No One Left to Tell

by Karen Rose

  She closed her eyes. “I gave you the dress.”

  “And I thank you. But I suspect you did it more for your own health than mine.”

  She opened her eyes and Grayson knew he’d won. “Damn you,” she whispered.

  He pushed a notepad across the table. “Get busy. I don’t have all day.”

  She sat, slowly. “What do you want to know?”

  “Why did Crystal go to that party?” Grayson asked. “Why didn’t she just e-mail the senator with her blackmail demands?”

  “Because she wanted to see his face when she confronted him. He’d raped her. She wanted him to know she’d won. The shrinks call it closure,” she added bitterly.

  That he could understand. “Why did you put your son in St. Leo’s?”

  “Crystal wanted it. The day of the party… she was psyched. She’d found out the senator was giving a guest lecture at a university. She had to pay to take the class, but she said it was worth it. It was an investment in our future. She went and met him, the senator. She said she was terrified and exhilarated all at once. She was going to make him pay for what he did to her. She hadn’t expected Rex to be in the class, too. That’s why the senator did the guest lecture. Because his grandson was in the class.”

  Brittany shook her head. “She hated Rex. She remembered him, from that day. When she was twelve. She saw him with his fancy school uniform. St. Leo’s. She tried to talk to him that day. She had a new dress and she was so proud of it. But she overheard him laughing at them, at their bargain basement clothes. She was so hurt. And then that old pervert raped her.” She stopped, her throat working as she tried to swallow.

  “Crystal went right to bed when she came home. Curled up in the fetal position. I asked her what was wrong, but she wouldn’t say. She only cried. She didn’t say until she found out I was pregnant with Caleb. Then she said she had a plan. That they’d finally pay. She told me everything. And she said that she’d take everything McCloud owned. That her niece or nephew would have the same private school uniform. St. Leo’s. That they’d have all the privileges McCloud gave his own kids. And Rex.”

  She let out a breath. “When she was killed, I knew who’d done it. I knew it was the senator. But Lippman came along and offered me money. Fifty thousand dollars if I said nothing. I took it. But I couldn’t make myself spend it. It was… dirty. It had her blood on it.”

  Having our blood on the money didn’t stop you from selling us out to Lippman, Grayson thought. “So you put him in St. Leo’s.”

  “Yes. Because it was what she wanted. And by then, I wanted the same thing. I wanted my son to have the best. The same as McCloud’s family. It was Caleb’s right.”

  “How did she get the senator’s phone number?” Hyatt asked.

  “She slept with Rex. Waited till he was stoned and fell asleep, and looked through his phone’s contact list. Then she started her campaign, flirting, seducing. Somehow McCloud must have found out. So he killed her.”

  “Why did she keep the dress?” Grayson asked.

  “I asked her that when she told me her plan, six years ago. She told me the senator had raped her in 1998. That year the scandal with the president was all over the TV. That White House intern kept her dress. It was blue, too. Crystal figured one day she’d use it. After she died, I was afraid to. I knew Crystal was murdered by McCloud. I thought they’d kill me, too, and I had Caleb to take care of. But then I needed the money because Crystal’s old mark—the one in the bankbook I gave you—he died.”

  “You never told him she was dead,” Hyatt said.

  She shrugged. “If he was stupid enough to not read the papers…”

  “So he died and left you without income,” Grayson said.

  “Yes. So I knew I needed to blackmail the McClouds. Then that Muñoz woman was murdered, then the bar owner, Sandoval. I knew it was about Crystal. I knew you’d come. I figured I’d give you enough to suspect the McClouds. Then I could get more. They wouldn’t dare kill me now, not with Crystal’s murder being reopened. They wouldn’t want the cops to connect the dots. The rest you’ve figured out.”

  “You’ll allocute,” Grayson said.

  “You’ll get me a cell in Baltimore?”

  “If it’s humanly possible, I will. You have my word.” Grayson stood, incredibly weary. “You’ll be arrested now, taken to booking. We’ll talk again before your arraignment.”

  He and Hyatt once again met the group in the observation room outside. “I think we’re done,” Grayson said.

  Hyatt scowled. “I have to give an update to the commander in half an hour. Do I need to know anything else? Any loose ends that could come back and bite us?”

  Everyone in the room looked at one another, then shook their heads.

  “I think we’ve accounted for all of the victims,” Grayson said.

  “Looks like Dianna is at the top of our leaderboard,” Paige said. “She killed Crystal, Betsy Malone, and tried to kill Adele Shaffer. She also killed ten of the other MAC women. Plus she facilitated sexual assault of a minor, sixteen times.”

  “The senator committed sixteen counts of sexual assault of a minor, plus sexual assault against his own daughter,” Grayson said. “And he tried to kill Crystal.”

  “Silas killed Elena,” Paige said, “Jorge Delgado, Harlan Kapansky, and Logan’s mother. Lippman killed Sandoval and Bob Bond.” She rolled her eyes. “And ‘fixed’ all the MAC victims that Dianna didn’t kill properly the first time.”

  “Silas killed a lot of people before Elena,” Stevie said. “We still have to sort through the weapons we found in his safe.”

  “I may be able to help with that,” Jeff Yates said from the back of the group. “The state’s attorney himself got an e-mail today, from Stuart Lippman’s account. It’s a detailed list of what he calls his ‘operatives.’ Some were cops, some were ex-cons. IA has the list. It will take some time to go through all the information and prepare charges. But Silas was on his list. As was Elizabeth Morton. He used intimidation and threats against their families to keep them in order. At one point Morton tried to quit and Lippman had her child hit by a car. Her son still walks with crutches, years later.”

  “Oh my God,” Daphne said, horrified. “What a monster.”

  “He was,” Yates said. “But an organized one. He kept a roster of each ‘operative’ and their jobs. I think you’ll be closing a lot of cases, Hyatt.”

  “I suppose that’s a positive,” Hyatt murmured. “Any more of my people on that list?”

  “Not that I saw,” Yates said kindly.

  Stevie was frowning. “But Morton killed Silas. Why?”

  “Self-protection,” Yates said. “Lippman notes in the cover letter that came with the list that all of his operatives know the list exists and if he’s ever murdered or dies suspiciously, it will be sent to the state’s attorney. I don’t know who sent it, but Lippman trusted someone with the task. By making sure everyone knew they were on the list, he kept any one of them from going rogue and killing him.”

  “But Silas tried to kill him on Thursday morning,” Grayson said. “He shot the window out of Lippman’s condo.”

  “You’d seen him,” Paige said, “when you rescued Logan. Maybe he figured it was just a matter of time before you figured out who he was. He had nothing to lose.”

  “With Lippman dead, his family would be safe,” Daphne said. “Unlike Morton’s son.”

  “Morton killing Lippman makes a whole lot more sense,” Paige said. “And that she deliberately left Grayson’s mother for us to find. She didn’t want to work for Stuart.”

  “That will help her,” Yates said. “She’s going to do some serious time, though.”

  “Wait,” Lucy Trask said. “I may have one more body for you.”

  “Who?” Grayson sighed.

  “Tentative ID via his body art is Roscoe James,” Lucy said.

  “The cage fighter.” Paige touched her neck, where the stitches had started to heal. “He tried to slit
my throat in the parking garage.”

  “His own throat was slit,” Lucy said. “He also had a high level of Rohypnol in his blood. He’d been dumped in the river and washed up this morning.”

  “Silas killed him,” Detective Perkins said. “I found them on the security video in the bar where Roscoe’s car was parked.”

  “Wonderful,” Hyatt grumbled. “Somebody write this down and e-mail it to me. I won’t remember half the list.” He strode to the door, then turned. “Good work. All of you.”

  Stevie stared at the door he closed behind him. “Wow. He’s practically soft.”

  Grayson studied her face. “How are you, really?”

  “Better,” Stevie said, but her eyes told the truth. “Cordelia’s still traumatized.”

  “Then so are you,” Daphne said, giving her a hug. “When our babies hurt, we hurt.” She looked at Paige. “So when are we going to open that school of yours?”

  Paige blinked. “What? Really?”

  “Yes,” Daphne said. “Let’s do lunch next week and we’ll crunch the numbers.”

  “Can Cordelia come to your school?” Stevie asked. “I think she needs some confidence.”

  “Cordelia needs a dog,” Paige said as the three women left together.

  Stevie’s voice came from down the hall. “Dogs drool.”

  Bashears and Perkins left to escort Mrs. McCloud back to Holding, leaving Yates and Grayson alone.

  “Is there anything else you need?” Grayson asked.

  “Yes,” Yates said. “I need someone to take Anderson’s position. I’ve read your case summaries and I’ve seen you in court. You’ve been on the short list for a move up for quite some time. I saw you in there with Hyatt today. You two work well together.” He shrugged. “Not many people work well with Peter Hyatt.”

  Grayson’s pulse picked up a little speed. “He’s not so bad. There’s a heart under all that muscle and a brain under the bald.”

  Yates smiled. “If you want the job, it’s yours. It’s a promotion, you get a bigger office. Not a lot more money. You’ll still try cases, but there will be more admin. That’s the downside. More work for not a lot more cash.”

  Grayson had yes on the tip of his tongue. But… “I need you to know something first.” He told Yates the truth about his father. “Anderson threatened to tell if I didn’t back off the Muñoz case.”

  Yates had listened carefully, showing no reaction, but now he cursed under his breath. “First, who your father is doesn’t matter. Second, if you’d come to me, I would have taken care of Anderson. Under the circumstances I know why you didn’t. But don’t do it again. Third, this only makes me more sure that I’ve made a good choice. Another man might have backed off. You didn’t. True integrity is priceless.”

  “Paige said something like that,” he murmured.

  “I’d listen to her, then. Today is Saturday. When can you start?”

  “I’ll be there Monday morning.”

  “Good.” Yates shook his hand. “Congratulations on the promotion and, although I never thought I’d hear myself quoting Hyatt, good job.”

  “Jeff, wait,” Grayson said as Yates opened the door. “Who will get my current job?”

  “Who do you think should have it?”

  “Daphne Montgomery. She’s pretty amazing.”

  Yates nodded. “I’ll take it under advisement. Enjoy the rest of your weekend.”

  Grayson closed his eyes and took a moment to breathe, then looked up to see Paige leaning on the doorjamb. “I thought you were with the girls,” he said.

  “You’re my ride home.”

  From the look on her face he could see that she’d overheard. “You think I made the right choice?”

  “I think you recommending Daphne was pretty amazing. So what’s your new title?”

  “Senior assistant state’s attorney.”

  Paige laughed. “As long as I don’t have to call you that in bed, we’re good.”

  He put his arm around her shoulders. “Actually, I was thinking more on the lines of ‘Baby, oh baby, take me.’ You did promise to say that, after all this was over.”

  “And I keep my promises. I have integrity, too. Can we go home now?”

  It made his heart catch to hear her say home. “Absolutely.”

  Read on for a sneak peek from the next romantic suspense novel by Karen Rose,

  Did You Miss Me?

  Available from Signet in June 2013

  Cold. So cold.

  Ford curled into himself, instinctively trying to find some warmth. But there was none.

  Cold. The floor was cold. And hard. And dirty. Hard to breathe.

  The wind was blowing outside, rattling windows, sending jets of frigid air around his body. Over his skin. So cold. A shudder racked his body and he struggled to open his eyes. It was dark. Can’t see. Head hurts. God. He tried to get up, to push at whatever covered his eyes, but he couldn’t. Where am… What hap—

  Clarity returned in a rush and with it came blinding panic. He was blindfolded. Gagged. Tied, hands and feet. No. He fought wildly for a few seconds, hissing when the rope seared his skin. He slumped, fatigued, his heart racing.

  Kim. The image of her face broke through the pounding in his head. He’d been with Kim. Walking her to her car. He drew a sharp breath through his nose, the dirt he inhaled making him sneeze violently. Nausea roiled as bright lights flashed behind his eyelids.

  Alley. They’d gone through an alley. Kim had parked behind the movie theater.

  That damn foreign film. She’d had to see some French film for class. Weird theater, bad part of town. He’d insisted she not go alone. They had to go through the alley to get to her car.

  Ford tried to remember. He’d heard a noise. Felt… pain. Oh God. The fear in Kim’s eyes. Her scream. The shattering pain in his head, right before everything went dark.

  Kim. He threw his body forward and grunted, the exploding pain in his shoulder sending him back to the floor, where he huddled, grimacing, catching his breath. Where is she?

  He drew another breath, taking care not to inhale the dirt this time. Quieting himself, he listened for any sound—a whisper, a wheeze, a whimper. But there was none.

  She’s not here. She’s not here. He closed his eyes, fighting to control his pounding heart. Please don’t let her be here. Because if she was here, she wasn’t breathing. If she was here, she was hurt. Maybe dead. No. No. He shook his head hard, wincing when the pain spiked deep. She got away. Please let her have gotten away.

  Away… from what? From whom? Where is here? The panic rose in his throat, choking him. Calm down. Think. You know how to think. Thinking was what Ford Elkhart did best.

  He closed his eyes, forced himself to calm. To think. To remember. It’s cold. Which told him nothing. It was December, for God’s sake. He could be anywhere north of Florida.

  Why? Why me? He gave the ropes binding his wrists another hard yank, then swore when his frozen skin burned. Why? He knew why.

  Money. Ransom. It had to be. He wondered if they were contacting his mother or his father. He hoped his mother. Dad won’t pay a dime to get me back, he thought bitterly. Then he pictured his mother and his heart clenched.

  Mom. She’d be terrified. Out of her mind with worry. Because his mother had prosecuted enough of these cases to know what was happening to him right now.

  And what was likely to happen next.

  I’m sorry, Mom. His eyes filled. I’m so sorry. She’d warned him to be careful, urged him to let her hire a bodyguard. He’d scoffed at her fear. He hadn’t needed any bodyguard. He could take care of himself.

  Hell. He’d taken care of himself so well that he was trussed up like a Christmas turkey. Probably awaiting the same fate. He blinked hard, shook the tears off his face. Stop it, he thought. Crying won’t help you get away.

  And he had to get away. Kim needs me. So think. Breathe. He forced himself to calm, willed his mind to hear the voice of his mother’s friend Paige, who ta
ught self-defense. He’d taken Kim to see Paige for instruction because he’d wanted to keep her safe, even when he wasn’t there to protect her.

  You were there, his mind mocked. Standing right beside her. And it didn’t make a bit of difference.

  He fought the terror that closed his throat. Please let her be all right. I’ll do anything. Please, God, just let Kim be all right. If something happened to her… because somebody was trying to get to me… He’d never be able to forgive himself.

  You might not get the chance to forgive yourself—or to save her—if you die here, so stop whining and think. He tried to remember what Paige had said, but he’d been watching Kim from the sidelines, admiring her body as she practiced the escape moves Paige had demonstrated. He’d been thinking about what they’d do when he got Kim back to his room.

  He prayed that Kim had been paying attention, because he hadn’t been.

  So pay attention now. Eventually whoever brought him here would come back, if only to kill him. You need to be ready to strike. To get away.

  Ford closed his eyes, took an inventory of his injuries. His head… The back of his skull hurt like hell. That’s where the bastard hit me. His right arm hurt, too, but probably wasn’t broken. His shoulder throbbed, but it had before. Rowing training last week. At least I’m in decent shape. It might give him a fighting chance.

  His legs… He tried to move them within the confines of the ropes. They seemed okay. Stiff from being tied, but not injured. So you can run. When you get the chance, hit with your left and run like a bat out of hell.

  To where? He could hear nothing, no sounds of the city. They were far enough out that getting back might be a challenge. It was cold and he had no coat. At least he had shoes. He might have to walk a long way. But he’d do it. He’d get back. He’d find Kim and they’d get back to their lives. He’d take her home, introduce her to his mother and Gran. He wished he’d done so already.

  He’d marry her, just like they’d talked about when the night was quiet and he held her in his arms. They’d have a whole life together. They would.