“So that’s what this is about, isn’t it?” he said quietly. “The police thinking you’re a suspect.”
She turned away, watched the gray-hemmed clouds drift from the west, darkening the sky. Cord slowly pulled back onto the road, started driving again. She wasn’t going to cry. She just needed a moment to swallow the fat, thick lump in her throat. “No,” she said finally. “This wasn’t about the police thinking I was a suspect. It’s about something more serious.”
“Possibly only you would think something could be more serious. So let’s have it. What really bothered you?”
She’d lied before. Who hadn’t? When a woman was struggling to survive, she did whatever she had to do. But it was odd, how the darkening sky and traffic sounds all seemed to fade to a distance. She noticed a ragged cuticle on her thumb. Bit sharply at it. Even drew blood, although she didn’t feel a thing.
“Eventually-hopefully sooner than later,” she said carefully, “your brother’s murderer is going to be found. But after that…I know perfectly well you and I won’t see each other again.”
For an instant, she thought he was going to slam on the brakes again, but beyond a sudden sway of the wheels, he kept on driving. “Why would you think that?”
“Because it’s the truth.”
“You don’t think there’s a chance that…real love, serious love, gut love could grow out of this mess?”
She kept her voice even and calm. “I think we came together in a time of stress and confusion. At a time when neither of us really had anyone else to turn to. And it’s been wonderful. I haven’t let down my guard with anyone in eons.”
“But. I hear the but in your voice.”
No, he didn’t, Sophie thought. She certainly wanted him to think she was calm enough to sound logical and honest. “But,” she echoed softly, “when it’s over, it’s over.”
“It’s not over.”
“I realize that. But giving that drive to Jan was a start. Something’ll happen from here. No one else will be breaking into my place-at least I hope not, because I’m certain she was the culprit. One by one, other suspects could be eliminated if they’re pushed a little, too. Layers are getting peeled off the onion. The smell’s out there.”
Cord was silent for a mile, maybe two. She saw the turn for his drive. Even if she wasn’t clear on the directions yet-generally, she could get lost in an elevator-she recognized the nest of white birches, the skinny creek gleaming pewter in the fading sunlight.
“Soph?”
She turned her head.
“I’m in love with you. Even if I want to wring your neck right now, I’m in love with you. We’re going to fix this mess. And then we’ll finish talking about this.”
She thought that maybe he believed that. God knew, she felt love when she was with him. But when he’d kept so much from her, especially the police’s suspicions, she felt as if something just…crushed…in her heart.
It was so hard for her to trust that she shouldn’t have been surprised Cord couldn’t find it in himself to trust her. She got it completely. It was life as Sophie always knew it. The only surprise was realizing that she’d still had a heart that could be broken.
Chapter 12
When Sophie woke up, she was certain she had a fever of one hundred and ten. A few yawns later, she realized that she was at Cord’s, that Cord was gone, that his couch was wonderfully comfortable, and that the source of the heat was the four blankets he’d heaped on top of her.
Sometime in the night he must have worried that she’d be cold.
Truthfully, the only time Sophie figured she’d ever be warm again-warm where it counted-would be in his bed. And that wasn’t likely to happen.
Around 3:00 a.m., when she’d been staring at the dust motes on the ceiling, unable to sleep, the obvious occurred to her regarding Jan Howell. If Jan hadn’t killed Cord’s brother, then someone else must have.
She was relieved to have a place to hide out. It just felt…off…to be taking advantage of Cord’s protection when the two of them were barely speaking.
An oomph leaped on her stomach. The purr machine.
Caviar hadn’t stopped purring since he’d been let loose in Cord’s place. Maybe one tomcat appreciated another tomcat’s lair. Caviar obviously didn’t care where he was, as long as the food was good, he was free to prowl around, and on demand, he could get his share of love.
She loved him hugely…then made up the couch bed and started her day. Concentration might be tough, but she still had a living to earn, and God knew, piles of work to do. Her laptop set up readily enough in a corner of his living room.
She was translating Danish to English-always harder than translating English to Danish-when Cord’s landline rang. He would have used her cell if he needed to contact her, so she ignored it. After several rings, though, the voice mail kicked in, and she heard a familiar voice.
“Pruitt. This is George Bassett. I know you returned our call, set a meeting time around one. Need to make it closer to three. And listen. I know you were pissed off about how we handled the Campbell woman last Thursday, but she’s disappeared now, if you didn’t know. Jan Howell, now, she didn’t show up for her job today, either. Got more than that to discuss with you, but it’s time you quit dicking around. Bring all the stuff you know on the Campbell woman. Let’s get it all on the table.”
That was it. The whole message. In the total silence after Bassett hung up, Sophie’s heart was suddenly pounding, pounding. It had been such a slap, when Cord let it slip how she’d been on the suspect list for the police.
This was a whole new slap, though. The detective had clearly been implying that Cord was spying on her. Collecting information on her, that he was supposed to report to the cops.
Cord? Spying on her? The one man she’d allowed to let down her guard to, for the first time in eons? The one man where she’d let her inner, wild, impulsive, emotional self out of hiding, the Sophie she thought was long dead and buried? The one man who’d invoked the utter panic and joy of falling in love completely?
She tried to grasp it. That nothing she’d believed about their time together was true…that nothing she’d felt was real.
Caviar pawed at her leg, clearly bored with not being the center of the universe. Sophie bent down, picked him up. “You’re going to get cat hair all over his house,” she told the feline. “I don’t suppose you have any more flash drives you’ve been hiding? Treasures? Money? I can’t take much more of not knowing the truth, Cav. This has got to get over with.”
The cat stood vigil while she showered, washed her hair, brewed a pot of coffee, and then hunkered back down in front of her computer in old jeans and a Smithsonian T-shirt and big old, warm socks. She tried working again. A couple of times, she gave up, curled up in a ball and just tried to wrap her mind around the whole situation, make some sense of it. It just made her more miserable. She went back to work.
When the landline rang a second time, she closed the door so she couldn’t hear any more voice messages. One step at a time. That’s how she figured she was going to survive this day. But when a car pulled up in Cord’s driveway in midafternoon, she was stuck with the interruption.
The striking woman who stepped out of the lipstick-red Mazda had an upswept hairstyle, kick-ass boots and a suede skirt to die for. Sophie saw her, took a breath and acted astonished as she pulled open the door.
“How on earth did you know I was here? Or did you come to see Cord?”
“I came to see you! I picked up so much gossip about Jon and Jan Howell since yesterday that I couldn’t wait to share it. I just ducked out of the office and decided to play hooky.” Penelope Martin rushed up the steps and gave her a big hug. “You’ve been through hell, haven’t you?”
“Hell times three,” Sophie agreed.
“I brought fancy coffee. And chocolate.” Penelope lifted the gilt-wrapped bag.
“Good, come on in,” Sophie said.
The interview room was enticingly
decorated with dirty gray walls, gray floor and a gray conference table. It smelled of stale coffee and old doughnuts. Various signs claimed it was a smoke-free building, but a plastic ashtray took center stage on the table. In fact, it was the only decoration-beyond heaps of files and CDs and drives being run through the laptop that Bassett carted in.
Cord had been stuck here since…well, he wasn’t sure how long, but it was surely in the ballpark of when hell froze over. Bassett, Ferrell, two other men in old suits and one quiet woman in uniform had been crammed in together for the same interminable length of time.
Bassett was so excited his jowls were bouncing. They’d been eliminating name after name. Bringing it all down, as he put it.
They’d tracked down his brother’s illegitimate daughter. Now-or soon-Cord would be free to see his baby niece privately. Payments going to her, however, were established as child support. The mother of Jon’s child was nowhere near D.C. when Jon was killed, so she was readily eliminated as a potential suspect.
“Lover” CDs had been viewed, dating as far back as seven years before. All but five women had been identified. The others had all been investigated, resulting in either the women and/or their spouses being alibied on the day of Jon’s death.
“That’s what the investigative end of the job is,” Bassett said exuberantly. “Just plain hard work. Tracking down every person. The when, the where, the how, the why-”
“We’ve been here for hours,” Ferrell pieced in. “You think you could orgasm over your job some other time?”
“I’m just saying.”
“We know you’re ‘just saying.’ But it’s time to sum up. Everyone we originally believed to be prime suspects has been eliminated. Peter Bickmarr. Tiffany. The two senators we were looking at. The newscaster…”
“I just want to know where that guy got his Viagra,” said one of the side detectives, who’d clearly come to admire Jon’s prowess.
“Well, this is the crunch. We have no videos of Sophie Campbell. No videos, no letters, no e-mails, no pictures. But when push comes all the way down to shove, pretty much the most we have left are the names of three women who’ve shown they knew Jon, they had the opportunity, and who for different reasons could well have had the motivation to kill him. Jan Howell. Penelope Martin. And Sophie Campbell. Jan and Sophie haven’t been locatable all day-”
“Hold it.” Cord had heard Penelope’s name before, but not as a bottom-line possibility. “You said there were five-”
“Two are mighty iffy. Those three are the best suspects we have. Of course, there are still CDs you haven’t given us.”
“Yet,” Bassett said meaningfully.
“We’re not totally through tracking the money. Unfortunately, your brother had a highly active career, Cord. You have to admit, he was a self-made man. One who carved out a lifestyle, a sizable annual income, from doing nothing but-”
“Hurting women?” He punched his number, the landline at home, said to the group, “It’s Penelope Martin.”
“What?”
“I’ll explain-but I’m going home immediately. I always told you it wasn’t Sophie. I’m equally certain it wasn’t Jan, since yesterday-”
“You didn’t tell us-”
“You’ve been talking the whole time. We all have. Name by name. I didn’t realize it was down to the serious short list. But now, damn it, I do. I have to get home.” His landline rang and rang. And rang. Of course, Sophie wouldn’t automatically pick up his phone. When voice mail kicked in, he gave up, and started punching in her cell at the same time he barreled out the door.
She didn’t answer her cell, either.
He told himself he was stupid to worry. She was likely just working, not wanting to be bothered with calls. God knew, her sister had left enough food for days, and Cord had no reason to believe Penelope knew where Sophie was.
He had no reason to be scared that she was in danger. But he was. It was so crazy-discovering that all the big money, the big players had not proven to be the guilty ones. Instead, it was the vulnerable women who’d been pushed to the wall by his brother-the ones who had no way to pay up. The ones whose hearts had been bruised a hell of a lot more than their bank accounts could ever be.
It was damn hard to speed on the freeways escaping D.C. He did it anyway. He kept thinking how he’d bruised Sophie’s vulnerable heart. In that sense, he was no less guilty than his brother for hurting an innocent person.
She’d severed their relationship yesterday faster than a scissor could cut paper. Said logical things. Said them calmly, coldly, kindly.
She didn’t mean any of it.
He just hadn’t known what to say. What to do. How to make it right. He just had to maintain his priorities-which were, first, to keep Sophie safe, and second, to get the damn business of his brother finished. Then, he wanted to believe, he’d have a lifetime to woo Sophie the way he wanted to woo her. The way she needed to be wooed.
A black Mustang cut him off. Cord heeled the accelerator. A local radio station had already been playing, the announcer reporting on wars, earthquakes, volcanoes and disasters. He turned it off.
He knew what disaster was-the risk of losing the woman he loved, the only woman he’d ever really loved. The only woman he knew damn well would be there for him through thick and thin.
If she could just be coaxed to trust him again.
He spun wheels turning the last corner at the birch trees, barreled down the road. He saw, with a punch to his heart, that a car was already parked in his driveway.
It was a girl car. Not because it was Mazda, but because it was a fancy red. Had a ton of bumper stickers, all political.
It had to belong to Penelope Martin.
He slammed on the brakes, parked right there, hurled out of the car and started running.
“Come on, Sophie, you haven’t even touched your coffee-and I know how much you love Irish crème. Shoo,” Penelope said, irritably, to Caviar, who seemed determined to climb on the couch between them. “Jan told me what you did.”
“Told you?”
“She and I were friends for ages. We never kept secrets from each other. I gave her a key to my parents’ place on Nantucket, so she could take off for a few days, lick her wounds. That was a kind thing you did, giving her that drive.”
Finally, Sophie thought. She’d been waiting for trouble-the trouble that mattered-from the minute Penelope showed up. “I guess I’m relieved you know,” she said.
“Jon was such a jerk. Jan always claimed she only slept with him to collect another notch on her belt. But the truth is, she never slept around as much as she put on. And the blackmail thing was a huge shock.” Penelope nudged the bag of chocolates closer to her. “They’re nougats. Thought you told me they were your favorite. Honey, you look exhausted.”
“I am.”
“You must have discovered more than Jan’s pictures. Didn’t you find a bunch of wild stuff? Did you give it all to the police, or find a way to give the evidence back to the women, the way you did Jan? Come on, you know you can trust me. How many did that son of a sea dog take for a ride, anyway?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. There were just too many to-”
“I know what’ll make you feel better.” Penelope snapped her fingers, then dug in her lizard bag until she found a small vial of ibuprofen. She shook one in her hand, than handed Sophie the pill with her coffee. “Come on. I know you’ve got a headache. I can see the strain in your eyes. One ibuprofen isn’t going to hurt you.”
“You’re right,” Sophie said, and obediently accepted the pill. She’d avoided the coffee and chocolate. It wasn’t as if she were stupid. Once Penelope arrived, it seemed obvious that her best shot at survival was appearing warm and welcoming-rather than scared out of her mind.
The way Pen kept pushing the coffee and nougats, Sophie figured they both must have been doctored. And because Penelope hadn’t left her alone, even for two shakes, she’d had no way to call Cord or the police or anyon
e else.
Truthfully, she didn’t expect the police to help her. Cord was a different story, but Cord wasn’t due home until past six.
Sophie couldn’t imagine stalling would work that long, so she figured she’d have to find a way to work with the pill. She popped it in her mouth, then faked a cough. Smiling, half laughing, she gestured to Penelope that she was choking, and ran into the kitchen with the coffee.
As soon as Penelope could no longer see her, she dropped the pill in the disposal, poured a little coffee down the drain and spun around…
Only to find Penelope standing there, tapping her five-hundred-dollar lambskin boots. “Hell,” she said wearily, “I wasn’t fooling you at all, was I? You were never as naive as we all thought you were, Sophie.”
“I don’t know why you’re here.”
“Oh, yeah, you do.”
“Actually…I don’t.” Cripes, when all else failed, she might as well try some honesty. “Jan didn’t say it directly, but I’m positive she was the one who broke into my place, looking for videos and files.”
“She was,” Penelope affirmed.
“And I never saw anything, CDs, pictures, letters, nothing-that had anything to do with you. You always said you never slept with him. There wouldn’t seem to be anything he was blackmailing you for-”
“He wasn’t.” Penelope sighed. “You know what?”
“What?”
“I loved the creep. I had no idea he was blackmailing anyone. Sure I knew he was a player, but when we were together…I thought neither of us were playing. It was all back pocket. No one knew we were lovers. No one. I thought that was a good sign. I thought…I was different for him. That he was ready to grow up, quit messing around, settle into a real relationship. I thought we were such a natural pair. We knew so many of the same people, had the same values and politics and all.”
Secretive Stranger Page 16