, now is it?”

“It’s…improbable,” Lijah allowed. “Not impossible, but improbable.”

“Because he’s rich enough to pay other people to do the robbery for him,” she said knowingly. “The man who spoke to me— I think he got off on it. There was this…excitement in his voice.” She frowned at the memory. “It was almost sexual.”

Lijah straightened. Now
that
he could believe. A rich and powerful man who could virtually buy or ask for and receive anything he wanted. Except the unobtainable or un-buyable. Like the Felix Griffith’s jewelry collection.

He could well see that the adrenaline rush from stealing something so uniquely valuable, literally from under the owner’s nose, would be equivalent to a sexual high.

“It’s okay if you don’t believe me, Lijah,” Callie accepted heavily.

It wasn’t that Lijah didn’t believe her, it was just— Hell, they were talking about Senator Jacob Stockton!

Except Peter had obviously followed the trail here to Washington, and died for it, which had to mean he’d found the man. Whether or not that man was Senator Stockton was still in question. Lijah needed to investigate this situation further himself before coming to any conclusion. And he needed to do it soon.

Because whoever had shot and held Peter prisoner would without a doubt now come looking for Callie.

And Lijah was responsible for having brought her into the heart of the lion’s den.

“Do you ever sleep?”

Lijah immediately turned off the news he had been watching on the television before turning to look at Callie as she stood in the doorway of the dimly lit kitchen.

She had gone up to one of the bedrooms over an hour ago, but Lijah had still felt too restless to be able to sleep. “Sometimes.” His answer was dismissive as he stood up to stretch.

He had actually been watching the local news to see if there was any story on the body found in the wealthy suburb of Georgetown earlier this evening. So far, two hours later, there wasn’t. Which probably meant the police were still checking into the authenticity of the information he had given them in regard to the identity of the dead man.

“I can’t sleep either.” Callie came farther into the kitchen, wearing one of Lijah’s black T-shirts, after predictably freaking out earlier when she discovered her father’s blood on her robe and nightgown. Lijah had since disposed of both of them.

“Maybe a tea or a coffee would help?” he offered. “Or another brandy?”

“No. Thank you.” Callie’s skin looked very pale against the black T-shirt, her dark hair loose and tumbling about her shoulders. Only her eyes had color as they gleamed the deep blue of sapphires. “Have you found anything?” She looked at her father’s papers which he had spread out over the breakfast bar.

Lijah gave a shake of his head. “No.” He wasn’t about to tell her—yet—of the research Peter appeared to have done into several other robberies that had taken place during the past two years. Robberies of jewelry, or other unique and collectible items—all of them virtually priceless. The curious thing was that none of the stolen items appeared to have ever seen the light of day again, just like the Felix Griffith’s jewelry collection.

Indication that these things had been sold on to another collector, or that the person stealing them was a collector himself. Or that he was keeping them as trophies.

The previous robberies had been kept low profile, mainly because the people who had been robbed were
high
profile and hadn’t wanted the publicity. The break-in at the Hammond gallery had only become so well publicized because of the murder of the owner.

Peter had found six more similar robberies that had taken place during the previous two years, and another one just three months ago. And Jacob Stockton had been in the same city on four out of the seven occasions they had occurred.

That wasn’t conclusive, of course, but it was certainly a high enough percentage to be considered suspect. The fact that Peter had been shot and killed since bringing his investigation to Washington now put that percentage much higher.

Even so, Lijah couldn’t ignore the fact there were also several minuses against it being the senator.

The robbery in London, for instance. Senator Stockton had an alibi for immediately after the exhibition at the Hammond Gallery. His wife had flown in from Paris that evening, and the two of them had met up at the bar in their hotel for a nightcap before retiring to their suite.

A wife could lie, of course, most especially a political wife bent on protecting her husband. But the senator was also sixty-three years old and would already have been tired from the hours of talks with the British prime minister during the day, followed by an evening viewing the private jewelry exhibition. It was stretching it a bit to think of him sneaking back out to steal the jewelry.

His security guards had also been in place outside his hotel suite all night, and despite discreet inquiries, Peter hadn’t been able to get any of them to admit to the senator being anywhere other than his hotel suite for all those hours.

Lijah worked for Grayson Security, and so yes, he knew security guards occasionally had to lie in order to protect their charge or for other reasons, but…

It always came back to a “but.”

That “but” was the fact that Peter had come to Washington to continue his inquiries, and he was now dead.