by Rebecca York
“Good. Because I like you better without it.”
“You do?”
“Yeah.”
So was that going to be a step into a more normal life? She reserved the thought as she sat down to eat. The free breakfast wasn’t bad, and she had finished about half her meal when she saw Max glance at his watch. She gave him a questioning look.
He picked up the remote, clicked on the television, and got one of the local stations.
She kept eating through a couple of commercials, but her appetite vanished when the local news came on. The first thing she saw was a picture of the farmhouse, taken from the road with a telephoto lens.
She stared at the screen in disbelief. “How did they get that? How did they even know about it?”
He swore, his expression grim. “I was afraid of something like this. Probably the local news stations have a police scanner.”
They both stopped talking and listened to the reporter who was saying that the home of the late Ernest Winters had been attacked the night before.
“His daughter, the model, Olivia Winters, was staying in the house, and a visitor was killed. Her identity is being withheld, pending notification of next of kin. Ms. Winters is apparently in town in connection with the ten-year reunion of her Donley High School class.”
Olivia sucked in a breath. “How do they know that?”
“I guess they contacted people who might know you, and somebody at the reunion meeting talked.”
“So they might know you’re my bodyguard, not my fiancé.”
“Only if Hamilton gives out the information.”
“Will he?”
“He shouldn’t.” Max clicked off the TV and got up from the table. “Come on.”
Olivia gave him a questioning look. “Where are we going?”
“To talk to Brian Cannon. The good news is that the press doesn’t know where we’re hiding out—I hope.”
“But it’s not just going to be on television. Do you think it made the Baltimore Sun?”
“If it hasn’t, it will.”
When he looked grim, she asked, “What are you thinking?”
“That because you’re nationally known, this is going to go farther than the local media.”
She struggled to keep down the food she’d just eaten.
To confirm what Max had said, Olivia’s cell phone rang. When she looked at the name on the caller ID, she felt her stomach muscles contract.
“Who?” Max asked.
Olivia clicked to answer. “Jerry.”
“It looks like you got into some trouble down there,” her agent said.
“How do you know?”
“It’s on CNN.”
“Oh Lord.”
“Come back, and I’ll keep the media away from you.”
“I can’t come back. We have to find out what is going on down here.”
“You’re not a cop.”
“Jerry…”
Max took the phone away from her. “This is Max Lyon,” he said.
“Who?”
“Olivia’s fiancé.”
She heard the squeak of surprise on the other end of the line.
“What the hell do you mean, Olivia’s fiancé?” Jerry asked, his outraged voice easily carrying through the phone lines.
Olivia started to shake. She hadn’t bargained for a confrontation with Jerry. She’d thought she could avoid talking to him until this was over.
“She came down here because her best friend from high school was murdered,” Max said.
“You’re saying she deliberately put herself in danger?” Jerry asked, his voice clearly audible.
“No,” Max answered, then put his hand over the instrument. “Do you want me to tell him to fuck off?”
The blunt question shocked her. Part of her reason for coming home was to put some distance between herself and Jerry. But she wasn’t ready to go that far with him.
“I guess I’d better talk to him,” she said to Max.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
He handed her the phone, and she clamped her hand around it in a death grip. “I have to see this through,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because it will haunt me for the rest of my life if I don’t.”
Jerry snorted. Apparently the concept of loyalty to a dead friend was beyond his pay grade.
“This changes everything,” he said.
“How?”
“Jesus. You could get pregnant. You could ruin your figure.” He stopped short, then said, “Are you pregnant now? Is that why you’re hiding out?”
Olivia glanced at Max, suddenly thinking that she could be. “No,” she said.
“You’re not doing that Million Dollar Babe shoot are you?” Jerry asked.
“No,” she answered, realizing she had made up her mind.
“I think I can get them to take Yvonne Mitchell.”
“Sure. Go ahead,” Olivia answered. She’d come down here not knowing what she wanted. Apparently she’d made a decision, but she hadn’t known it until now.
“We’ll talk later,” he said.
“Yes,” she answered, wondering if they would ever talk again—except through a lawyer. After all, she did have a contract with the man, a contract she’d been eager to sign ten years ago because it had felt like he was offering her the moon and Christmas all rolled together. She remembered that feeling like Superman had taken her hand and was flying her over the skies of New York. Now she was thinking she’d been a fool to trust that he had her best interests at heart. He’d seen a good thing when she walked into his office—a girl with raw talent who could be groomed and controlled.
She clicked off and looked up to see Max watching her.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Not your fault.”
“Well, I shouldn’t have said I was your fiancé—not to him. It just slipped out.”
Yeah, she thought, like a Freudian slip.
She could mumble something about the heat of the moment. Instead, she kept her gaze on Max. “Do you want to be my fiancé?”
He went very still, then looked away. “I’d make a lousy spouse.”
“How do you know?”
“My background. I don’t even know what a good husband is. My dad certainly wasn’t a great role model.”
“I could say the same for mine. But that’s not the point. What if I am pregnant?” she whispered.
“I’d never run out on you and the baby.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. She’d asked the question without thinking through the implications. So he’d stay if it was to protect an innocent child, not because he wanted her. Or had he told Jerry he was engaged to her because that was what he really wanted?
She couldn’t work her way through any of that now. She couldn’t even be sure of her own feelings. And maybe she wouldn’t be until they solved the murder. As that last thought surfaced, she squared her shoulders.
“Let’s go lean on Brian Cannon.”
He looked relieved at the change of subject.
“Be right back.” She ran into the bedroom to get her purse. When she returned to the living room, he was holding the two sticky buns nestled in two napkins. “We can eat this on the way.”
“The nourishing part?”
“The fun part.”
“Right. On the way to interview a murder suspect.” She stopped and said, “Is he?”
“It’s unlikely,” Max answered. “But the sooner we find out…” He let his voice trail off, and she didn’t ask what he’d been thinking.
Maybe it was, the sooner we can sort out our relationship. She hoped so, and she hoped the conclusion would be what she wanted to hear. Which was what? Did she even know? Did he? Were they two screwed-up people who had been thrown together and were now clinging to each other? She didn’t like to put it that way. She knew she cared about Max. And he was acting like he cared about her. Plus he’d told her things about his past that he
hadn’t liked sharing. But what if he’d done it to get her to open up with him? She was still confused, but she couldn’t focus on the two of them now.
He was back in bodyguard mode as he said, “Let me go first.”
Stepping into the hall, he looked around, then motioned for her to follow. He walked in front of her as they headed for the back elevator, then the side door.
She kept her head down, and nobody paid them any attention as they slipped outside and got into his SUV.
As he drove to the office building where Brian Cannon’s office was located, they polished off the buns. After she was finished eating, she pulled down the visor mirror and began to wipe off her mouth.
When he gave her a questioning look, she said, “If I’m not my best, people criticize.”
“I’d hate that.”
“Not my fave.” She shook her head. “And maybe the media are camped out at Brian’s.”
“Let’s hope not.”
They found a space near the office building door, and again she was relieved that no reporters were staking out the place.
“I guess they haven’t gotten to him yet,” she said.
On the second floor, Max hurried down the hall to the office they’d visited the day before, and Olivia lengthened her strides to keep up.
As they stepped into the reception room, Ms. Holiday gave them a wide-eyed look.
“What are you doing here?” Ms. Holiday asked.
“We have some unfinished business with Mr. Cannon,” Max answered.
“He’s not in,” she said too quickly.
“Is that what he told you to say if you saw us?” Max asked. “Or the press?”
She didn’t answer, but Olivia caught the apologetic expression. Stepping closer to the desk, she said, “You may know that we had a pretty bad experience last night. A woman was murdered at my house, and the man tried to kill me too.”
The receptionist gasped. “It was on the news, but I didn’t know the part about his coming after you.”
“She was in our high school class. I mean mine and Brian’s, and I think nobody in the class is safe until we figure out who the killer is.”
“What does that have to do with Mr. Cannon?”
“In the first place, he’s just as much at risk as anyone else. And in the second place, he may have some information that can help us.”
As Olivia kept the woman’s attention, Max slipped past them and headed down the hall.
But Ms. Holiday saw him striding toward Brian’s office. “Wait a minute. You can’t go back there,” she shouted after him.
Olivia put a hand on her arm. “It’s okay. He’s going to feel better after helping us.”
“But he told me to keep you away from him. He was very clear about that.”
Just then the sounds of a scuffle interrupted the conversation.
Chapter 21
Ms. Holiday leaped up from behind her desk and charged down the corridor. Olivia was right behind her.
She heard cursing and the sound of knuckles landing on flesh and bone.
They arrived in time to see Max holding a wide-eyed Brian against the wall.
The real estate agent’s gaze swung to Olivia, and he looked like he was expecting salvation. “Tell your goon to leave me alone. He’s not really your fiancé, is he?”
“He’s a PI, and he’s investigating the murders. I’m sorry it’s come to this, Brian, but we need your help,” she said in a soft voice. “Just give us a few minutes, then we’ll leave you alone.”
He swallowed hard, and she knew he could still order them to get out of his office. Or tell Ms. Holiday to call the cops. It probably depended on whether or not he was the killer.
She chose not to assume the worst. “You could save a life—and it might be yours.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I think you can guess. If Max lets you go, will you talk to us?”
When he answered with a tight nod, Max relaxed his grip, then turned to Ms. Holiday. “Don’t go down the hall and do something stupid—like calling the police.”
She looked from him to Brian.
Her boss said, “It’s all right. Don’t call anyone. Give us a few minutes.”
The three of them went into his office and closed the door.
Brian rounded his desk and sat down, looking relieved to have the barrier between them as he rubbed his jaw.
“Sorry,” Max apologized as they sat across from him.
“What the hell do you think I can do for you?” he asked.
“Did the cops question you?” Max asked.
“Yes,” Brian bit out.
“Did they tell you who was murdered at Olivia’s house last night?”
“No.”
“It was Claire Lowden.”
Brian’s face paled. “Oh my God.”
“Have you seen her recently?” Max asked.
Brian’s gaze shot to him. “Why are you asking? I mean, do you think I killed her?”
“Actually, no.”
“Why not?”
Olivia cleared her throat. “Because the murderer had dark hair, and you don’t.”
Brian stared at her. “Are you saying you saw him? Then why don’t you know who it was?”
Olivia could see Max was struggling not to leap across the desk and strangle the guy. She watched him drag in a calming breath and put a hand on his knee.
Last time he had done most of the talking. This time she thought it would be better if she took the lead.
“We’re here because we need your help. And we’re going to tell you stuff that the cops want kept confidential. You’ve got to promise you won’t tell anyone else.”
Brian thought about it, then nodded. “Yeah, okay.”
Max looked at Olivia. “Tell him how you saw the killer but didn’t see his face.”
“He had on a gas mask,” she said. “So I couldn’t see his features at all. But I saw part of his hair.”
“A gas mask? Why?”
“Partly to hide his identity, I’m sure. But he also threw a smoke bomb through the window of my house before he came in and started shooting.”
Brian winced. “Holy crap.”
“So let’s cut to the chase,” Max said.
“But I wasn’t there last night. I can’t tell you anything. Why did you come here?”
“Because Claire’s murder confirms what we told you yesterday. So far, everyone who has been killed was at that party at your house. The same party where Gary Anderson shot at Craig Pendergast.”
“Christ, I never should have invited anyone over when my parents were out of town. I only asked a few friends, and then the news of the party spread around the school.”
“We all do stupid stuff when we’re teenagers. You know I did,” Max said, probably trying to reassure Brian that they weren’t blaming him for anything that had happened. “And you didn’t know anyone was going to end up dead.”
“You were going to get us a list of the people who were at the party. Did you start working on it, or did you forget about it?” Olivia asked, wondering if she and Max were playing good cop, bad cop, or alternating the roles.
Brian reddened. “I didn’t actually get to it. I mean, I didn’t think anyone was going to get killed last night.”
“Let’s try to do it together,” Olivia suggested.
Brian gave her a grateful look. “Good idea.”
She came around to his side of the desk, where she could see his computer screen, and he opened a notepad and started listing people. She added names, and it gave her the shivers to see how many of those people were dead.
“Is there anything else you can tell us about what happened that night?” Max pressed.
“Like what?”
“Something illegal. Something to do with sex or drugs? I don’t know, but I think there was something else going on”
Brian was silent.
“Do you know about kids going up to the cabin up by Wilkins Dam?”
Brian’s gaze swung toward Olivia, then away.
“So you know something about it?” Max asked in a hard voice.
“There was some talk.” Olivia waited, her breath shallow. Was Max going to ask, “Are you the guy who drove her there the day she was raped?” But he didn’t put the question to Brian, and neither man said anything specific about her.
“So maybe something happened the night of the party—something that maybe kept going up at the cabin where there was more privacy. Olivia said most people cleared out after the shooting at the party. Did anyone stick around?”
Brian swiped his hand through his hair. “Okay, there is something. After most people left, Troy and Tommy were still there talking about how Gary fucked up their plans.”
“Troy Masters and Tommy Larson,” Max said.
“Yes.”
“After the party broke up, they said they weren’t ready to call it a night. Because it was Cinco de Mayo. A night to celebrate. I think both of them had been hoping for some action.” He looked at Olivia again, then away.
“Troy wanted to give me and Angela a ride,” Olivia whispered. “I wonder where we would have ended up if we’d gotten into his car. Not at home, I’ll bet.”
“So what happened next?” Max prompted.
“Troy said he knew where they could get some women—down on Baltimore Street.”
“The Baltimore red light district,” Olivia said.
Brian nodded. “And they left.”
“And that was the end of it?” Max asked.
“Well, the next time I saw Troy, I asked him how it went, and he was evasive. I got the feeling something happened down there that he didn’t want to talk about.”
When Brian didn’t answer the question about the boys’ trip into Baltimore, Max pressed, “And Tommy didn’t tell you either?”
“No.”
Max nodded. “Okay, knowing they went down there is helpful.”
Brian shook his head. “It isn’t much.”
“It’s a lead.” He cleared his throat. “Claire’s death changes things.”
“Why?”
“Well, actually that started with Angela. Until then, the killer was stealthy. He made sure nobody knew the previous deaths were murders. Then he came out and strangled Angela. And last night he lured Claire to Olivia’s house so he could kill them both. With a gun. He’s not trying to conceal his moves.”