Dark Deeds

by Anne Marie Becker

“Who is this man?” His eyes narrowed on her. “And don’t lie to me. It’s obvious that you know—knew—him.”

  “James Powell. And it’s just like before, except he’s the one who’s dead.”

  Prickles of foreboding stabbed at his gut. Someone had died in a similar way in her past? He took out his phone and dialed the police again. After he was assured they were almost there, he pulled Becca into the other room, where she couldn’t see the body. She was shaking beneath his hands as he directed her to an armchair in the living room and gently pushed her into it.

  “It’ll be okay,” he told her.

  The assurance was as much for him as for her.

  * * *

  It wasn’t okay. The CPD arrived, followed by a Detective Wells who spent a long time questioning them. They discovered that this was, indeed, James Powell’s apartment. A laptop sat open on his desk, open on an email he’d sent Becca earlier that morning—an email that sounded like a threat.

  An hour later, Wells made the decision Becca had known was coming, to bring her to the station for a more formal interview. Diego protested but she acquiesced, letting the detective slide her into the backseat of his car. At least this time there were no handcuffs. But it was no less humiliating because her experience was compounded by Diego witnessing her downfall.

  She handed Diego the keys to her car.

  “I’ll meet you at the station,” he said. The bite in his voice could have been disgust, fatigue or concern. Becca was too numb to decipher it.

  “Call Matt. He’ll know what to do.” She could see the confusion in his eyes as Wells nudged him out of the way so he could close the car door. Another barrier between them.

  It didn’t matter anyway. By morning, Diego would be so through with her that he’d catch the first plane back to New York. Whether the SSAM Fan had meant to help her or frame her, killing James Powell was about to make things very, very bad for her.

  Her fan had gone to great lengths to recreate many of the details of the scene she’d walked in on eight years ago, in a motel room. Only this time, there was even more reason to suspect Becca had committed the crime. Her motive was well established.

  At the station, Wells escorted her to an interview room, sat her down at a metal table, and gave her a bottle of water. All she could think was thank God Diego didn’t have to witness her total decomposition.

  “You have a criminal record.” Wells said. “You didn’t tell me that at the scene.”

  The matching chair across the table from her screeched as he slid it out to take a seat. His statement didn’t require clarification, so she remained quiet.

  “I should arrest you,” Wells continued, his eyes narrowing on her. “You were arrested before for a very similar crime.”

  Should arrest her? That meant he wasn’t going to. Becca immediately perked up at the thought of a reprieve. She kept quiet, though. Last time this had happened, she’d talked, and nobody had listened. Nobody had believed she hadn’t been integral in the death of a friend. Of course, James had set the stage well, twisting the circumstances of Amy’s death to make Becca look like a jealous bitch, capable of murder.

  Wells’s concentrated gaze was meant to tear her down. “You broke into a man’s home, and that man is dead.”

  “The door was open when I got there.” Becca and Diego had already been over this with Wells, but they had only each other to corroborate. He was trying to punch a hole in her story.

  “Why were you there in the first place?”

  Again, these were questions she’d answered on the scene. “If you’ll check my phone, you’ll see a text inviting me to the location.”

  “You could have arranged for someone to send that to you.”

  “I could have. I didn’t. Is my lawyer here yet?”

  Wells leaned forward. “Lucky for you, your friend swears he’s been with you nonstop for the past eighteen hours.”

  She never thought she’d be thanking God for having Diego as a constant shadow, but she did. When she’d discovered Amy, she’d been alone...until her screams had brought the night manager at the motel running to the scene.

  A calculated gleam entered Wells’s eyes. “But Detective Sandoval doesn’t know about your record, does he? He might not be such a willing alibi once we notify him about your previous arrest.”

  She pressed her fingertips to her tired eyes. What she wouldn’t give for two aspirin...but she didn’t dare ask for anything. Her heart squeezed painfully at the thought of Wells showing Diego her file. Diego was a detective trying to rebuild his reputation and she was a woman with a police record. Even if their passion had a future, she’d be holding him back. He’d made a big mistake and was making amends, but if he were involved with her, she’d undo all of his hard work. Sure, she’d had her reasons for what she’d done, and Diego might understand, but she couldn’t expect him to excuse her past behavior. Just as she hadn’t expected her family to have to deal with her mess. She loved them too much for that.

  “I’m here.”

  Becca looked up at the familiar face in the doorway and had to restrain herself from jumping into her brother’s arms. He read the emotion in her eyes and nodded his understanding, then turned to Wells. “I’m Matt Haney, Becca’s attorney.”

  “Haney?” Wells said, taking the business card Matt held out to him. “You’re related?” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Things look bad for your client, Mr. Haney. I’d advise her to talk.”

  “Which is why you’re not her lawyer.” He shut the door behind him and pulled a chair from a corner to sit next to Becca. “You okay?”

  She nodded wearily. “As well as can be expected. I want to talk, Matt. I have nothing to hide.” She looked at Wells. “I didn’t kill James.”

  Wells’s thumbs tapped together as if he were transmitting a message in Morse code. “It’s not like I feel sorry for James Powell. He’s a parolee who served time for other charges. He wasn’t totally innocent.”

  Not even close.

  “I’m not stupid, Detective Wells,” Becca said. When she’d seen the vase of yellow roses on James’s nightstand tonight, and the way he’d been sprawled naked on the bed, his inbox exposed with the recent communications, she’d known exactly how this was going to look. Ugly. “I wouldn’t set up the scene to look exactly like it had at the scene of Amy’s murder. It would be like hanging a neon sign over my head saying I did it.”

  “Becca—” Matt’s voice held a warning to stop talking.

  Wells looked up as someone knocked on the door. “Come in.” A desk officer delivered a note and, after a furtive glance at Becca, quietly left. Wells looked up from the scrap of paper, his expression dark.

  “Talk to your commander,” she told Wells, fearing the note involved some kind of evidence against her. She didn’t like the way he was viewing her as if she were lower than dirt. “He knows the whole story.” He’d been in charge of her case when Becca had tried to help take James Powell down. She’d been a squeaky wheel, so she was sure he’d remember.

  “Oh, I already know about your assistance with Powell’s arrest.” His eyes flashed wickedly, and Becca had no doubt the man knew all the dirty details. Had read about them and probably watched the evidence for himself. She flushed red with shame. Wells’s gaze moved over her body and she fought to contain her anger.

  Matt stiffened beside her, ready to leap to her defense. “Is my client under arrest? If not...”

  “Your client’s help is why she’s not under arrest...yet,” Wells said. “You’re free to go, as long as you stay in the area and continue to cooperate. I’m sure we’ll have more questions. In the meantime, I suggest you tell your boyfriend out there to calm the fuck down. I hear he’s looking like a mental patient ready to chew through his straps to get to you.”

  Becca shivered. Was Diego eager to protect her, question her or throttle her?

  * * *

  Diego was in the waiting area for over an hour, pacing like a caged tiger while a
million possibilities ran through his head, each more alarming than the last. At least her brother was in there with her. She wasn’t totally alone.

  When Becca finally emerged from the interview room with Matt, she wouldn’t meet his gaze, and his detective instincts were going wild—as were his Becca instincts. He wanted to demand she talk to him...after he grabbed her up against him and held her for several long, stabilizing moments.

  He did neither. Something in her guilty expression told him neither strategy would work.

  “She’s free to leave,” Matt said. His emotions were unreadable.

  “You can go,” Becca told Matt. “I’ll be okay.”

  “Call me first thing in the morning.” Matt pressed a kiss to her temple, nodded a goodbye to Diego and left.

  “Did you book your trip back to New York yet?” Her tone was self-deprecating, but it wasn’t what Diego wanted to hear. Since he couldn’t trust himself to convey his thoughts and emotions in a calm manner, he turned on his heel and walked out the door.

  “Hold up, would you?” Becca jogged down the stairs to catch up.

  He shortened his strides to let her come even with him, but continued into the parking lot until they’d reached her car.

  “Wait, Diego,” she pleaded, putting her hand on his arm.

  He swung around to face her. Puffs of breath escaped from her parted pink lips, fogging the darkness and catching the moonlight. A shiver of desire rippled through him. Damn it. Even when he was pissed off at the woman he wanted to toss her over his shoulder like a Neanderthal, head to the nearest cave and feel her hot breath against his skin, the rumble of her sexy moans beneath his lips.

  He scowled as he tried to control the tempest of emotions inside him. “You want to talk now? Here, on the street, in the middle of the night, with the police still inside praying for you to confess to murder so they can wrap this case up in a shiny red bow? I’ve been trying to get you to talk for days. Hell, I’ve been hoping to hear from you for months. I simply got used to the disappointment. But, damn. I can’t continue like this.”

  She looked away. “You’re right. There’s a lot you don’t know. I didn’t know how to tell you.” Her lips twisted in a grimace. “That’s a lie... I didn’t want to tell you.”

  “And?”

  “And this still isn’t the right time or place.”

  Anger vibrated through every nerve ending.

  “That doesn’t mean I won’t talk,” she hastily added.

  He wanted to hold on to the anger. It kept him warm, kept him sane, kept the fear at bay. God, she could have been locked away for breaking and entering, murder and who knows what else over the past couple days.

  She stepped up close and wrapped her arms around his waist, then tucked her head against his chest. The gesture was so gentle and surprising, such an unconscious admission of fear and need, that it caught him in the throat.

  “I am going to tell you everything,” she said against his coat. “Everything. I promise. When the time is right.”

  “Is the time going to be right soon?”

  “As soon as you get me home.”

  He brought his arms around her. “I called Damian and told him what happened. He didn’t ask any questions, just said he’d make some calls on your behalf.”

  She sighed against him. “Thank you. I’m not sure I could have handled that conversation right now.”

  “You’re shaking,” he said. “Let’s go home.”

  “It’s not the cold. That’s kind of refreshing.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I’m afraid.” She pulled away to look up at him. “My past is catching up to me and I don’t want to ruin your life.”

  Ruin his life? What could be that bad? “You brought me back to life. There’s no way you could ruin it.”

  She gave a short, humorless laugh. The glow of the parking lot lamp cast a bluish tinge to her face. Her brown eyes were dark, her blond hair nearly white, giving her an ethereal fairylike quality. Her gaze was locked on his. Tension radiated off her. Her fingers were curled tightly into the fabric of his coat.

  Fear. She was worried he would hate her for whatever it was in her past. That he couldn’t forgive whatever transgressions she’d made. That she gave him that much power over her feelings was an honor he wouldn’t put into words. If he did, she’d no doubt circle the wagons or retreat again. She didn’t seem to realize how vulnerable she was making herself right now.

  He touched a finger to her cheek. “Do you have an arrest record?”

  “Yes, sort of.”

  He’d already guessed as much. The sort of part he’d figure out later. “Did you kill someone?”

  “No.”

  “Kidnap?”

  “No.”

  “Rip someone to shreds?” He could picture that—if they deserved it. Becca’s heart burned for justice. She wouldn’t do anything that didn’t serve a higher purpose. And though he’d meant his comment in a teasing manner, she didn’t smile.

  “No.”

  “Do anything that someone didn’t deserve?”

  She blew out a breath. “No.”

  He searched her eyes, and she seemed to be searching his right back. “Were you even guilty of what you were arrested for?”

  “No. The charges were eventually dropped.”

  Except something had her feeling guilty. But if she hadn’t done anything illegal, it was a crime of the conscience. He frowned. “Hell, Becca. Anything else we can get past.”

  She lifted her arms and wrapped them around his neck, hugging him with a fierceness that spoke of her relief. Again, he was struck by her vulnerability. Perhaps she was coming to trust him, after all. She stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his. The icy touch of winter retreated as liquid heat flowed through his veins, the kiss spreading through him like hot chocolate, warming him from the inside out. He tightened his arms around her. At least something good had come from tonight’s horrible events. All her defenses were down and he was finally—finally—seeing the passionate, sensitive Becca he’d fallen for months ago. She pressed into him and slid her hands up his chest to his face, cupping his cheeks.

  Reluctantly, he ended the kiss. “You’re freezing.” Pulling her hands from his face and curling them inside his palms, he tried to infuse heat back into her.

  “Thank you.” Her eyes had a dazed look that made his chest ache. Had he put that contented, awestruck look on her face?

  He grinned. “For the kiss? There’s more where that came from.”

  She laughed, a puff of hot air in the darkness that hit his bare neck and sent a shudder through him. God, he wanted this woman. Every damn inch of her.

  She grew serious again. “No. Thank you for staying while they questioned me...though you might wish you’d walked away when you hear my story.”

  “We’re in this together. Partners. Besides, Detective Wells didn’t really let me stay with you.”

  “I felt you with me the whole time. Take me home, Diego.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Monday, 1:48 a.m.

  Becca’s apartment

  Becca owed Diego so many things, but right now she owed him the truth. Once inside her apartment, he grabbed a couple sodas from the refrigerator and gestured to the couch, indicating she should take a seat.

  “Hungry?”

  Her stomach clenched. “No, thanks.”

  He sat down close to her but kept a few inches of breathing room, which was just what she needed. The cards from their strip poker/truth-or-dare game were still spread across the coffee table. Beneath her, the soft blanket she’d given him to sleep with was warm and comforting. He handed her a soda. She took a swallow, struggling to find the words to express the myriad of emotions that surrounded the memories of her past.

  He waited patiently for several long minutes before speaking up. “Don’t get shy now, Becca. You’ve seen me at my worst.”

  “So now you get to see me at mine?”

 
“I’d be privileged.” The words, spoken quietly but honestly, gave her courage.

  She reminded herself she wasn’t going to be scared of anything—of him, or his reaction. This was Diego, who’d told her everything about the niece he’d lost, and how much he ached for his family’s loss. She’d felt that ache, too.

  She set her soda on the table. “You once told me you felt responsible for Natalee’s death.”

  He stiffened at the mention of his niece’s name but didn’t dispute her statement. “I was wrong to feel that way.”

  “Feelings don’t always have rational reasons behind them.”

  “True. And it took me some time to realize that.”

  Becca nodded. “I’ve felt ashamed for so long now—since I was twenty years old. I made so many mistakes.”

  “In college?”

  “Yes. I was trying to help a friend.”

  He smiled softly. “You’re always helping friends.”

  “Yeah, well...I didn’t know what I was doing back then.” She’d been incredibly naïve to think she could take on a serial criminal and find justice for Amy. Then again, she hadn’t known at the time that James Powell was a repeat offender who’d never been caught.

  “During the fall of my sophomore year, I took an upper-level English lit class. It was my major at the time.” So many things changed that year. In fact, her entire life changed. “I guess I caught the eye of my professor, James Powell. In the spring, when I was no longer in his class, he let me know he was interested...and not just in my brain.”

  He turned toward her slightly, his bent knee almost touching hers. “I take it we’re talking about the same James Powell who was found murdered tonight.”

  “Yes. He was released on parole this past week.”

  “What did he do?” Diego’s question was quiet, with an undercurrent of alarm. “And what did you do to him that got you arrested?”

  “Wow, cut right to it.” She took another swallow of soda. The bubbles burned a trail to her gut and she promptly set the can down. “He murdered Amy. I was arrested for it.”

  Diego went completely still. She couldn’t blame him. She remembered that time, the craziness of it. Stunned pretty much summed it up.