Memories of Us

by Linda Winfree

  She lifted the sheet, scanning the list. All political figures. The state representative. A municipal judge, a mayor, three district attorneys, a police chief, a county administrator.

  And McMillian.

  “St. John.”

  At Cook’s grim voice, she looked up. “What?”

  “I can handle the fact you don’t want it to be McMillian. I can even understand it.” His dour expression matched his tone. “But if we’re going to work together, I need you to be honest with me. I can’t be worried you’d hold something back to protect the son of a bitch.”

  Her anger returned, flaring hotter. “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “I’d hate to think so, but you’ve got to promise me that whatever the hell is going on with you two isn’t going to cloud your judgment here.”

  “There’s…” She couldn’t force the denial out. They’d gone beyond sex and claiming there was nothing between them would be a flat-out lie. “If it’s him, it’s him.”

  Tick examined her, openly assessing. “And you could take him down if you had to?”

  “Of course.”

  He held her gaze for a long moment, his chocolate eyes serious. “That’s all we need to know.”

  Cook harrumphed, pulling a stack of Jessica’s financial records forward. “Just remember, you believed Turello too.”

  Celia tugged hard at her necklace. He had to bring that up. “That was different. I was younger; he had me snowed.”

  Gray gaze gleaming, Cook gave her a curt nod and reached for his pen. “Good. Then don’t let McMillian turn into a blizzard.”

  She shook back her hair, meeting Cook’s gaze straight on. “Trust me. He won’t.”

  “This is interesting.” Tick’s voice broke the tension. He tapped the report. “Ford checked Grady’s blood type against your deceased baby, on the chance it was hers.”

  Celia leaned forward. “And?”

  “Could be. Your baby’s blood type was AB positive. Grady was A negative. From the pieces of placenta left in Grady’s uterus, Ford knows Grady’s baby was AB positive. She’ll have to run DNA tests to know for sure.” He laid the paper aside and pointed at the television with the small stack of DVDs beside it. “That blood type info can help us rule out the men on those tapes.”

  Cook nodded. “Because the father has to be AB or B positive.”

  “Exactly.” Tick shrugged. “But.”

  “But what?”

  “Time of death is off for Grady to be the mother. Your baby was discovered Tuesday night, right? Ford thinks Grady was killed sometime Thursday evening, which fits with what I heard in those interviews. People saw Grady Wednesday and Thursday.”

  Thursday evening. Celia rubbed a hand over her eyes. She’d been with McMillian Thursday evening…dinner by the pool, the interlude in his bed. She was his alibi.

  The cop in her knew she was only a partial alibi. She’d left his home once she’d left his bed. There’d been the rest of the night to kill Jessica Grady. He’d had plenty of opportunity. Just like Turello.

  Except he was nothing like Bryan had been. Bryan Turello had smooth-talked and charmed her into believing him, believing he was innocent of the accusations lodged against him.

  McMillian didn’t have to say a word. She couldn’t believe him capable of what she’d seen at Jessica’s home. That level of belief frightened her beyond words.

  —

  “I thought I’d find you here.” Celia, standing at his office doorway, dragged Tom’s attention away from the motion he was drafting.

  Or more like, attempting to draft. Although he’d spent the day closeted in his office, he couldn’t keep his mind away from the images of Jessica’s body, the idea that he might have fathered her baby.

  He tossed his pen on the legal pad and leaned back, happier to see Celia than he had a right to be. “Anything new?”

  She eschewed the chairs before his desk and leaned against the windowsill. Late evening sunlight glinted on her hair. She clutched the sill’s edge, tapping her short nails on the wall. “Preliminary autopsy report is in. Some fingerprint results.”

  He hated the way she avoided his gaze. “I suppose some of the prints are mine.”

  Nodding, she darted a glance at him, her eyes shuttered. “Yes. In the bedroom. What blood type are you?”

  He frowned. “B positive.”

  A visible tremor ran through her. Foreboding crashed through him.

  “What aren’t you telling me, Celia?”

  Her chest lifted with a deep breath. “Jessica’s baby had AB positive blood. She was A negative. Even without DNA, we know the father had to be AB positive as well or—”

  “B positive.” He jerked a hand over his hair. “Damn it all.”

  “You really don’t want to be this baby’s father, do you?”

  He glanced at her. How to explain he didn’t want to be any baby’s father, ever again? He couldn’t do it, couldn’t live wondering every day if he’d have to bury another child. He cleared his throat. “What I want doesn’t matter now, does it? There’s a very good chance I am.”

  “Did you know about the video?”

  The odd note in her voice sent a shiver over his spine. “What video?”

  Arms crossed, she lifted an eyebrow, her expression bordering on mocking. “Oh, come on, McMillian, no need to be coy. I’ve seen it.”

  She was doing the cop thing with him. Angry disbelief shuddered to life in him. She stood there, after everything, working her interrogation techniques on him. Like hell.

  He crossed to stand before her, close enough he could feel the warmth of her body, and glared. “What video?”

  For a long moment, she stared at him, her blue eyes cool and measuring. “In her bedroom, we found a stack of DVDs. Homemade movies.”

  “Homemade…” He gazed down at her. Surely she didn’t mean what he thought she meant. “Sex tapes?”

  She nodded.

  He rubbed a hand over his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose before looking at her once more. “I’m on one?”

  Another nod. “Yes.”

  “Shit.” He spun away to pace the office. “Fuck.” His stomach roiled. “Son of a bitch.”

  “The others are also men who are well-connected politically.”

  “The others?” He stopped, staring at her. “How many others?”

  “Eight.” Her shoulders moved in a tight, uncomfortable shrug. “One is a municipal court judge from Bryant County.”

  “Hell.” He dragged a hand over his face again. “I don’t believe this.”

  “You didn’t know, did you?” Celia’s soft voice washed over him, oddly comforting, its earlier edge gone. “That she was taping you.”

  He shot her a look. “Of course I didn’t know.”

  “Cook’s theory is that she may have been blackmailing the men on the films. And that one is the baby’s father.”

  “And one of them killed her?” He narrowed his eyes. “Like me?”

  A low laugh trembled from her lips, completely lacking in humor. “Of course I don’t think it’s you.”

  “But Cook does, right?” He turned away, rested his hands flat on the desk, his head falling between his shoulders.

  “McMillian?”

  He straightened, looked over his shoulder to find Celia eyeing him, her expression strained. “You watched the tape.”

  She bit her lip. “Yes.”

  And it had hurt her. He could see the remnants of that pain in her eyes. He dropped his head. Damn it. The idea of her watching him screw Jessica turned his stomach. Shit, everything was going to hell.

  That wasn’t his baby, missing and possibly endangered.

  Jessica hadn’t taped him fucking her.

  And Celia hadn’t watched it.

  Damn it, what if it was all true? How was he going to handle this?

  First, he’d offer Celia an out. No reason for her career to go down with his. If she was as smart as he knew she was, she’d take it and run. The level
of sorrow that ricocheted through him with the thought startled him. He couldn’t have gotten in that deep that fast with her.

  He cleared his throat. “Keep me informed. I want to know about anything you turn up, immediately.”

  Eyes closed, he waited for the soft click of the door closing behind her.

  The soft touch of her fingers fluttered over his back. She smoothed the hair at his nape, and surprised, he lifted his head to look at her. She gazed back at him with solemn eyes.

  “All the way over here, I kept thinking the easiest thing to do was walk away from you now.” A slight smile trembled around her lips and disappeared. “I can’t do it.”

  Relief rushed through him and he released the breath he hadn’t even known he was holding.

  “God, Cee.” He tugged her into his arms, burying his face against the tousled silk of her hair. She wrapped her arms around him, rubbing soft circles at the small of his back. For the first time that day, he let go of some of the tension, soaking in the comfort of having her in his arms.

  “Yeah, St. John, I’d say your judgment is completely cloud-free.”

  At Cook’s cynical tone, Celia jerked in his arms and tensed. Tom let her go and turned toward the door, where Cook stood waiting with Tick Calvert. Cook leaned an arm on the doorjamb and smiled, a predatory expression.

  “Counselor, we’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  Chapter Nine

  Ankle crossed over his knee, Tom drummed his fingers on the table while Tick Calvert set up the video camera in the sheriff’s department interview room. Impatient irritation thrummed along his nerves. They were wasting their time questioning him, losing precious investigative time. He blew out a long breath. At least this would be out of the way and they could shift their focus elsewhere.

  Like finding the person who’d really killed Jessie.

  And finding the baby.

  “Mr. McMillian, although you’re not under arrest at this time, I need to advise you of your rights.” Cook scratched the date and time across the top of a Miranda waiver form. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to talk to an attorney and have him present with you while you are being questioned. If you cannot afford to hire a lawyer, one will be appointed to represent you before any questioning, if you wish. You can decide at any time to exercise these rights and not answer any questions or make any statements. Do you understand each of these rights I have explained to you?”

  Tom narrowed his eyes at the investigator and resisted the overwhelming urge to call him an idiot. “Yes.”

  Unperturbed, Cook checked off an affirmative box. “Having these rights in mind, do you wish to talk to us now?”

  He clenched his teeth. “Yes.”

  Cook slid the form across the table. “Sign here, please.”

  Tick pulled a chair away from the wall, glanced at Celia, standing near the door, and indicated the seat. Her posture tight and uncomfortable, she shook her head. “I’m fine.”

  Tom lifted his eyes, met her gaze briefly before turning his attention to the two Chandler County investigators. Tick turned the chair around and straddled it, arms folded along the back. “Tom, I know you’re pissed because we pulled you in here. I can understand that, but you have to look at it from our point of view. You had a relationship with Ms. Grady. Your prints are in her bedroom. Her phone records show your number as the last one she called the night she was killed. There’s that video and the baby. If you were me, who would you be looking at?”

  “Me.” Tom laughed, a short, wry sound. “Only one problem with your line of thought, Tick. I didn’t kill her.”

  Cook looked up. “Oh man, that’s a new one. Hell, Tick, he didn’t do it. Let’s turn him loose right now.”

  Celia shot a deadly glare at the back of his head. “Cook, stop.”

  Tick gave them both a quelling look and sighed. “Tom, why don’t you start by telling us where you were Thursday night.”

  Again, Tom’s gaze shifted to Celia. Her face was pale and the line of her throat moved with a swallow. His mouth thinned. “I—”

  “We were together.” Celia tilted her chin, her gaze focused on Tom’s. “We had dinner at his place.”

  Tick glanced around at her. “What time did you leave? Or did you spend the night?”

  “Ah hell, I need some air.” Cook jerked a pack of gum from his pocket and shoved back from the table. He glared at Celia as he pulled the door open. “It’s Turello all over again, isn’t it, St. John?”

  Her face reddened, temper snapping in her eyes. She looked at Tom. “Excuse me.”

  She walked out, the door swishing closed behind her, and Tom frowned. What had that been all about?

  Tick tugged a hand through his hair. “What time did she leave, Tom?”

  He pulled his attention back to the other man. “A little after nine.”

  Tick nodded. “Did you go anywhere after that? Anyone else come over?”

  “No. My mother called from Rome, around ten. We talked for fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. I worked until eleven-thirty or so and went to bed, alone.”

  Another nod. “Ms. Grady’s call to your number was very short. What did you talk about?”

  “We didn’t.” That had to have been the hang-up on his voice mail, the call he had let go because he hadn’t wanted to be pulled away from Celia. A frisson ran up his spine. What if he’d answered? Would Jessie still be alive?

  Tick shrugged. “Why not?”

  Tom met his gaze straight on. “Ms. St. John and I were having dinner. I didn’t take the call because I didn’t want us to be disturbed.”

  “So you didn’t know Ms. Grady was pregnant?”

  Frustration burned his throat. “Not until this morning, when Ms. St. John informed me of that.”

  “Would you be willing to give us a DNA sample?” Tick glanced up, his gaze assessing.

  Tom settled back in his chair. “Bring it on, Investigator.”

  —

  “What the hell?” Celia caught up to Cook on the department steps. Anger pulsed under her skin, seeking an outlet. “Where do you get off, Cook, bringing up Turello like that? I thought you were my friend.”

  “Yeah.” Cook popped a piece of gum in his mouth, chewing hard. “So did I.”

  “What does that mean?” She wrapped a hand around the rough iron railing. “Just say it.”

  He turned on her. “You fucking lied to me.”

  A harsh laugh bubbled in her throat. “What?”

  “You lied, St. John. ‘If it’s him, it’s him.’ Isn’t that what you said, when you were giving me that line of bullshit about not hiding anything to protect him?”

  “I’m not hiding anything.”

  “Like hell.” Shaking his head, he fixed her with a condemning stare. “Why didn’t you tell me this morning you’d been with him Thursday? Why not just say you were screwing him?”

  “Because I knew what you’d think.”

  “What? That you’ve lost your damn mind? Hell, St. John, he’s your boss. And now he’s a suspect in a murder investigation I let you in on. You should have said something then.” He looked away. “I trusted you and you fucking lied.”

  “Cook—”

  “You’re off the case. Both of them—Grady and the baby.”

  “You can’t—”

  “Like hell I can’t. Maybe you’re not seeing clearly, but I sure am. I refuse to let your infatuation with McMillian get in the way.” He spun and stalked back into the building.

  Celia gripped the railing until the uneven paint scraped her palms. Jesus above, what was she doing? Trusting McMillian, believing in him. Making the same mistake she’d made with Turello? She shook her head, blinking away a sudden burning rush of tears. No. He was different, nowhere near the lying bastard Turello had been. She knew McMillian in a way she hadn’t known Turello.

  Turello had dazzled her from the beginning, with his good looks and
flattery. She’d never really known him, not until she’d finally realized the ugliness beneath his handsome façade.

  She’d known McMillian as a professional first, had seen his dedication to the law, to making sure those who broke it paid the consequences. Hell, that was the very thing that had drawn her to him from the start.

  He was a stand-up guy, gray areas and all.

  “Celia?”

  She dragged in a deep breath before turning to face McMillian. He stood at the top of the steps, watching her, his face expressionless. She lifted her chin. “Ready to go?”

  A frown tugged his brows down. “I thought you’d want to talk to Cook and Calvert.”

  “I’m off the case.” The words hurt her throat. She started down the steps.

  “What?” Icy tension coated the word. His loafers scuffed on the concrete and he caught her arm as she reached the sidewalk.

  “You heard me.” She couldn’t make herself face him, didn’t want him to see how badly her pride was hurt. She’d never been removed from an investigation. Ever since Turello, her record had been impeccable. “Cook kicked me off the case. He’s worried about my objectivity.”

  “I’ll talk to Reed.”

  “No.” She shook her head, staring across the parking lot, nearly deserted in the dusk of late evening. “I don’t want you fighting this battle for me.”

  “Why not? Aren’t you fighting for me?”

  She stilled. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  Tugging away from his easy hold, she continued down the sidewalk. Three steps away, she stopped, a humorless smile twisting her mouth. Of course, he’d insisted on driving. She had nowhere else to go. Shaking her head, she faced him, still standing where she’d left him.

  She was in with him for the long haul, obviously.

  She tapped the center of her chest, where her father’s uniform button lay at the end of her chain, over her heart. “In here, I feel like I know you and I know you couldn’t have done this.”

  A wry half-smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “Thanks.”

  Ire flashed over her. He didn’t get it. How could he? She really didn’t get it herself. She just knew how she felt. “Stop it, McMillian. Just…stop.”