Ruthless Cross

by Barbara Freethy

  "I understand. Good luck," he murmured.

  She waited for Flynn and the doctor to leave the house. Then she locked the door behind them and took her mom down the hall and into the garage. She opened the door to her mom's car, got her into the passenger seat and then moved around behind the wheel. As she drove out of the garage and down the drive, she could see dozens of people, not only the press, but also some of the neighbors.

  She had a moment of panic when the crowd appeared to be blocking the driveway. She saw some photographers rushing forward to take photos and was really glad she'd managed to get her mother looking halfway presentable.

  Thankfully, the police intervened, moving the crowd back. When she reached the street and pulled away from the house, she let out a sigh of relief. One hurdle down. Unfortunately, the next one would be a lot more challenging.

  Getting her mother to the hospital was easy; leaving her there would be really difficult.

  Flynn moved through the crowd outside of Arthur's house, happy not to be in a uniform and therefore able to leave without being questioned. Dr. Clarke had not stopped to speak to anyone, either, so hopefully his visit to the house would not be noted in any media reports. Flynn didn't want the media coming up with stories that could create obstacles in the investigation.

  He got into his black SUV and punched in Savannah's number. She'd texted him an hour earlier that they'd gotten a search warrant for Arthur's office at the courthouse, and she was taking Diego and Lucas with her.

  "How's it going?" he asked. "Did you find anything in Arthur's office?"

  "I'm not sure yet. We just got back to the bullpen with boxes of files and paperwork plus a hard drive containing everything on Arthur's work computer. It will take some time to go through it all. Arthur did keep a calendar on his desk. He was old school when it came to appointments, lunches, and meetings. He had a lunch meeting with the museum director, Victoria Waltham, on Thursday, the day before the exhibit. I interviewed Ms. Waltham last night, and she made no mention of that lunch, although she did tell me that she had a personal friendship with Arthur and that he was very involved at the museum. He was a major donor and used his connections in the art world to help them attain pieces that they wanted."

  "That makes sense."

  "The other interesting name from the art scene was Gretchen Vale. Arthur had noted a show at a gallery in Laguna Beach two weeks ago. The gallery is owned by the Vales. I'm assuming you'll want follow-up interviews with both Ms. Waltham and the Vales."

  The last people he wanted to talk to were the Vales. He didn't like how this case was taking him back in time, and he was beginning to worry if that's why Arthur had wanted his help.

  "Also, Lucas was able to get into Arthur's phone," Savannah continued. "Gretchen Vale's personal phone number was listed several times, and there were a half-dozen calls to an artist named Marcus Vitelli in the last two weeks. Mr. Vitelli resides in New York but was in LA for the event."

  "Yes, I saw him there."

  "Detective Gage took his statement. I reviewed it, and, like everyone else, he knew nothing and had seen nothing. But he's staying at the Halcyon Hotel in Beverly Hills. He checked in last Monday, and he has not yet checked out."

  Flynn changed lanes. "That's not far from me. I'll head to the hotel now and see if I can catch him."

  "Do you have any information for me from the family? Have you been able to speak to Juliette yet?"

  "Only briefly. She's having a rough time. She became so confused in her grief that she tried to jump off the balcony."

  "What? Are you serious?"

  "Yes. Her daughter called in Juliette's psychiatrist. They're taking her to the hospital now. She's going to be admitted and held for at least seventy-two hours."

  "That's both good and bad. She'll get help, but we won't be able to speak to her."

  "Honestly, right now she's in no condition to tell us anything. She needs to get her head together if we're going to be able to get any insight from her."

  "What about the daughter? Have you charmed her into helping you yet?"

  He smiled to himself at that question. "Still working on it, but I think she sees the benefit of cooperating with me. She just needs to get her mother into a safe place first."

  "I can understand that."

  "Callie did tell me that her mother was worried Arthur was having an affair. But she also said that her mom often imagines things that aren't true. So, take that for whatever it's worth."

  "Well, by the time we're through, we're going to know everything there is to know about Arthur's life."

  "Yes, we will," he said heavily, a little afraid of what might be revealed.

  Marcus Vitelli was having lunch in the restaurant at the Halcyon Hotel in Beverly Hills when Flynn arrived just before two o'clock. He was seated at a table with two beautiful young women, who were both blonde, sleek, and sophisticated, the perfect bookends for Marcus's dark Italian looks.

  Flynn had first heard about Marcus's success three years earlier when he'd been working undercover in the New York art scene. Marcus had been only twenty-one years old then and had sold his first painting to the CEO of a Silicon Valley tech company for half a million dollars. His good looks and young, brash, arrogant charm had brought him a lot of media coverage as well.

  He'd met artists like Marcus before. They rose fast but sometimes they fell just as quickly. Only time would tell if Marcus had staying power when it came to relevance and popularity.

  He stopped by the table, pulling out his badge. "Mr. Vitelli? I'm Agent Flynn MacKenzie. May I speak to you for a moment?"

  Marcus's gaze darkened. There was not only surprise in his eyes but also wariness. "I spoke to the police last night."

  "I understand that. I'm doing follow-up. It would be best if we spoke alone. Unless you'd rather come down to my office or the police station?"

  "No. I have a few minutes." He got up from his chair. "Order dessert, ladies. I'll be right back."

  Marcus walked out of the restaurant and onto an adjacent patio. Since it was a cool January day, the tables were empty, and they were completely alone.

  "What do you need from me?" Marcus asked. "I didn't see anything last night. I told the detective that. I was completely shocked and saddened by what happened. I still can't believe it."

  "How well did you know Judge Corbyn?"

  "He was a fan of mine. He bought one of my paintings last year and has been very interested in buying more."

  "Is that why he called you a dozen times in the last two weeks? To buy a painting?"

  Marcus's gaze shifted. He cleared his throat. "He's been waiting for me to complete a painting for him, and he made his impatience quite clear to me, but I told him I couldn't sell it to him until it was perfect."

  "That's interesting. I've never known Judge Corbyn to be particularly impatient, not when it comes to art."

  "Then perhaps you know him better than I do. Beyond his interest in my art, I know nothing about him. I have met his wife, of course. She's a very nice woman. I feel terrible for her. I wish I could help you. I just don't know who would want to kill him. He was a huge supporter of artists and art. We all loved him." He paused. "I should get back to my friends. Are we done?"

  "For the moment," he murmured.

  Flynn followed Marcus back into the restaurant, watching as he joined his female friends. He was about to leave the dining room when another woman entered the restaurant—Victoria Waltham. That couldn't be a coincidence. She had to be here to see Marcus.

  It wasn't unusual for a museum director to meet with an artist, but there was something about the way she checked her smile when she saw Marcus with the women that made him wonder about their relationship.

  As she approached his table, Marcus got up. He said something to Victoria and her head turned in his direction. She looked a bit startled to see him, but she left Marcus and made her way over to the bar.

  "Do you remember me, Flynn? From your father's gallery, a ver
y long time ago?"

  "I do," he said with a nod.

  "I thought you looked familiar last night, but I heard the other agent say your last name was MacKenzie, and I got confused. And there was no time to ask. Everything was so chaotic and upsetting. When did you change your name?"

  "A long time ago."

  "I guess that's understandable. You didn't want to live under the shadow of your father's name."

  "No, I didn't."

  "I can't believe you're an FBI agent. That's awfully ironic. Have you been searching for your father?"

  "Right now, I'm focused on figuring out who killed Arthur Corbyn."

  "Why are you here?"

  "I came to speak to Mr. Vitelli."

  "Is he a suspect?"

  "He's a witness, as are you."

  She gave him a rueful look. "I wish I'd seen more. I wish the cameras hadn't gone out and that our security had been better. I feel responsible for not providing a safe environment for all the guests. This happened on my watch, and that's unacceptable. I thought we had set everything up so well, but I was wrong." She shook her head, self-directed anger in her eyes. "The Piquard family is also extremely upset, as is every member on our board of directors. I hope you know we'll cooperate in every way that we can."

  "I'm glad to hear it."

  Her gaze darkened. "I still can't believe it happened. Arthur almost hit me when he landed. I was right by the stage. I didn't know what was falling at first. I thought it was a light. But someone pushed him over the rail, right?"

  "It appears that way."

  "And you don't have any suspects? Arthur was a judge. I imagine he made people angry in his line of work."

  "That's possible. But whoever killed him was at the event last night, and they had an invitation. There was no sign of forced entry anywhere. They came through the front door and probably left the same way. Do you know if Arthur had any problems with anyone at the museum or with anyone in the art world?"

  "No, I don't." She cast a quick look at Marcus, who wasn't paying them any attention. He was quite wrapped up in his friends. "You don’t think Marcus had anything to do with this, do you?"

  "Like I said, I'm just following up on witness statements. How well did you know Arthur, Victoria?"

  "Very well. He was a generous contributor to the museum. I also know him personally, because his wife, Juliette, works for me. We've been to many social events together. He's practically family. His death is tragic."

  While her words were appropriate, he didn't quite feel the emotion behind them, but then Victoria had always hidden her emotions.

  "Was there something else?" he asked as she lingered, giving him a somewhat awkward look.

  "I probably shouldn't say this, but I heard a rumor recently that your father might be back in business."

  His gut tightened. "Who told you that?"

  "Arthur. He mentioned it last week."

  "What exactly did he say?"

  "That when he was in Paris last month, he heard Sam might be stealing and selling again. He wanted to know if I knew anything, but, of course, I didn't. I haven't spoken to your father in almost twenty years."

  He didn't know what to make of her statement. Why had Arthur been talking about Sam at all? They didn't know each other. They weren't old friends. Whatever Arthur knew about his father had come from him, and that had been a very long time ago. So, why bring up Sam now? Was his father the real reason Arthur had sought him out?

  "I should get to my meeting with Marcus," Victoria said. "The museum wants to buy one of his pieces. His work is amazing. Have you seen any of it?"

  "I haven't, but I heard he's good."

  "He's a true artist. He paints with every emotion. His work is provocative and intellectually intense. He's going to be one of the biggest artists of his generation. Anyway, let me know if I can help, Flynn. Juliette is not just my employee; she's my friend."

  "I'll do that."

  As Victoria joined Marcus and his female friends, he thought about what she'd told him. She'd deliberately tried to point him in the direction of his father. Was that because she honestly believed Sam had been involved, or because she had another motive, perhaps a desire to protect someone else? But who would she be protecting, and why would she want Arthur dead?

  He couldn't turn her into a liar just because he hadn't liked her when he'd first met her. But he could do a little more digging into her life and into her relationship with Arthur.

  Chapter Six

  Callie suffered through hours of her mother's bewilderment, followed by anger, tears, crying, shouting, and finally a sedative. Then she'd sat next to her mother's bedside for another hour, reliving every painful, guilty moment of what had just transpired. Her mother had called her a traitor when she'd finally figured out that she wasn't going to see Arthur, that she was going to be hospitalized for her mental issues.

  She'd felt like a traitor, too. When her mother's anger had turned to desperate pleas, she'd wanted to run out of the hospital and take her mother with her. But she couldn't do that. And she hadn't needed the doctor or the nurses to tell her that, even though they had. She'd been down this road before. While the hospital freaked her out, her mom had always gotten better after treatment, and she needed her mother to be well. She couldn't stand the thought of her trying to hurt herself because she'd lost Arthur. She had to leave her here, where she would hopefully get better. What happened after that, she had no idea.

  Would her mother forgive her when her brain cleared? She had in the past, but was this one time too many? Would the loss of Arthur completely break her mom down?

  The door opened, and she got to her feet as Dr. Clarke walked in. He gave her a compassionate look, having been with her most of the past few hours. "She's going to be sleeping for a long time, Callie. You should go home. You've been here all day."

  "I hate to leave her here alone. She gets so scared when she wakes up."

  "We're going to take care of her. She won't be alone."

  "But she needs me." As she said the words, she felt the heavy weight of that need pushing toward the floor; it was all she could do to stay upright.

  "She needs treatment. And we can give her that. We can help her get through this crisis. She'll also be safe here. She can't hurt herself."

  "I just hate seeing her like this again. She was so good for so long. I had started thinking it would last."

  "What happened last night was extremely traumatic for anyone, but for your mother, it was especially so."

  "I know. She had to see another husband die. Two completely different events, but the result was the same."

  Dr. Clarke nodded. He might have only been working with her mom for a year, but he was well educated on her mother's history. "She will have to work through all those emotions again. But she can do it."

  "Do you really think so?"

  "I'm not saying it will be overnight, but I will do everything I can to help her get back to herself. Now, go home. Get some rest. You must be exhausted."

  "I am, but there's so much to do, and no one to do it but me."

  "You have to take care of yourself, too."

  "I don't think that's on the to-do list."

  "Put it there. It's important."

  "Thanks."

  He walked her to the door, and with one last look at her mom, who was now sleeping peacefully, she left the room.

  Feeling completely drained, she took the elevator downstairs. She couldn't believe it was four. The day was flying by, and she'd accomplished very little.

  When she got to the lobby, she was surprised and dismayed to find Flynn MacKenzie waiting for her. "What are you doing here?"

  "I came to check on your mom. How is she?"

  "Terrible," she said, feeling way too many emotions. "When she realized that I'd brought her here to be admitted, she went wild. She pleaded with me to take her home. She called me a traitor. They had to restrain her and then sedate her. It was awful."

  "That must have b
een rough," he said, a somber gleam in his blue eyes. "I'm sorry, Callie. You might not believe that, but I am. I had to get my mom through some rough times. It wasn't as bad as what you're dealing with, but I know what it feels like to watch your parent struggle, to be strong for them, when you feel weak as hell."

  His understanding was the last straw. Tears gathered in her eyes. She had been feeling so alone, but Flynn was here. And he was stable, strong. He was also absolutely the last person she should lean on, the last person she should trust. But he was being so kind.

  Somehow, she found herself moving forward. Flynn's arms came around her, and his chest was just as solid as she'd expected. She rested her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes for just a moment, savoring the feeling of being supported. It drove the tears away. She no longer felt like she was about to collapse, because he was holding her.

  She wanted to soak in his strength, to stay in this safe place for a very long time. But she had to pull away. He wasn't her friend. He was an FBI agent. If anything, he was her enemy.

  But he didn't feel like her enemy; he felt too good for that. And as she stayed in his embrace, her body began to tingle for reasons that had nothing to do with comfort. It was that scary feeling that finally made her step back. She couldn't be attracted to this man. That was crazy.

  Flynn's blue gaze locked with hers, and she felt even more unnerved.

  "I—I'm sorry," she said. "I don't know why I did that."

  "You don't have to apologize, Callie."

  "You must think I'm weak."

  "I think you're incredibly strong."

  She shook her head in confusion. "I really don't know what to make of you."

  He gave her a small smile. "I feel exactly the same way about you."

  She shivered as they shared a look that was far too personal and intimate. She sucked in a breath and cleared her throat. "Anyway…you can't talk to my mom, if that's why you came. She won't be awake for hours."

  "Are you headed home?"

  "I wish. I'd like to be in my apartment, to feel like things are normal. But I need to do what my mom is not capable of doing. I just don't know exactly what that is. Am I going to plan Arthur's funeral by myself? Will my mother even be able to attend? How long should I wait? And what would Arthur want? I'm sure his friends will be expecting some kind of service. I know he was Catholic, but would he want a rosary, a Mass, a burial somewhere?"