The Accused (17 page)

“They don’t think you did it yourself. But either someone is very good at picking locks and hacking security systems or they had a key and the codes. Does anyone have a key except you?”

“The building manager and maintenance, but other than that, no. All of my extended family is in other states and I’m not close enough to anyone in Baton Rouge to give them a key to my place.”

“Did you ever leave your keys lying around at work?”

“I’m sure I did, but I don’t see...” A thought flashed through her mind and she lost concentration.

“Something just occurred to you,” Carter said.

“Kurt has a friend who lives in my building. I’ve seen him entering the elevators before. We’re supposed to go down and let in our guests, but he was alone.”

“His friend probably gave him the code so that he didn’t have to go down to meet him.”

“Probably. But it doesn’t make sense. Why would Kurt be upset over the Warren case? That case guaranteed him the partnership.”

“I don’t know, but what I do know is that he had access to your building and likely your keys, he could have overheard Emily’s call to you from the law office, and he was in Emily’s hospital room when she coded. If he’s not involved, he has the worst luck and timing of any individual in the world.”

She clenched the door handle until her pulse pounded in her fingertips. Could her lazy and ineffective former coworker really be behind all this terror? “Why didn’t the police tell me about their suspicions back at the condo?”

“They want to remove the lock from the door and do a more extensive search before making that final assessment. A fact like that can change the entire focus of an investigation and given all the seemingly connected issues and the fact that the perp is clearly willing to do physical harm, the police are going to make darn sure this investigation is clean and one hundred percent accurate.”

Slowly, she let out the breath and released her grip on the door handle. “You’re right. It’s my job to know you’re right. Why can’t I focus?”

“Because your job has never been personal.”

She looked over at him. “How did you get so smart?”

“My mom would tell you it’s because of her.”

She smiled. “Having met your mom, I think I’ll agree.”

He reached over and squeezed her hand. “We’re going to figure this out. I’m not going to rest until I do.”

A feeling of warmth ran through her and for the first time all day, she felt like things would ultimately be all right. What was it about Carter that made her feel as if he had the answers? As if his presence was all that was required to right her world? She’d never had such a strong connection with another person.

Except her mother.

* * *

C
ARTER
LOOKED
THROUGH
the one-way glass into the interrogation room at Steven Adams. He was clearly hungover and more than a little angry at being dragged from one police department to another when he’d been expecting to walk free this afternoon. The only place he’d admitted to being in the past twenty-four hours was jail. The police already had proof of the bar where he’d gotten drunk, but his lips were sealed, even about that.

“He’s not going to tell us anything,” Carter said. “Either he’s responsible for part of the stuff that’s happened or he’s responsible for none of it but is happy it’s occurring. Either way, he’s not going to assist in an investigation.”

Alaina sighed. “Especially given who’s being targeted.”

“Exactly.”

“There’s nothing we can contribute here. I think we should head back to Calais and assess the situation at the house. We have to make it possible for you to stay there safely, and I want to alert everyone in town to be on the lookout for anything out of sorts. Calais residents don’t take kindly to someone threatening one of their own.”

“I’m a stranger.”

“Maybe that’s true now, but your mother wasn’t, and a lot of people remember her fondly. Besides, no man worth his salt likes to see a woman harassed, regardless of his feelings toward her.”

“The Southern-gentleman thing?”

“I’d like to believe just a gentleman thing. Let’s get out of here,” he said.

As they exited the viewing room, Detective Breaux came down the hall toward them. “We found a can of spray paint that matches that used on Winstrom’s car in Adams’s garage. The can was still in a bag from Carl’s Hardware along with the receipt for two cans charged to Adams’s credit card. No sign of the missing can anywhere in the garage or house.”

“What about his wife?”

“She’s thrilled we found him alive and swears she knows nothing about the paint. Her fingerprints aren’t on them, the bag or the receipt, so it’s possible she’s telling the truth.”

“So what’s your take on it?” Carter asked.

Detective Breaux shrugged. “Gut instinct? I think Adams went on a bender and spray-painted Winstrom’s car, but I won’t make a guess on any of the other things, except the attack on Ms. Jensen this morning. There’s no way that could have been him.”

“What about Larry Colbert? Anyone get a line on him yet?”

“No, but I think his wife is hiding something. When we questioned her before, it was only about the vandalism to Winstrom’s car. Now that the investigation has escalated to attempted murder, maybe she’ll be compelled to talk.”

“True,” Carter agreed, “especially if what she’s hiding gives him an alibi.”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Detective Breaux said.

“Well, if you don’t need anything else from us, we’re going to head back to Calais and work on securing Alaina’s house. Let me know when you come up with something.”

Detective Breaux nodded. “And if you think of anything or you have any more issues in Calais, let me know.”

“Will do,” Carter said and they exited the police station.

“Did you tell Detective Breaux about Kurt having access to my building?” Alaina asked as they pulled out of the parking lot.

“Yeah. He’s going to be looking at Kurt very closely, but given his political connections, also very carefully.”

Alaina sighed. “Money and power complicate everything.”

“Depends on which side of the coin you’re on. For Kurt, it makes things easier.”

“Very true.” She looked out the windshield, her brow scrunched in concentration, then frowned. “Opportunity is there, but what I don’t have a line on at all is motive. If we assume the same person who hurt Emily is the one harassing me, I can’t think of any reason that Kurt would have for doing so. He got the partnership. I resigned from the firm. Why bother with me when I’m no longer a factor?”

“I don’t know.” Carter’s jaw flexed involuntarily. Those were the hardest three words he’d ever spoken. Never in his life had he wanted something as badly as he wanted to fix this situation for Alaina. And instead, he was experiencing another first—not being able to think of a single thing to make it better. So far, all of his attempts had been futile or produced more questions.

Maybe you’re too close.

The thought ripped through his mind and he clenched the steering wheel, not wanting to think about all the implications that came along with admitting that statement was true. The irony of the situation hit him full force. When William had asked him to check up on Alaina as a favor, he’d been peeved at the inconvenience, certain he’d butt heads with the city lawyer. Instead, the opposite had happened and he found himself in the impossible position of caring about someone who was destined to leave in a matter of weeks. The first day he’d driven to the house to meet Alaina, he’d been mentally tallying the days until she left.

Now, he wished that tally was bigger.

* * *

C
ARTER
THREW
his cell phone onto the kitchen countertop and turned to stare out the window into the swamp. Alaina could see his jaw flex, even from her vantage point on the other side of the counter. The call had been from Detective Breaux, but from Carter’s reaction, it wasn’t good news. What if something else had happened to Emily?

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice cracking.

He turned back around to face her and immediately looked contrite. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. Emily is still in a coma, but her vitals are steady and there’s a guard in front of her room and another sitting with the nurse at the station tonight. No one is allowed by except the on-duty doctor, and only the nurse can approve him.”

She blew out a breath of relief. “I’m glad they stepped up security.”

“Me, too.”

“So what
is
wrong?”

He threw his hands in the air. “Nothing’s
wrong,
really. It’s the lack of forward movement that’s frustrating me.”

“I guess Detective Breaux didn’t make any headway with Kurt?”

“Ha. He lawyered up and refused to talk. Then the mayor called the police captain and interrupted dinner with his family to explain to the captain just how unhappy he was that such a fine young man was being railroaded so that the police could look like they were doing their job.”

“Figures. I expected as much.”

“Yeah, well, unless you get video of Kurt McGraw committing a crime, you’re not likely to get anywhere.”

She sighed. “Probably not. No progress with Colbert’s wife either?”

“She completely clammed up. Told him to arrest her or get off her porch, then went on to say that if he arrested her, she still wasn’t speaking except to her attorney.”

“Do you think Colbert’s behind it all? Maybe he and Adams were in it together.”

“Anything’s possible. Her refusal to tell where her husband is certainly doesn’t make him look all that innocent. But then, she’s not likely to care what he’s suspected of when she blames the firm for her daughter’s death.”

“And so I’m in the same position now that I have been since the beginning.” Alaina said what she knew he was thinking but didn’t want to voice. The reality was, as long as the attacker was roaming free, she was at risk. The Baton Rouge police didn’t have the manpower to send armed guards to Calais, and given the situation with her condo, she wasn’t safe there either.

Carter blew out a breath. “I know I said we’d stay at my place tonight, but I was thinking... No, never mind.”

“You want to set a trap for him.”

His eyes widened.

She gave him a small smile. “I
did
work with cops, remember?”

“It was a moment of weakness and a really bad thought. Forget it.”

“I don’t think so.” A million different scenarios ran through her mind, and she categorized and filed them all just like she used to when she was working a case.

“We both know this won’t stop until he gets what he wants or he gets caught,” she continued. “Even if he guessed where I was hiding, he’s not going to risk coming after me at your place. It’s too small and I don’t think he’s desperate...yet. But if we made it look like I was here alone, then he might take a shot at me here. With both of us ready for him, we have a chance to end this now. Tonight.”

Carter shook his head. “You’re not a cop. I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Who’s asking?”

“Even if you’re volunteering, it’s my responsibility to tell you no. I’m supposed to protect you, not elicit your help doing my job.”

“Fine, but I have no intention of leaving here tonight. So unless you plan on arresting me or leaving me here alone, I don’t see that you have much choice.”

“It’s too dangerous,” he said, but Alaina could tell his argument was waning.

“So what’s less dangerous—waiting for Detective Breaux to catch Colbert? And so what if he does? He has no proof to tie him to any of this and neither do we. He’d walk and you know it. And if it’s not him, then we’re really at a disadvantage because everyone’s concentrating on finding the wrong person.”

She threw her hands in the air. “For all we know, it could be your disgruntled cook harassing me here and something completely different going on in Baton Rouge. The only way to know for sure who’s after me is to catch him in the act. Do you want to do that now or wait until I leave Calais and then run the risk of my having to deal with the same thing somewhere else?”

He stiffened and Alaina could tell she’d struck a big nerve. Good. That was exactly what she’d intended. She didn’t like the situation any more than he did and she was aware of the danger, but she also knew she had more of an advantage here with Carter’s help than she did anywhere else. Looking over your shoulder every minute of every day was no way to live. This was supposed to be the start of a new life and as things currently stood, someone was preventing that from happening.

One way or another, it was going to stop.

Finally, he sighed. “I know you’re right, but I hate it. You will never know how badly I hate it.”

She walked over to him and placed her hand on his arm. “I know you hate it, but I trust you. I can’t be assured of that with anyone else going forward. And in some screwed-up way, it feels to me like it has to happen here. Like I have to tie up all loose strings to the past before I can move forward.”

He looked at her and she could see in his expression that he got it, even though he didn’t like it. He leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promised before wrapping his arms around her and drawing her close to his chest.

“I know you won’t,” she said, but at that moment, her real fear was not from the unknown assailant—it was from her feelings for Carter.

Chapter Seventeen

They waited until dark. It would be easier for Carter to slip back into the house unnoticed in the inky black of night. A storm was brewing overhead, but it was supposed to hold off until after midnight. With any luck, this would all be over by then.

Alaina stood at the front door with Carter as he prepared to leave, trying to hold back the anxiety that was creeping in. Setting a trap had sounded like a great idea in the bright light of day, but now that it was in motion, a million worries she hadn’t thought of before tumbled through her mind.

“Get up to the bedroom as soon as you lock this door,” Carter said, his voice low. “Keep your pistol in your hand, ready to fire. Amos is waiting for me at the café. I’ll exchange trucks with him and he’ll spend the evening having pot roast at my mom’s. No one should be able to make out who’s driving in the dark. I’ll make my way back through the swamp from his cabin and scale the balcony to the bedroom. The rope is hidden in the vines and can’t be seen without digging for it. You stay put, and unless it’s me, be ready to shoot.”

Alaina nodded. They’d gone over the plan a million times—every detail of every movement. She knew it was solid and she trusted Carter to protect her.

“It shouldn’t take more than thirty minutes for me to get back,” Carter whispered.

“I know,” she said, but those thirty minutes were the part that bothered Alaina the most. One thousand eight hundred excruciatingly long seconds alone in the house, locked up in the bedroom, fingers wrapped around her nine millimeter.

He studied her for a moment, then leaned over and dropped his lips to hers. The brush of his skin on hers set her body on fire and reenergized her in a way mere words could never have done. When this was over—really over—she had a lot of thinking to do about Carter Trahan.

He broke off the kiss and opened the front door, then with one final long look at her, he disappeared into the building storm.

Alaina grabbed her pistol from the entry table and hurried upstairs. She did a quick check under the bed and in the closet, then locked the bedroom door behind her and turned off the overhead light before slipping into the corner behind the school desks.

The light from the kerosene lamp on the dresser cast a dim glow over the room, reaching almost to the corners. She could easily make out the bed pillows, lined under the covers to look like someone sleeping. When Carter returned, she’d unlock the bedroom door and pretend to go to the bathroom. If they were right, the assailant would choose that moment to try and lure her downstairs or sneak into her room.

Either way, Carter would be ready. If the assailant entered the room, he’d take him down. If the assailant attempted to draw her downstairs, Carter would use the servant’s stairwell to slip down into the kitchen and try to ferret him out in the darkness. Alaina was to remain secure in the bathroom until Carter came to get her. It wasn’t the best plan and certainly not the safest, but it was what they had to work with.

They’d carefully checked every square inch of the servants’ stairs and the doors. Squeaky hinges had been oiled and loose stairs had been secured, allowing for silent passage. They’d released the bathroom window from the many layers of paint that had sealed it shut, and stored a climbing rope in the linen closet. If things went bad, she would scramble out of the window and drive to Calais for help.

In the meantime, she was going to pray that things didn’t go bad.

She glanced down at her watch and struggled for patience. Only three minutes had passed since Carter left. She had at least another long, agonizing twenty-seven minutes to go before he’d make his way up the balcony and she’d let him in through the patio doors. Thousands of opportunities for something to go horribly wrong and even more opportunity for her to imagine things going horribly wrong.

For the first time in her life, the reality of what it truly meant to be a law enforcement officer struck her. She’d always respected the work cops did, even though they’d butted heads at times, and she’d never thought it was easy. But she’d also never imagined it being this hard. Surely, they all had their nerves cauterized during training. Or perhaps beta-blockers were issued right along with pistols and handcuffs.

Her left foot began to tingle and she shifted her weight to her right side. It would be much easier if she sat, but sitting was hardly optimal if the need to flee came about. A dull ache, courtesy of an old track-and-field injury, started up in her right foot but she promptly ignored it. Heat and ice could come later, when she was certain she could sit still and be safe.

As the minutes ticked away, the events of the past year played through her mind. So much had changed—some for the better and some not so much. A year ago, if anyone had told her she’d be in a spooky mansion, hiding in a bedroom and trying to catch a criminal, she would have had them committed. A year ago, if anyone had told her that her heart and body would be longing for a hunky small-town sheriff, she would have said they were crazy. A year ago, her life was so much simpler.

And so empty.

She stiffened at that thought. Had she really been so focused on her career that she’d never stopped to ask herself if she even wanted it? Had she used it to shield herself from forming the close personal relationships that were far more important than a job?

She blew out a breath. Her two weeks in Calais were supposed to have been a time of reflection and decision making, but she hadn’t seen these huge revelations coming.

Or Carter Trahan.

Suddenly, a dull thud sounded somewhere in the house and she froze. One glance at her watch told her it was too soon for Carter to be back. Besides, Carter would enter the house from the bedroom balcony. The noise she’d heard had definitely come from inside. With her. Where she was all alone.

Stay calm. Remember the plan.

Yeah, right. The plan included Carter being here.

She gripped her pistol with both hands and aimed it over the desks and at the door, her hands shaking even when propped on the desk seat. If anyone came through that door, she would empty her magazine into them. Given that they’d have to pick the lock or break down the door to get through it, no one could fault her for the shooting. It would definitely be a case of self-defense.

She took a deep breath and slowly blew it out, mentally running through the case law for self-defense shootings. Silently reciting the cases and rulings calmed her, and the shaking in her hands decreased. She took another breath and continued her mental recital.

The creak of a floorboard in the hallway right outside her room echoed through the still night air like a scream. She flung her hand over her mouth, stifling a cry. Seconds later, the door handle jiggled and she put her hand back on the pistol, her finger positioned on the trigger.

Squeeze, don’t pull.

She’d done it a million times at the gun range, shooting paper targets with deadly accuracy. Now it was time to put all that training to use. All she had to do was imagine that paper target and fire. She could do this.

Then the jiggling stopped and she heard the hinges of a door squeak. He must have entered one of the other rooms off the hallway, but why? She and Carter had checked every square inch of this room. No servants’ passage existed. The only way in and out was the main bedroom door and the patio.

A second later, she had her answer.

The roar of a gunshot seemed to shake the wall beside her. She screamed as splinters of wood pricked her neck and bare arms as the round broke through the paneling. Instinctively, she flung herself flat on the floor as another round pierced through the wall right where she’d been squatting.

She was a sitting duck. He could stand there firing as long as he had ammunition. Firing back would do her no good. Her nine millimeter wouldn’t pierce two walls of paneling. Her only chance was to run for it.

Digging the toes of her tennis shoes into the wood floor, she pushed with her legs and pulled with her one free hand to drag herself over to the patio doors. Her heart thumped so strongly that it was like a hammer beating against the hardwood. A single bead of sweat ran down her forehead and directly into her eye, blurring her vision, and she clenched her pistol so tightly that her fingers began to ache.

Another shot rang out and hit the kerosene lamp on the dresser—shattering it and pitching her into complete darkness.

She took a breath and continued to push on. It couldn’t be much farther now. And just when her calves started to cramp, her hand hit the bottom frame of the French doors. She slid her hand up the door, trying to keep her head low while fumbling for the lock. After what felt like an eternity, her fingers circled around the dead bolt and she turned it.

Two more shots fired and some of the glass panes on the doors shattered. Involuntarily, her hand jerked back and she had to force herself to reach up again for the doorknob. She closed her hand around it and pulled the door open wide enough to drag herself over the threshold. The broken glass dug into her palms and pierced through her T-shirt, cutting the sensitive skin on her chest and stomach.

She bit back a cry, trying not to give away her position in the room, and continued across the glass-littered threshold until she reached the balcony. Now came the really hard part. The rails of the balcony were too close together for her to fit through. She had to stand to get over the railing, and standing put her at huge risk for a lucky shot landing its mark.

Carter had left the rope tied to the post in the middle. All she had to do was jump up, grab that rope and scale down the plaster column to the patio below. Then she’d run like she’d never run before. Reaching behind her back, she stuck her pistol in her waistband holster. She’d need both hands for the rope.

She took a deep breath.
On three. One. Two. Three!

She bolted up and reached for the rope. Panic washed over her when she couldn’t find it in the thick vines circling the column. Another shot sounded and she felt it whizz by, inches from her head. She tore the vines from the column, digging for the rope in the pitch-dark night, holding in a cry of relief when her fingers finally wrapped around the coarse line.

Her relief disappeared as the door to the bedroom burst open and the light from a flashlight struck her directly in the face, blinding her. She ducked as another shot rang over her head. The blood rushed out of her head as she accepted the fact that this was how it would all end. She was out of options.

She cringed, waiting for the killing shot to hit her immobile body, but instead, a strangled cry came from inside the room. She saw the flashlight hit the floor and then looked up and saw what had caused the shooter to fumble.

The shimmering white figure of her mother hovered two feet above the bedroom floor, floating directly between her and the shooter.

She leaped up from the balcony and grabbed the railing, rolling her body over the top. A shot rang out and grazed the top of her arm before she let the railing go and dropped onto the patio below. Her left foot landed on a stone and twisted, wrenching her ankle, but she had no time to dwell on injuries. She ran into the swamp behind the patio as the shooter burst out onto the balcony behind her.

He fired off several shots, the bullets whizzing by her in the dense, black swamp. She pushed herself through the thick foliage as fast as it allowed, her thighs and calves burning from the strain. When she reached the path to Amos’s cabin, she drew up short.

What the hell had just happened? By all rights, she should be dead on that balcony and would be if it hadn’t been for her mother. Correction—her mother’s ghost.

She shook her head, trying to clear the image of her mother, shimmering in light and hovering two feet above the floor, out of her mind. She’d deal with her thoughts on that later.

If there was a later.

Going to the caretaker’s cabin was tempting, but it was no place to mount a defense. Surrounded by the snaking bayou, there was only one way out unless she wanted to dive into the alligator-infested water and swim for it.

She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and checked it, expecting nothing, given the dark storm clouds circling above. No signal. She put the phone away and pulled out her pistol. In the rustle of the brush in the stormy winds, she couldn’t hear the sound of pursuit behind her, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there somewhere, just waiting for a sound to indicate where she was hiding.

The moonlight peeked out from behind a cloud long enough for her to scan the path in both directions. The path was clear. She waited until the clouds rolled back over the moon, then hurried across the path into the foliage on the other side. Maybe the killer would stick to that side of the path, thinking she wouldn’t cross it and go deeper into the swamp.

He was wrong.

* * *

C
ARTER
PARKED
HIS
TRUCK
behind a stretch of thick brush about a quarter mile from the house. He’d intended to park at the caretaker’s cabin and make his way to the house by the path, but parking here saved him some of the drive and eliminated the possibility of being seen passing near the house. It would be a quick jog through the brush, skirting the road, and then a quick trip around the house to scale the balcony.

When he was halfway to the house, the first shot echoed in the distance.

He froze, certain he’d mistaken some other sound for a gunshot. But when the second shot fired—hollow and faint—he knew someone was firing a pistol inside the house. And for him to hear it this far out, it had to be high-caliber.

He leaped through the brush and onto the road in a dead run for the house, all plans of subversive maneuvers gone right out the window. As he ran, he said a silent prayer that Alaina had gotten out of the house or returned fire. It was possible he couldn’t hear the nine millimeter at this distance.

And it’s possible she had no chance to fire.

He forced the thought from his mind and pushed his legs harder to increase speed, not even hesitating when he ran through the gates and into the courtyard. He fumbled with the key to the front door and cursed before finally shoving the unlocked door open and peering inside.