Horton nodded several hundred times, as though he were watching a hyperactive kid on a pogo stick. He still refused to meet Ethan’s gaze. “That’s what I told them.”
“But you do know about the murder, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question.
The station manager lowered his head and rolled his lips inward, as though he were fighting to keep words from escaping from his mouth.
Settling back in his chair, Ethan studied the man, then said quietly, “Where were you, Mr. Horton, when Vaughn Corcoran was murdered?”
He swallowed, licked his lips, then swallowed again. “Home. I was at home. My partner, Phillip, and our son Josh can verify that.”
“Would Phillip or Josh lie to protect you?”
Horton flicked a hurt look up at Ethan. “No. No, no. I would never ask them to do such a thing. Especially not Josh. What kind of lesson would that be for a six-year-old? No, we had a dinner party Friday night that went on until the wee hours. Lots of our friends were there. Saturday morning, Phillip and I took Josh to the park.”
Ethan made a few notes in his pad, then set it down on the desk. Gauging Horton’s nervous expression, he said, “But it’s obvious that’s not all to the story. Why don’t you tell me the rest?”
Tiny beads of sweat began to pop on Horton’s forehead and his eyes seemed to glass over. On the desk in front of him, his fingers shook as he twisted them together, first one way, then the other.
“I—I don’t know what to do!” he blurted. Finally looking Ethan in the eye, he stumbled, “I care v-very much about Georgie. But if I say anything, someone else I care very much for might get into trouble!”
“The truth is what it is, Mr. Horton.” He leaned forward. “Are you aware of what Paul Corcoran did to Georgie’s friend Raine?”
Horton nodded. “Yes. Yes, yes. I found out a few months ago.” Genuine compassion filled his eyes. “Absolutely despicable.”
“You caused the trouble on the set, messed up the spices. You put the oil of rosemary in the ice cubes, didn’t you?”
His gaze shot to Ethan’s, but he didn’t deny the accusations. “I had to. I’m sorry. Sorry and ashamed.” He fiddled with the ring on his left hand, turning the gold band around and around. “Mr. Corcoran’s dead now, so I guess none of it matters anymore. He—he wanted to hassle Georgie, he said. He thought she might be blackmailing him over what Paul had done to her friend. He threatened that if I didn’t help him, he would see to it that Josh was taken away from Phillip and me.” His brows snapped together as panic thickened his voice. “I was terrified he’d make good on it! He was a hateful man!”
“So why’d you hire me?”
“I had to make it look like I was trying to get to the bottom of things—and keep suspicion off myself.” He smiled weakly. “Guess I should have hired one of your less competent competitors.”
Instead of agreeing, Ethan said, “But Georgie wasn’t the one blackmailing Corcoran, was she?”
“I told him it wasn’t her,” he rushed. “Couldn’t be. Georgie’s just not like that. She’s too up front.
I—I thought maybe it was her friend Raine doing it.” He shook his head slowly, whispering, “I discovered the truth the day after Mr. Corcoran was killed.”
Watching Horton carefully, Ethan said, “And the truth was, Paul had drugged and raped another woman at KALM, hadn’t he? And she confided in you. And you’re worried it was she who killed Vaughn Corcoran.”
He wrung his hands together; his normally rosy cheeks were pale, his voice quavered. “Mr. Corcoran told me he was going to confront Georgie and put an end to it once and for all. I was terrified, I tell you! I didn’t know what he meant by that, put an end to it once and for all. And…and then when they found him there, in her house, dead, I—I…got so confused!”
“But you knew someone else had a motive, and you began to suspect her of the murder.”
“Yes. She’s been acting strangely since Mr. Corcoran’s death, very tense, nervous. Jumps like a cat whenever you so much as say her name. She’s always lived on the edge. I think now she’s maybe gone over. I don’t want to believe she’s capable, but…” He shook his head. “I should have come forward. I—I just didn’t want anybody else to get hurt!”
Ethan stood. “Let’s take a walk, okay, Mr. Horton? Get this whole thing straightened out?”
A few moments later, they stood outside her door. Ozzie knocked, went in first. When he stepped aside and she saw Ethan, her eyes grew large and wary.
“Listen to me, hon,” Horton said gently. “Ethan here would like to speak to you for a few minutes, okay? I think…I think you should. You know what I’m saying?”
She dropped the container of pins she was holding as her gaze met Ethan’s. Yeah. It was there, all right. In her eyes.
“I’m going to call someone,” Ethan said. “A detective. He’ll take your official statement. In the meantime, I think maybe you’d like to contact a lawyer.”
For a moment, Iona just stared at him. In the depths of her eyes, fear and indecision clearly warred with self-preservation as she seemed to gauge whether she should make a run for it. Finally, her eyes quieted, her shoulders relaxed, and she slumped into the wooden chair by the wardrobe rack. Closing her black-lined lids, she let her head fall with a dull thump against the wall behind her.
“Yeah,” she whispered to the air. “That would prob’ly be a real good idea.”
Georgie sat very still on the cushioned vinyl seat in the back of the speedboat as the man they called Drool guided it slowly through the choppy waves. The wind off the surface of the water whipped her hair around her face and into her mouth, and she wished she could tie it back, but Honcho had bound her hands.
She stared down at her wrists. I will be patient. I will wait for my chance. It will come. I will be ready.
The words became her silent mantra as she lifted her gaze to search the water for nearby boats that might come to her rescue. So far, she’d seen several fishing trawlers and sailboats at a distance, but none had been close enough that she could call to them. Even if she tried, before she could make a sound, Honcho would either shove her to the bottom of the boat and out of sight—or overboard, where, without the use of her arms, she’d drown.
Nothing that had happened in Georgie’s life had ever prepared her for being kidnapped. She had no training, no frame of reference, no plan—other than what she’d seen in movies or read in books. Not knowing what the men intended to do with her now that they had her contorted her brain, obscured her thinking. She needed a clear head, so she took in deep, calming breaths, all the while affirming she was strong, capable, and safe.
As the boat cut through the steady roll of waves, she shut her eyes and envisioned Ethan, sending him telepathic messages…
I’m here. I’m alive. Please find me. I love you.
I will be patient. I will wait for my chance. It will come. I will be ready.
I’m here. Find me. Please find me, Ethan. I love you.
She’d lost one sandal back at the beach, her mouth hurt where Paul had hit her, and the dense fog wrapping around her like an icy cloak chilled and stiffened her muscles. The smell of diesel fuel mixed with briny ocean air unsettled her stomach as the boat chugged through the water, hugging the coastline, carrying her farther and farther away from the people she loved.
Her eyes fell on Paul, sprawled in the seat next to Drool at the front of the boat. Stupid, arrogant son of a bitch. How dare he? How dare he!
Anger fueling her resolve, she yelled at his back, “Take me to shore, Paul! You already have charges against you…don’t make things worse. Let me go!”
Paul swiveled his chair around to face her. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, a skeptical sneer on his face. Raising his voice above the roar of the engine, he shouted, “You think I care what happens to me? For Christ’s sake, Georgie, I’ve basically been disinherited. That means no money!” He threw his hands up, and shrugged in a gesture of helplessness. “A
nd since it’s all your fault—”
“What are you talking about?” she choked against the wind. “How is this my fault?”
“If you hadn’t murdered my father, I’d still be fat, dumb, and happy! Oh, and rich!”
“I didn’t kill your father! Is that what you think?” She stared at him, everything finally clicking into place. “Paul, I did not kill Vaughn! I thought you killed him!”
“Even I’m not stupid enough to bite the hand that feeds me!” he screamed, baring his perfectly white teeth. “You killed him. You ruined my life, and for that, sugar tits, you are going to pay with everything you’ve got!”
Ethan and Nate watched in silence as the uniformed officers led Iona away, her wrists cuffed behind her back. Not that she’d give anybody any trouble; she’d been grateful to confess, relieved it was over. He’d seen it a lot. When decent people did something heinous, they simply couldn’t live with the guilt and generally spilled their guts the first chance they got.
As they’d sat in Horton’s office—a nervous-looking young attorney by her side—Iona had cried through the whole deposition.
“Mr. C-Corcoran came to the studio real early on Saturday morning just after we finished taping a show for Iggy. Corcoran was in an ugly mood. I overheard him saying something about Georgie, and I got worried, so when he left the studio, I followed him.” She wiped the tears from her eyes, blew her nose. “He drove to Georgie’s house.”
Nate stood by Horton’s office window, his arms crossed over his chest. “What happened after you arrived at Ms. Mundy’s?”
She lifted one shoulder, tossed her head back, sniffed. “I—I watched him ring her doorbell, then she let him in. At least, I thought she did, but the door must not have been locked. Anyway, he went in, and I crept inside after him. Heard him searching the house, yelling for her. ‘I know it’s you, bitch!’ he shouted. Then he lowered his voice and sort of growled like an animal, ‘I’m going to kill you myself, and I’m going to enjoy it.’”
Pausing for a moment, Iona ran her tongue over her lips and swallowed.
“I didn’t realize Georgie wasn’t home. I thought she was hiding in the closet or something. So I snuck into the kitchen and grabbed a knife. When I went through her bedroom door, his…Mr. Corcoran’s back was to me. He was furious, really screaming now. ‘Wait until I get my hands on you!’ he said. ‘I’m only sorry it was your gutless little friend Paul raped, and not you!’”
Iona bowed her head as tears slid down her cheeks to splash unheeded on the table. “How could he s-say such a thing? Such an evil, heartless man. I was so angry that he thought what Paul had done was okay, and that he even wished it on another woman!” She raised her head and looked directly into Ethan’s eyes. “Paul had used and humiliated me, and this man didn’t even care! I wanted to hit him, pound him with my fists, but the knife was in my hand…I rushed at him, and when I struck him, it just sort of…went in. He fell.” She gave a weak, sad laugh. “I…he didn’t even know it was me.”
Ethan watched as her lawyer spoke softly into her ear. Iona’s shoulders drooped and she nodded, letting out a long breath. It was over now. She probably hadn’t slept or eaten since it happened. But with her conscience finally clear, she could relax.
“Were you the one who phoned the police?” Nate asked.
She nodded absently. “Yeah. When I realized Georgie wasn’t even there, I ran away. Later, when I got to thinking about it, I didn’t want her to come home and find…well, you know…the body. So I called the cops.” Raising her head, she sought Ethan’s eyes once more. “I didn’t understand until Mr. Corcoran started yelling, that he thought Georgie was the one who was blackmailing him. But it was me. I—I didn’t mean to kill him, but I can’t be sorry he’s dead! I wouldn’t have let Georgie be charged. I would never have let that happen. I would have come forward. I swear.”
Ethan met her watery gaze. “I believe you, Iona.”
As the elevator doors closed on the sobbing young woman in handcuffs, Ethan said to Nate, “Whose fingerprints were on the knife?”
“Georgie’s. But it was from her kitchen, so that was a given. There was a second set of partials. I imagine they’ll match Iona’s.”
“I imagine so.”
Silence stretched between the two men, but for the first time in over twenty years, Ethan didn’t feel awkward about it. It was more like two old friends who didn’t need to speak, who felt comfortable just standing next to each other, absorbed in their own thoughts, yet still connected on a gut-deep level.
Nate seemed to be waiting for something, so Ethan ventured casually, “How’s Tabitha? You…”—he shrugged—“happy?”
Nate shoved his glasses up on his nose and grinned. “Yeah.”
“So, being married’s good?”
Nate’s smile went a little sappy. “Yeah.”
Ethan pushed the elevator button, turning over the idea in his mind. Maybe Georgie had been on the right track. Maybe it was time…
As they waited in silence, he mulled over what to do next. The cowardly thing would be for Ethan to keep quiet and never tell Nate about Cathy. After all, if he never said anything, he would never have to face his brother’s condemnation.
But there had been enough fences strung between them over the years. Maybe Georgie was right, maybe it was time to tear them away. Besides, he missed his brother, the way they’d been when they were kids, like in that old photo he had on his desk. He wanted that relationship back again—if it wasn’t too late—and if making things right took letting Nate inside his darkest secret, his most monumental failure, maybe it was worth the risk.
“Listen, Nate,” he said, his head down, his hands in his pockets. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. Uh, wanting to tell you, actually. Something about me you should know.”
A bell dinged, and the elevator doors slid open. As the men stepped inside, Nate pushed the button for the first floor. “Okay. You have my undivided attention for the next thirty-one floors.”
Ethan felt the ground beneath him fall away as the elevator began its descent. He was riding on thin air, and the meta phor wasn’t lost on him.
“Six years ago,” he began, “before you moved back to San Francisco, I, uh, I almost got married. Her name was Cathy. She was a PD negotiator. Long story short, we were working a hostage situation…shots were fired. She, uh, she died.”
Next to him, Nate was silent for a moment. Then, quietly, he said, “Jesus, Ethan. I’m sorry. I had no idea—”
“There’s more,” he said flatly. Though Nate fell silent again, Ethan could feel his brother’s eyes on him. “During the autopsy…look, the bottom line is, Cathy got caught in the crossfire and it was, uh, it was my bullet that killed her.”
There. It was out. No regrets. Let the chips fall where they may.
In silence, the elevator plummeted past the twenty-fifth floor, twentieth, fifteenth as the two brothers simply stood next to each other.
As the elevator car began to slow, Nate spoke. “Before I met Tabby, I’m not sure I would have understood…I…well, to lose her now…” Ethan felt his brother’s hand grip his shoulder. “You doing all right?”
Ethan cleared his throat. “Getting there.” And thanks to Georgie, he was.
Nate dropped his hand. “Look, you need anything—”
“Yeah.”
“Want to talk—”
“Yeah, okay.”
“I can, you know, do that.”
Ethan nodded. “Good.”
Nate nodded. “Yeah, good.”
Both men shrugged.
The elevator slowed to a stop and a bell pinged, but as the doors slid apart, Ethan stepped in front of Nate, blocking his exit.
“Look, uh, thanks,” he said. “For understanding. Not condemning. I, uh…well, just thanks, that’s all. After all the shit between us, I don’t have any right to expect—”
“Hey,” Nate interrupted. He adjusted his glasses while a slow, serious smil
e crept over his lips. “As a very fine and honorable man once said to me…you’re my brother.”
Ethan grinned at Nate in a conspiratorial way, as he had when they’d been boys and they’d both been caught with their hands in any number of cookie jars.
When Nate grinned back, Ethan felt as if the weight of the world had just been lifted from his shoulders. It had been a long time coming, and now that it was here, it felt good. It felt damn good.
Inside his jacket pocket, his cell phone vibrated at the same time he heard Nate’s chime. They chuckled at each other as they each answered their phones.
A moment later, their smiles vanished. Nate’s head came up, his gaze locked with Ethan’s. Without so much as a word between them, they turned, and together, ran like hell for the door.
Chapter Twenty-five
When you finally find the man of your dreams, squeeze him, tease him, please him, but above all, never let him go. They say good men are hard to find. They are right.
Georgiana Mundy’s Feng Shui for Lovers
“Found it.” Ethan tapped the image on the dashboard computer screen. “I knew that son of a bitch had to own a boat. Even Paul Corcoran isn’t stupid enough to kidnap a woman in a rental.”
“Yeah,” Nate drawled, “in the off-season he probably uses it to putt-putt around the shallow end of the gene pool.”
Ignoring his brother’s debatable wit, Ethan said, “Look, see?” He tapped the screen again. “There’s a 2006 Checkmate Bowrider with a three-hundred-horse power MerCruiser engine registered under the name CorCorp, one of Corcoran’s holding companies. It’s kept in a slip at the Alta Vista Yacht Club.”
In the passenger seat, Nate leaned forward and narrowed his gaze on the data. “Alta Vista, huh? Very private, very exclusive, very expensive. From the beach in Marin, that’s about twenty coastal miles.” He eased back into his seat. “But Raine said she didn’t see the boat because of the fog. We don’t have visual confirmation it was a Bowrider that took Georgie.”
“It’s it, though. Has to be.”
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