by Debra Webb
“House manager,” Devon corrected.
“Whatever.” Corwin shrugged. “We found a copy of what looks like some kind of diary or journal.” He hitched his head toward the car and said to his partner, “Get the evidence.”
A chill settled deep in Devon’s bones. He clenched his teeth to keep the frustration from boiling out. He shouldn’t be surprised that a copy of Cara’s journal had shown up. The person or persons behind this insanity were pulling out all the stops.
Hodge returned with a large, clear plastic bag with a stack of white paper inside. He handed it to Devon. His late wife’s gentle strokes filled the page on top. He tossed it back to the man. “This is a copy of my wife’s journal. I have no idea why Mrs. Harper would have made a copy.”
Corwin shrugged. “Blackmail, maybe?”
“I was not being blackmailed by Mrs. Harper or anyone else.” Anger tinged his words this time. If only this were as simple as blackmail.
“Well.” Corwin passed the bag back to Hodge. “Whether you are being blackmailed or not, that journal shines a whole new light on the relationship between you and your wife.”
“Thing’s chock-full of motive,” Hodge tacked on.
Traynor stepped forward. “You planning to arrest Dr. Pierce?”
Corwin glared at the man a moment. “Nah. Not yet.”
“You want to take him downtown for further questioning?”
Corwin shook his head. “Maybe later.”
Traynor leaned forward, putting his face close to the other man’s. “Then step aside. The doctor told you he had things to do.”
The two cops backed up a couple of steps and Devon strode toward the entrance.
“I’m sure we’ll have more questions for you soon, Doc,” Corwin called after him.
“They’re just trying to get under your skin,” Traynor said, keeping stride with him. “That’s how they get their kicks.”
Devon gave the other man a tight nod. His frustration level was out of control at the moment. He didn’t trust himself to speak.
“Dr. Pierce!” Nurse Eva Bowman rushed to meet Devon in the lobby. “You’re needed in the OR now. We have a gunshot victim.”
Would he never get to his office? He hoped Unger didn’t tire of waiting for him and walk out.
“I’ll go there now,” he assured Eva. “Please tell Patricia to let the man waiting to see me know that I’ll only be a few minutes more.”
“The man who was in your office is in OR 2,” Eva explained. “He needs immediate surgery but he refuses to be put under until he speaks to you.”
Devon started striding quickly toward the surgery suite before she finished speaking. “Bring me up to speed on his condition.”
“When he came into your office, Ms. Ezell wasn’t aware he was injured. After he’d been waiting for a bit, she went to tell him you were en route and she spotted the blood on his shirt. He was hemodynamically stable, so we imaged him. The bullet appears to have gone right through him. The bleeding is minimal, blood pressure and respiration are reasonably stable, but Dr. Frasier wants to get in there and make sure there’s no damage we’re not seeing.”
“Let him know I’m coming and I’ll scrub in.”
Eva hurried into the OR while Devon made quick work of scrubbing and donning a sterile gown and gloves. He pushed his way through the door and moved toward the team surrounding the patient.
“His vitals are still stable, Dr. Pierce,” Marissa Frasier said, “but we’re wasting valuable time.”
Unger tried to lift his head. A nurse rested her hand on his shoulder and he relaxed.
“Dr. Pierce,” Unger said, his voice unsteady with pain. “I got into a little trouble before I could get to you.” He stared up at the bright surgical lights, blinked rapidly and swallowed, the effort visible along the column of his throat. “I don’t know what happened to my phone.”
“Who did this?” Devon asked.
Unger swallowed again, then licked his lips. “I don’t know for sure. What I do know for certain is that Richard learned the truth. He was trying to stop...” He coughed. “I think he was too late.”
“Pressure is dropping,” said Dr. Raiford, the anesthesiologist.
“I need to do this.” Frasier looked to Devon.
He nodded. To Unger, he said, “We’ll talk again when you’re well.”
Devon stepped out of the OR, peeled off his gloves and gown and then entered the observation area. He lowered the privacy shield and watched for a few minutes as Frasier began the exploratory. Unger was certain Richard was innocent in this despicable mess. Perhaps Bella’s assessment that Mariah was the one behind all of it was on target.
He should call Bella and tell her what Unger had said. He walked out of the observation area. No. What he should do is go back to Clark Street and demand that Mariah tell him the truth.
If the woman he had known for nearly two decades was that dangerous, Bella needed backup. He should be there with Bella.
Traynor caught up with him in the corridor. “What now, Doc?”
“Take me back to join Ms. Lytle. I believe her conclusions about Mariah Sutter are far closer to the truth than we realized.”
Devon hurried to his office to advise Patricia that he would be out the remainder of the day only to find Corwin and Hodge waiting for him.
“I thought of some more of those questions I needed to ask you,” Corwin said. He jerked his head toward Devon’s office. “Maybe we should talk in private, seeing that these things shouldn’t be discussed in front of a lady.”
Frustration hammering at him now, Devon gestured to his office. “Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll be right there.”
When the two detectives had done as he asked, he turned to Traynor. “You should go back to the stakeout with Bel—Ms. Lytle. I’ll be fine here.”
Traynor shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s not the way it works, Doc. You’re the client who needs protection. Trust me, Lytle can take care of herself.”
Devon stepped in toe to toe with him. “You look like a tough guy to me, Mr. Traynor.”
He shrugged without backing away a centimeter. “I’ve been called worse.”
“Unless you leave this facility right now and provide whatever backup Ms. Lytle needs, I will have security take you there, leaving me as well as this facility unsecured.”
Traynor backed off, held up his hands. “No need to get riled up, Doc. I got the message.”
“Then go.”
Devon turned his back on the man and walked into his office—his retreat—that felt more like a lion’s den at the moment.
Chapter Thirteen
Clark Street, 2:30 p.m.
Bella closed the journal.
She’d reread all the entries related to Cara’s lover. She was even more certain now that the unnamed lover was Mariah Sutter—not her husband, Richard. According to Unger, Richard was attempting to sort things out, which likely meant he suspected his wife as well.
Traynor had called and explained what happened with Unger. He’d warned Devon again that Richard had discovered the truth but that it was too late. Bella wasn’t sure what that part meant. Had some aspect of Mariah’s plan already been set in motion? Bella’s first thought was an attack on the Edge facility. For that reason, Bella had insisted that Traynor stay right where he was and start a quiet search of the facility. Since Devon was tied up in his office with the detectives, Traynor did as she asked.
Bella couldn’t see the point in Mariah going after Devon’s home. He was rarely there and it meant little to him compared to his commitment to the Edge. The Edge was his baby—his entire focus. If Mariah Sutter really wanted to hurt him, she would hit him there. Traynor was calling in another Colby investigator who specialized in explosives. He would coordinate with Chicago PD’s bomb squad if he found anything suspicious or if any threats
were received.
Movement in the driveway of the Sutter home drew Bella’s full attention. She watched as Mariah hurried to her Lexus and climbed behind the wheel. Bella eased down in her seat as the sedan rolled out of the drive and onto the street with hardly a pause to check for traffic.
Bella gave her a moment and then eased from between the two parallel-parked cars and merged into traffic. She kept an eye on the back of Mariah’s car. Bella made the same turn onto 144th Street, followed by another turn onto Halsted and then 147th.
“Where are you going, Mariah?” Bella braked and accelerated to stay with the flow of traffic while simultaneously avoiding getting any closer to the Lexus.
They moved onto the interstate ramp and Bella leaned forward as she matched her speed to the other vehicle. For the next few miles, she tried to relax. Loosened her fingers on the wheel and considered the possibilities. Maybe she was going to meet Richard. If Unger could be believed, Richard had discovered the truth, which could very well mean there was about to be a showdown between husband and wife.
Bella hoped they were on the verge of finding an ending for Devon. He deserved to be able to go on with his life. His existence since his wife’s death could hardly be called living. What Bella had felt with him last night had been real. Last night had been about pleasure and need, not about pain and punishment.
The idea that they would both likely be moving on when this was over saddened her. She knew better than to get emotionally involved with a client and yet here she was, completely wrapped up in him.
Mariah merged toward I-80 West and Bella knew exactly where she was going.
The cottage.
The drive to the cottage in Ottawa was a long one. Bella had time to allow this to play out a bit before she jumped to conclusions and alerted Devon and Traynor.
Mariah’s sedan settled into a lane and stayed put. Bella did the same a few cars back. Had Richard found out about the cottage as well and demanded that she meet him there? He definitely wasn’t out of the country. Maybe he’d given his wife that story so he could sit back and watch what she would do with him gone. He may have had Unger following her movements.
Still, if Mariah was the one, what had made her decide to stir this pot after all these years? Her husband was the one who’d suffered through a life-threatening disease. Even that had been some time ago, nearly three years. What had occurred to tear open the old wounds and prompt her to seek revenge or whatever it was she wanted from Devon?
The Sutters certainly weren’t in any financial trouble. The motive remained a mystery. And there was always a motive.
Forty minutes later, there was no longer a question about where Mariah was headed. She took the exit into Ottawa. Bella made the call. First, she tried Devon’s number, but there was no answer. Then she called Traynor.
“Hey, what’s going on? I couldn’t reach Dr. Pierce.”
“The two detectives from the PD have had him in his office for better than an hour.”
A frown furrowed its way across her brow. She moved into the right lane. “Has something new happened?”
“They found a copy of his late wife’s diary at the scene where the house manager was murdered.”
“Damn.” The journal had nothing to do with what was happening, but it cast doubt on Devon’s relationship with his wife. “They’re trying to rattle him in hopes of learning something they don’t know.”
Sometimes when the police had nowhere to go on a case, they circled around until something or someone broke. Bella doubted very seriously that Devon Pierce would be the someone who would break for them. They were wasting their time and his.
“The facility is clear so far. McAllister brought his dog. If there’s anything here, we’ll find it.”
“Tell McAllister I owe him one.” Bella was immensely grateful the Colby Agency had Ted McAllister on their team. Ted had spent years serving in the military, most of that time as an explosives expert. Both he and the dog in his unit had lost a leg and were forced to retire. The paperwork had been endless and the frustration monumental, but McAllister had managed to get permission to take the dog home with him. Polly, a German shepherd, was loved by everyone at the agency.
“I’ll give Pierce’s secretary a heads-up and then I’ll be right behind you.”
Bella caught herself when she would have urged him to stay with Devon. She was no fool. Following a suspect into a trap was always a possibility. As badly as she wanted to simultaneously prove Mariah was behind all this and to keep Devon safe, she wanted to stay alive.
“Make sure McAllister stays close.”
“You got it. Be careful, Lytle. This woman, Mariah, sounds like one twisted lady.”
“Will do.”
Traynor was more right than he knew. If Bella had Mariah pegged accurately, she had murdered at least two people—possibly three if that driver’s body showed up—and injured two others.
Mariah and Cara had been madly in love. Bella was certain of it. The two had made major plans about the future—a home, a child. They wanted it all. Cara’s death had stolen that future from Mariah. But why wait nearly seven years to seek revenge against the person she blamed for stealing that future? And why not just kill Devon? Why all the games?
Bella was missing something here.
Mariah pulled into the small drive next to the cottage and emerged from her luxury car. Bella crept along hoping Mariah wouldn’t look back. Bella finally drew a deep breath when the woman hurried into the house.
The vacant house for sale across the street looked like as good a place as any to hide her car. Bella pulled into the drive and eased into the carport at the rear of the small property. Once her car was out of sight, she silenced her cell, tucked it into her pocket and headed up the street.
She strolled to the third house opposite the cottage and crossed the street at the small intersection. Recalling the layout of the cottage, she decided an approach from the rear would prove the most advantageous. She darted into a backyard two houses away. The house was quiet, so hopefully no one was home.
She moved across the yard, hopped over the small white fence all the houses on this side appeared to prefer and crossed the next yard. As she reached the rickety picket fence that separated this yard from the one that was her destination, she took stock of the situation.
No voices reverberating from inside. No one passed in front of the windows.
Bella stepped over the fence and cautiously approached the rear patio. She reached the window right of the French doors first. Peeking inside, she spotted an empty kitchen. She itched to go inside but she couldn’t take that risk just yet.
A door slammed loudly. Bella jumped. Had someone gone out the front door?
Glass or something on that order shattered inside. Bella held her breath and had a look through the window again.
The front door stood open. A man lay facedown in the cased opening between the kitchen and the living room. She reached for the weapon tucked at the small of her back. The man’s hair was dark, peppered with gray. Could be Richard Sutter. She couldn’t see his face.
A narrow river of crimson seeped from beneath him.
She had to go in.
Holding her weapon at the ready, she went to the French doors and reached for the knob. Unlocked. She eased the door open and listened.
Silence.
Slowly, she stepped into the kitchen and scanned the room.
Clear.
She moved quickly to the man on the floor. She crouched beside him, scanning the living room as she did so.
Clear.
Bella checked his carotid artery. Still alive. She tucked her weapon into her waistband and rolled him onto his back. The knife that had entered his chest was gouged deep at an odd angle where he’d fallen against it.
Not good.
His eyes were open and his mouth wo
rked as if he were trying to tell her something.
She reached for her cell to call for help.
Pain exploded in the back of her skull.
The agony was followed by an odd silence. The man on the floor stared up at her in defeat. Pinpricks of light sparked in front of her eyes.
And then the world went dark.
Chicago Police Department, 5:10 p.m.
DEVON PACED THE interview room. Detectives Corwin and Hodge had rushed out half an hour ago and still hadn’t returned.
An hour into their questioning, the two had decided it would be best if Devon accompanied them here. At first, he’d been prepared to have them escorted out of the Edge, but then they’d told him about Maynard’s revised statement.
Still, he refused to ride in the back seat of their car as if he were under arrest. Since he had ridden in this morning with Bella, he’d had to borrow his colleague Dr. Frasier’s car.
He stared at his cell, willed it to ring. Why the hell hadn’t he heard from Bella or from Traynor?
Something was wrong.
The door opened and the two detectives waltzed in. “Sorry for the delay,” Corwin said. “We were waiting for confirmation on a couple of things.”
Devon stopped his pacing and stared at the two. “Say whatever you have to say. Ask whatever you intend to ask, before I lose my patience.”
In truth, he already had. He’d had to fight the urge to call his attorney. If he remained cooperative, perhaps this would be over more quickly.
Not that his cooperation had helped so far.
“Sit.” Corwin gestured to a chair on Devon’s side of the table as he and Hodge collapsed into the ones on their side.
Hodge shuffled through a stack of pages and handed several to his partner, keeping a few for himself.
“Ms. Maynard recanted her earlier statement and provided a new one.”
Devon felt the final remnants of his patience slipping from his grasp. “You mentioned this more than an hour ago and I still have no idea how this revised statement impacts me. Why am I here?”
Corwin placed a photo on the table in front of Devon. “Do you know this man?”