Danny leaned into the prickly growth of cypress. The rough bark branches hung low to the ground and continued upward, over the door to the house. If he climbed the tree, he would get a better view of the grounds without giving up his cover. Grabbing hold of the tree’s thin branches and ignoring the pricks of its needles, he pulled himself up until the front of Patrice McKenzie’s house came clearly into view.
He didn’t have to wait long for the next piece of the drama to unfold. He’d barely found a semi-comfortable seated position when Peter Arnold stormed out of the McKenzie house, Patrice on his heels. Danny reached into his pocket and realized he’d forgotten to get his recorder back from Nick. He grabbed his cell phone, turned it on and discovered, to his dismay, the battery had gone dead. “Shoot,” he said softly. No recorder. No camera. Anyone would think he was an intern.
Peter charged out the front door. “This is extortion!”
“Bullshit, Peter. This is just business, and you know it.” Patrice hurried after him.
He turned on her, hand raised, and for a moment Danny thought he was going to strike. Evidently, Patrice thought so, too, because she quickly stepped back. Even from a distance, she appeared to be trembling.
“Don’t try and couch this in more polite terms.” Peter’s voice held a threat. “I’ve offered you an exorbitant sum of money already. There’s no way I’m coughing up the kind of money you’re asking for. What you’re doing is illegal.”
“So is what you’re doing.” She sounded defiant, but also scared. A little like David standing up to Goliath. “My silence is worth a lot more than fifty thousand dollars.”
Peter grunted. “Well it sure as hell isn’t worth one million. Not to me.”
“You sure about that?”
He didn’t answer.
“I can be paid to keep silent, or I can be paid to talk.” She sounded smug now, less scared. “It’s all a matter of who makes me the best offer.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes. That’s right.”
Peter opened up his car door and slid behind the wheel. “I’ll be in touch.”
He drove off and Patrice went back into her house. Danny climbed down from the tree, working hard to remember every word of their conversation. Nick was going to love this.
Chapter 20
Nick’s call came at four thirty in the afternoon. Could Jamie meet him at his house? He had something to discuss with her, and he didn’t want to do it in the office.
He knew. The thought lodged itself stubbornly in her brain and refused to leave. Somehow he knew she’d lied to him; that a sex tape of Janelle and Rod really did exist. She could think of no other reason he wouldn’t want to talk at his office.
Maybe she should be glad. She didn’t like lying to him. It wouldn’t be easy to explain why she had though. At least not without admitting she cared for him more than she should. She practiced her apology and explanation all the way to his house. Upon her arrival, however, she was surprised to find Nick neither angry, nor heart-broken.
“Jamie, hi.” He greeted her at the door with a smile. “You are not going to believe what’s happened.”
Okay. Clearly he had not found out the truth about Janelle’s affair. “You’re right. What’s got you so upbeat?”
He led her into the kitchen, where she smelled bread baking in the oven and marinara sauce bubbling in a pot on the stove. While her mouth watered, her brain went right to work on quaint domestic fantasies. The two of them cooking dinner. A romantic meal by candlelight. A little TV before climbing into bed.
Bed. She swept the fantasy quickly aside. Her feelings for Nick were becoming dangerous. Before Janelle died she’d found him attractive. That was it. There were no fantasies. She just felt sorry for him now. That was all there was to it. It had to be.
“Looks like I’m finally making progress on finding out who killed Janelle,” he said, taking a seat at the center island in the kitchen. “I can almost see a headline in the making.”
Jamie sat at the stool next to him, admiring the marble counter tops, stone flooring and stainless steel appliances. Had Nick decorated this room, or was it Janelle’s taste she was busy appreciating? “Have you heard from the police?”
He shook his head. “Are you kidding? I can’t get them to tell me a damn thing.”
“So how are you getting closer to finding the killer?”
“I had a meeting with Patrice McKenzie today. She’s offered to sell me everything she knows about Rod Skinner for a million dollars.”
Jamie sat stunned for a moment, unsure she’d heard him right. “A million dollars? Are you kidding me? Nick, you can’t possibly be serious.”
“I’m very serious. Apparently, whatever she knows about Rod is worth a hundred grand a year for her to keep her mouth shut.”
“So she says.”
“I don’t blame you for being skeptical,” he said. “I didn’t believe her at first either, but guess who paid her a visit not ten minutes after I left?”
Jamie shrugged. “Rod Skinner?” If she’d been tailing him as diligently as she should have been, she wouldn’t need to ask.
“No. Peter Arnold.”
“I suppose that’s hardly a surprise at this point.”
“I know. Danny says Peter flew out of her house in a rage. Accused her of extortion.”
“Danny was there?”
“Yes. He insisted on following me over there; then hung out after I left to see if Rod would show.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t ask me to come.” She said it and immediately regretted it. Might as well admit she cared. “Pictures of Peter there would have been really great.”
“I know.” He nodded, disappointment resonating in his voice. “Danny went back and got a few after the fact, but you’re right. Pictures would have been great.”
“What do you suppose Peter wanted her to keep quiet about? Wasn’t she offering to sell you information about Rod?”
“She was, which makes me think whatever Rod’s involved in, Peter’s mixed up in it with him. I can’t tell you how much I’d love a headline that reads, Peter Arnold and Rod Skinner Arrested.”
“I’ll bet, but getting back to the million dollars. You can’t really mean to pay her that much money.”
“I can and I will.” His expression hardened. “That’s a small price to pay to put Peter Arnold out of business and clear my name with Sergeant Freeman.”
Yes. And find the killer of a wife who cheated on him. Jamie chased the thought away. Didn’t matter anyhow. “Can’t you just send the police to talk to Patrice? If she’s involved somehow, you can’t really want her to profit from this.”
“Of course I don’t.” He sounded annoyed. “But sometimes you have to let a smaller fish off the hook in order to catch a bigger one.”
Way to put her foot in her mouth. She shouldn’t have come here. The line between business and her personal life was getting too blurred. She got up to leave. “Sorry, Nick. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“I know.” His expression softened. “Please sit back down.”
She hesitated.
“Please.” He slid an arm around her waist.
He felt warm and smelled like an oddly enticing mixture of aftershave and marinara. Jamie tensed in his embrace. His kiss still lingered in her memory. Fierce and hot and possessive. His touch felt as electric now as it had then, and she wished he’d kept his hands to himself. She needed to stop thinking about him in such intimate ways.
“I know I’ve turned into a bit of a jerk lately.” He brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “I find myself drinking too much and losing my temper too easily.”
“At least you’re aware.” His touch sent tingles shimmering down her face. She thought about his kiss again, his lips mere inches from hers.
He looked down at her with probing eyes. “Have you ever been in love?”
Love. A word she had little use for. “Once.” If he were any other man, she’d have t
old him to mind his own business.
“What happened?”
Nothing. Just a broken heart. “Does it matter?”
“I’d like to know.”
She’d spent eight years forgetting Dean. That had been one of the advantages of moving to Florida. She was far away from him, and everyone who knew him or knew of him. No one in Miami knew her history. And up until now, no one had asked.
“Well?” Nick touched her face again, a gentle stroke down her cheek.
She shivered. “I….” His touch turned her thoughts into a jumbled mess. “His name was Dean.” The admission came despite her intentions to keep the door to her past closed. “We lived together during my second year of college; until he decided he preferred my best friend and moved out.”
Nick looked at her with a sympathy she would rather not have seen. “That must have been awful for you.”
She fought back the emotions she’d kept locked away for so long. “It was a long time ago.”
“But you know what it’s like to lose someone.”
“Yes.” This was getting much too personal. “I know.”
He was dredging up painful memories, and touching her in ways that made her want to let him. Maybe she should just tell him the truth about Janelle. Tell him all about the woman’s affair with Rod, and then admit she had stolen Janelle’s sex tape and lied to him about it. Then he would never want to see her again. Send her packing. Stop trying to break through the wall she’d built around her heart. And she could get over whatever sympathy and hormone-induced feelings she had for him.
Nick tightened his grip on her. “If I get Janelle’s murder solved, I can put this mess behind me. Clear my name and get on with my life.”
That’s exactly what she needed to do. Get on with her life. She didn’t want to have feelings for this man. She didn’t want to have feelings for any man. Not the kind of feelings that led to wanting a white, picket fence. If she could help him solve Janelle’s murder, she could keep her word to him and put this temptation behind her. Not need to see him anymore. “You’re right,” she said. “It would be best for you to get on with your life. You should give Patrice the money.”
“Really?”
He sounded surprised, and something else, but before she had a chance to determine what that something else was, he’d slipped his other arm around her and pulled her tight against him. His lips found hers in that same moment, and despite her determination not to, she gave in, savoring the hungry, masculine taste of him. He groaned, pushing her into his hips, taking her mouth with all the force his lips would allow. Her thighs dampened. She pulled away, but too late to stop desire from igniting full-force inside her.
Nick tried to pull her back, but she resisted and he stopped, looking at her with a mix of frustration and curiosity. “I could swear that was you kissing me back, Jamie.”
“It was, but we shouldn’t let this happen.” Damn her loss of self-control. He just wanted to use her to forget about his dead wife anyway. “Can you imagine what people would say if we got involved right now? So soon after Janelle’s death?”
He nodded. “I can. I can also imagine how much I wouldn’t care. I’ve been grieving Janelle’s loss one way or another for almost a year already. And you said it yourself; I’m not a second-guess-myself kind of guy. I’ve never let other people tell me how to live my life. Frankly, I never thought you did either.”
“I don’t.” Nor was she one to abandon her common sense for an emotional roller coaster. He tried pulling her back, but she stepped further away. His gaze went from seductive to confused, to hurt before she finished taking the step. “Don’t look at me with those puppy dog eyes, Nick. Just because there’s an obvious attraction between us, doesn’t mean I’m going to act on it. I think it’s best if I leave.”
She gathered her purse and headed for the door. One more look into those pleading dark eyes of his, and she’d be heading for his bedroom instead.
Chapter 21
Nick’s day had started with disappointment and went downhill from there. He awoke in his empty bed, thinking about Jamie. He got into the shower, thinking about Jamie. He got dressed and drank his morning coffee, thinking about Jamie. She’d consumed his thoughts from the moment he’d opened his eyes. She felt the attraction between them, too. Admitted it even. Why did she keep telling him no? He supposed some guys would take her rebuffs as a hint to stop trying, but they only made him want to charge harder. Like a bull, he wanted to come straight at her. And then ram himself as deeply inside her as their physical bodies would allow.
He pushed Jamie from his thoughts for the moment and focused on the problem that had him now driving to Palm Beach. Patrice McKenzie. Six calls to her house and cell phone had gone unanswered since last night. Nick didn’t like it. Not one bit. Not after the scene Danny had witnessed between Patrice and Peter Arnold yesterday. According to Danny, Peter had come close to hitting her. Didn’t want to go the million, let alone surpass it. So why hadn’t she returned his calls offering her the money? She should have been chomping at the bit.
What was Peter hiding? And what did it have to do with Rod? Or with Janelle’s murder?
If he found out that bastard had something to do with killing Janelle….
Nick saw red just thinking about it. He’d been at war with Peter ever since leaving Tidbits to start his own paper. Peter had accused him of betraying his mentor. Called him a traitor. The confrontation had been ugly.
Peter should have known he wasn’t the kind of man who could be content living in another man’s shadow though. Didn’t he always say they had ambition in common? Nick had never understood the man’s animosity. But then, he’d always suspected the man had a dark side. Leaving Peter’s employ had proven it. Nick had saved and sacrificed for years to buy out the struggling Tattletale. And instead of wishing him well, Peter had done everything but physically attack him for making the effort. The years since had done nothing to ease the tensions between them. But would Peter have stooped to murder?
It made Nick sick to think about it. Someone he had once trusted. Once called a colleague. He punched in Danny’s number on his cell phone.
“Good morning, boss.” The man sounded cheerful. “You make it to Patrice’s place yet?”
“Just pulled into the driveway. Listen, Danny, I need you to put those computer skills of yours to work and see what you can find out about the financial dealings of Peter Arnold, Rod Skinner and Patrice McKenzie. Especially any money trails you can trace between them.”
“Sure thing, boss. I’ll get right on it.”
Nick ended the call, shifted the Caddy into park and made his way up to Patrice’s front door. As soon as he hit the front step, however, he saw the first hint of trouble. The door stood slightly ajar. The proverbial alarm bells went off in his brain. Pushing the door farther open with his knuckles, he poked his head inside. A quiet foyer greeted his view; done in marble and granite, and giving way to the sweeping balustrades of the main stairway. Nothing moved inside. “Patrice?”
Silence answered his call.
Stepping inside now, he moved through the house. “Patrice? Are you in here?”
The silence grew heavy, filled with unease. Something wasn’t right. Nick looked around, through an open doorway leading into the formal dining room and the kitchen beyond. Listening, he strained to hear movement, voices, anything to indicate the presence of life inside. He heard only silence.
He thought about going upstairs, but headed instead for the living room, seeing the door partially open. Looking inside, he saw the reason for the house’s deafening silence. Patrice lay sprawled halfway across her comfy sofa, head tilted backward at an awkward angle, dangling over the arm of the couch. An unfinished scream held open her mouth, matched by a look of terror in her eyes.
Seeing her made him think of Janelle. His stomach heaved in response. Reason fled and he fled with it, tearing out of the silent, lifeless house.
It took less than ten minutes for
the quiet of the murder scene to be replaced by the cacophony of police cars, crime scene investigators and a representative from the coroner’s office. And it took nearly two hours more for the Palm Beach County police to get all the information from him they required. An ambulance now took up space in the circular drive, surrounded by squad cars; one of them freshly arrived from Coral Gables.
Sarge approached, pen and paper in hand. “Mr. Beck.”
He could have mistaken her for a reporter, were it not for the blue uniform she wore.
“You know, we really need to stop meeting like this,” she said.
“A little out of your jurisdiction, aren’t you?”
“Not when there’s a possibility this killing’s related to one I’m already working on.”
“Janelle’s?”
“Bingo.”
That possibility had occurred to him also. “You need to have a chat with Peter Arnold.”
“Suggesting I share the story with your competition? That’s not really like you.”
“I don’t mean give him a press conference. I mean you should question him as a suspect.”
“I’ve already talked to Danny Ventura,” she replied. “And believe it or not, I’m actually capable of doing my job without any help from you.”
“I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise.”
“Good. Glad we’re on the same page. You go on about your tabloid business, and I’ll do the police work. Okay?”
“You know, I am a serious reporter, Sergeant Freeman. I also publish a highly-regarded news magazine, and I have every right to investigate facts for a story my magazine is doing.”
Her gaze turned hard. “Stay out of my way in this investigation, Mr. Beck. News magazine or not, I’ll slap your butt in jail for obstructing justice if I find out you’re hindering my efforts.”
Gossip (Desire Never Dies) Page 9