The Trouble with Temptation (27 page)

When Roberts took a deep breath, Gideon narrowed his eyes.

The man’s shoulders stiffened slightly under his expensive suit.

Instinctively, Gideon pushed off the wall.

He knew the look of a man when he was bracing himself.

Tank was doing the same thing.

Crooks caught sight of them and glanced over at his partner. The lawyer was clearly no fool.

But all the senator did was clench his hands into fists and then open them.

In that brief moment, Gideon had a look at the table. Damp marks in the shape of a man’s hands lingered on the surface. The senator was sweating like a pig in the brisk, artificially cooled air.

“I did it.”

Tank stiffened.

Gideon felt like somebody had just jabbed him in the ass with a hot poker.

The lawyer clamped a hand on his client’s shoulder.

“I need a mom—”

“Be quiet, no. Better yet, leave.” Senator Henry Roberts looked over at his lawyer and said quietly, “You’re fired.”

Then without waiting another moment, he looked back, his attention clearly split between the both of them. “I’m going to make a confession. I suggest you read me my rights.”

*   *   *

“What the hell…?”

The two of them stood in the hall, looking in on their lone prisoner via the security feed. The small city prison was equipped to hold several guests but they rarely had more than one or two people locked up at a time. More often than not, these bars slammed shut behind the idiots who were stupid enough to get behind the wheel after a few too many at the pub or stupid enough to pick a fight with a man after he found you in bed with his wife. Of course, in most cases, both men would find themselves locked up. Or as it sometimes happened, both
women
.

On one memorable occasion, it had been a man and
two
women … and one of the women was the aggrieved spouse. She’d walked in to find her husband of less than six months having a happy little party with his ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend.

She’d gone after the girlfriend with a wine bottle and ended up smashing her husband in the face with it. The ex-girlfriend had pounced, and it had all gone downhill from there.

To Gideon’s knowledge, this might be the first time they’d had a politician behind bars here in McKay’s Treasure.

As he rubbed a hand across his mouth, he let everything settle inside his head. Or he tried to let it settle. Some of the pieces fit, but the rest didn’t.

“He’s not telling us everything,” Tank said, echoing what Gideon was thinking, down to the letter.

Gideon nodded. Of course, the question was figuring out how to get the truth out of him. It might be almost impossible to sift through the carefully explained story and separate the fact from fiction.

They’d spent three hours with the senator after he’d dismissed his lawyer. He’d waived his right to counsel, explained that he did indeed understand just what that meant, and then he’d proceeded to explain how he’d killed Alison Maxwell.

On his own.

That part, at least, Gideon didn’t have to wonder about—he was lying. But he knew details that they hadn’t released, and he had explained why she was dead, and he was waiting even now to sign a confession, waiving away his right to trial.

“It makes no fucking sense.” Gideon didn’t like it when things didn’t make sense. It pissed him off.

Blowing out a breath, he nodded to their man and then looked at Tank. “I’m going to talk to him.”

“We spent three hours talking to him,” Tank said sourly. “But have at it.”

Tank left him alone and as the door behind him shut quietly, Gideon moved toward the cell. He leaned against it, meeting the reddened eyes of Senator Henry Roberts.

The FBI had called.

They had questions for the senator.

Gideon and Tank would be lucky if they had this man anywhere near Treasure within twenty-four hours. Gideon wasn’t particularly territorial. He was more about locking up the criminals and keeping his city safe. He didn’t have anything to prove.

But he didn’t want to let this man go until he had answers to certain questions.

“What aren’t you telling us?” he asked, staring at Roberts.

It had been less than twenty minutes since they’d concluded their interview—or rather, since Tank had concluded his. Gideon hadn’t been involved officially.

In those twenty minutes, Senator Henry Roberts had disappeared and the man now before Gideon was older, more tired, and clearly scared. He’d seen the fear in the senator’s eyes earlier, but this terror was blind, so pure and sharp, Gideon had to fight the urge to check behind him and all the dark corners as well.

The senator rallied at the sound of Gideon’s voice, giving him a polite smile. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re lying about something.” Bracing his elbows on the horizontal bar of the cell, Gideon leaned forward. “I want to know what it is.”

“I assure you—”

There was a clattering crack from out in the hall and the senator jumped up off the bed where he had been sitting, eyes wide, face going pale. His breath came in hard, hitching starts and stops as he stared toward that noise.

“Hinges are messed up on the maintenance door,” Gideon said, suspicion forming inside. “If you don’t close the door by hand, it bangs shut.”

The senator’s laugh was calm. “Forgive an old man. I’m very tired after the day I’ve had.”

“Sure. Confessing to a murder. Has to be tiring.”

Henry Roberts stared at him with chilly eyes. “Extremely.”

“Know what else is tiring? Covering up for somebody. Taking the heat.” When something flashed in the man’s gaze, Gideon knew he was right. “Of course, when you do something, you go all in. You’re going to jail. No passing go, no collecting two hundred dollars.”

“I already explained that I’m aware of what my confession means.” With a dismissive wave, the senator sat down, his hands folded in his lap. They might have been conducting some sort of promotional interview, the way he acted.

“Who’s worth going to jail for?” Gideon asked. “I mean, I look at you and see a guy who’d kill over his own damn pride. So who are you willing to go to jail for? To
lie
for?”

To his surprise, the senator’s proud shoulders slumped. “Surely, Chief Marshall, there are people in your life that you would lie for, die for. Can’t you imagine that most people, selfish or otherwise, can say the same?”

The realization hit hard and fast. “You’re being threatened.”

“No.” The denial came too hard, too fast.

Gideon knew. He just knew.

“Who is—”

“Nobody!” Senator Henry Roberts drew back his shoulders, practically sneering the word. “You’re looking for shadows where there isn’t even any sun. I’ve explained what I did and why.”

*   *   *

As Chief Gideon Marshall walked away, Henry Roberts fought the urge to curl his hands into fists.

He was having a hard time holding it together and it had been even harder with that cop in there, watching him with calm, knowing eyes.

He didn’t know shit.

Once he was alone, Henry dragged a shaking hand through his hair and closed his eyes. His mother, bless her soul, had told him more than once that the things he did in life would come back on him, good or bad.

Mama always did know best.

She’d been gone thirty-two years now. He missed her still, but she wasn’t here to see him and he was thankful for that. It was enough that he was leaving behind his wife, his kids.

Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the concrete and pondered all the decisions and choices that had led him here, all the wrong turns.

It had started with a stripper, one who had teased him with a taste of her … and cocaine.

When she’d pushed for more, a man on his staff had told him that he could get in contact with somebody who could eliminate certain problems from a man’s life.

Henry no longer dealt with that particular
problem solver
. He’d turned out to be a problem himself. He should have remembered what his current troubleshooter had told him when they’d started working together.

Don’t fuck with me and I won’t fuck with you. It’s that simple, Senator.

But Senator Henry Roberts had let his own arrogance blind him and he had indeed tried to fuck with the assassin he knew only as Joseph. Infuriated by everything that had gone wrong since the McKays had come into his life, he’d contacted Joseph and demanded another hit—this time on all three McKays.

Joseph had told him that he was going into retirement and would be unable to complete that job. Would he like a recommendation for another troubleshooter?

Henry had ranted, raged … then threatened.

Perhaps if he’d let it go at that, he might not be here now.

But he hadn’t. Henry was used to taking out the trash and Joseph had crossed him, thereby crossing the line that made him trash. So he’d reached out to another acquaintance but he hadn’t been as subtle as he thought and just that morning, he’d woken up to find himself gagged and tied to a chair.

His wife had been sleeping peacefully while Joseph lay next to her, a gun to her temple.

“She’ll go first,” he’d said. “Then I’ll go after each one of your children. I might leave their little ones alone, because they aren’t to blame for you being a fucking asshole, but then again, you’ve made me very angry.”

The senator knew how to read people and as Joseph lay stroking the hair of Henry’s beloved wife, he knew he was staring into the eyes of a man who could and would kill without a blink. They’d discussed how Henry could fix this.

Then Joseph had left and Henry had laid down to hold his wife for the last time. It took three hours for the drugs Joseph had pumped into her system to wear off.

When she woke up, he kissed her and told her that he loved her.

Then, rising, he showered and made calls to each of his children, telling them the very same thing.

It was fortuitous that the county sheriff had called when he did.

Of course, Joseph expected him to go to jail and rot there, but Henry wasn’t that self-sacrificing. He’d pay, certainly. But in his own way.

The door creaked open a short time later and he pasted a bland smile on his face as a uniformed officer stopped in front of his cell. “I’m supposed to ask you if you need anything to eat or drink while you wait.”

“Yes.” Henry folded his hands. “I’ve heard great things about the pub across the way. Treasure Island? I’ve been having some issues with my blood sugar and I need to get some food in me soon.”

“Sure thing.” The officer gave a professional nod. “What would you like?”

“Fish and chips, please. If you could, try to be quick. I’m not feeling very well.”

*   *   *

“I’m telling you. He’s covering for somebody.” It had been almost an hour since he’d left the senator alone and between Tank and him, they’d fielded three calls from the feds. They couldn’t put them off forever, but an afternoon of being out of the office or unavailable wasn’t going to do them irreparable harm.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Teddy passing by, plodding along in his solid cop’s shoes as he headed for the back where the cells were. He had a bag of take-out in his hands and two drinks balanced in a tray. Trust Teddy to never pass up a chance to grab a bite to eat.

“He’s eating damn fine for a man who just confessed to murder,” Tank grumbled, not even looking at the remains of the peanut butter and jelly he’d put together in the break room.

Gideon pinched the bridge of his nose. “The last meal of a condemned man.”

He drew a deep breath, irritated and on edge. There were a million things that could be getting to him, a million things that were getting to him. The senator had confessed to murder and he had all the details right. Maybe he didn’t have the muscle, but maybe he did. He was pushing up on his late sixties, but he was fit and strong, played golf, and enjoyed walking and fishing. Alison had been a tiny bit of a thing, not much bigger than—

He cut the thought off before it could go there.

The scent of food hung in the air, compliments of the bag Teddy had carried over from the pub. Gideon would recognize the scent from anywhere and it had his mouth practically watering, but he wasn’t about to let his stomach distract him.

As Teddy slipped out of the back, he shot the officer a look. “Problem with the food?”

“No, sir.” Lifting a big shoulder, Teddy glanced back and then looked at Gideon and Tank. “Guy’s weird. Says he doesn’t like to eat around others. Called it a personality quirk.”

“He should have thought twice before confessing to murder then,” Tank said, grumbling.

“Think I should go back in there?” Teddy asked.

On the far side of the bullpen, there was a long narrow strip set up with monitors, feeding them video from various parts of the station, including the back room where Senator Roberts was laying out the flatware for his meal.

“We can watch him from here.” He lifted the headphones back to his ear and nodded at Tank.

Tank pressed play and once more, they listened.

“… in the tub, her back to me and the door. She had her head on the lip of the tub, her eyes closed. There was a glass of wine, white wine, half empty…”

They listened as Roberts recounted the moments before Alison had died—before he had supposedly killed her.

Gideon glanced at the clock, his belly rumbling again, pretty much a demand this time. If he didn’t get some fish and chips of his own—

He dropped the headphones, shooting upright to stare at the monitor.

Henry Roberts was lying with his back to the camera, facing the wall.

Most of his meal was on the floor in front of his bunk. It looked like there was only one thing missing.

The entrée.

“Teddy!”

As he called for the officer, he was already running for the back. The sheriff, his deputies, and Gideon’s own men were staring at him, but he only had eyes for that door.

“Yes, sir?”

“Tell me you didn’t get fish,” he demanded.

“The senator asked—what?”

Without answering, he wrenched open the door.