“You’ve got nine lives, kiddo,” Lance said almost jovially, although his voice cracked at the end. And then someone else called out “The police are on their way up!”
Caitlin glanced at Jack, who stood above her, in front of her, his gun trained on her assailant. And then he glanced over his shoulder.
“You’re safe now,” he said again. “And you’re going to stay that way.”
Caitlin mentally replayed the past thirty minutes. And wished she could believe him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
JACK glanced at the clock. Just after four a.m. He imagined most of the hotel guests had gone back to sleep by now, the others along this section of the hallway having been offered rooms on other floors if they were available, and vouchers and other goodies to make up for the inconvenience of having a man shot outside their doors, along with all of the accompanying hoopla.
Jack briefly considered whether he could have done something differently, stopped the man without firing his weapon. But then he saw Caitlin, visibly terrified, running down the hallway. The man, his face an inflamed mask of rage, switchblade held over his head like a machete. Almost at Caitlin’s heels. Ready to bring that knife down into her body.
And nope, he couldn’t have done anything differently. Wouldn’t have, in fact. Unless it was to kill the bastard while he was at it.
But that would have caused Jack even more trouble. Not to mention that they wouldn’t get any answers from the guy.
Not that he expected the cops to be chatty about what they discovered during their interview with the suspect. But he was going to damn well do his best to find out. And along those lines, he’d placed a call to detectives Donaldson and Clark. He didn’t give a shit if they weren’t happy about being pulled out of bed. He wasn’t too happy about it, either.
But he’d turned over his gun, submitted to the breathalyzer and powder residue tests and battery of questions. He’d allowed himself to be detained separately from Caitlin, even though it killed him not to be able to see for himself that she was okay. He’d called on every reserve of patience he hoped to possess, because he knew how slowly the wheels of an investigation turned.
However, there was a difference between being patient and being a patsy. So he’d also called Ainsley, as well as the woman she was grooming as her replacement. He wasn’t stupid enough to talk to the police without an attorney other than himself present, and he certainly wasn’t letting anyone further badger or alarm Caitlin. He had no doubt that she was in good hands with Ainsley. And Elise – Ainsley’s replacement – was proving herself more than capable.
“Look,” he said, holding onto his temper with a slippery grasp. “I’ve answered every question you have, repeatedly. I’d like to wrap this up.”
“You’re the one who called me,” Detective Clark pointed out.
Jack glanced at the detective, whose two day beard failed to mask his sullen expression. Jack figured the other man wanted to make this Jack’s fault, but as of yet couldn’t find a way he’d acted criminally. He was licensed to carry, his gun was registered, and he acted to stop a violent assault in progress.
“I called you because someone tried to kill a client of my firm. Again. By now you’ve had time to check the report regarding her brush with a hit and run. There were witnesses, so it’s not like the note left on her windshield. You can’t try to pretend she did it herself. And tonight, we’ve offered you one better – an actual suspect caught in the act of trying to kill her. Now I know you’re probably invested in whatever scenario you cooked up that makes her out to be guilty of something other than defending her own life, but you have to admit that the evidence is starting to make it really clear that’s not the case.”
Clark stared at him for several seconds. “A client of your firm?”
Jack wanted to curse. He should have known the detective would pick up on that. “That’s what I said.”
“But not… your client?”
“That’s irrelevant,” Elise chimed in.
Clark aimed his baby blues her direction. “Maybe. But I’d like to have a clear picture of exactly what I’m dealing with here. Mr. Wellington has stated that he was on the premises tonight due to concerns over Ms. Cavanaugh’s safety. That’s fairly unprecedented in itself, from my understanding of usual attorney client relationships, at any rate. So I’m wondering why, if he’s no longer her personal attorney, he felt the need to take on that task himself.”
“Again, that’s irrelevant. He’s the senior partner in the firm, and thus has a vested interest.”
“So why the switch?”
Elise’s lips pursed with displeasure. “Do you really have to ask why a female client who was the victim of a crime of a sexual nature would feel more comfortable with a female attorney?”
That shut him up. Jack wouldn’t have taken that particular tack himself, mostly because it made him imagine what Caitlin must have endured that night, and how much worse it would have been for her if she hadn’t been able to fight off her attacker. And that tended to piss him off.
But he couldn’t deny its effectiveness. Detective Clark looked rather uncomfortable, meeting Elise’s censorious glare. Jack didn’t blame him. Elise – Ainsley’s step-cousin through her father’s wife – was, as Ainsley had informed him when she suggested her for the job, beautiful, black and utterly badass. The fact that Clark was merely uncomfortable, rather than blubbering out an apology, spoke to his own backbone, as Elise’s glare was pretty damn formidable.
Clark cleared his throat. “Point taken.” He then looked back toward Jack. And sighed. “Look, I will admit that the pattern of events in the past week regarding Ms. Cavanaugh is certainly… concerning. But you also have to understand that my initial obligation is to the man that she killed – allegedly killed, since I know that you’re going to point out that her alleged memory lapse makes any sort of admission impossible. And the physical evidence isn’t all in yet. So in the meantime, I have to make sure my judgment isn’t clouded because a pretty woman appears to be in distress.”
Elise bristled beside him, but Jack held up a staying hand. Clark was taking a dig at him, suggesting that he wasn’t entirely buying Jack’s impartiality. But since it was true enough, he didn’t take offense. He did, however, have a very serious point to make.
“I understand your obligation. But I need you to understand that while you are carrying out your duty to a dead man with a well-documented criminal history – and just because I’m a defense attorney doesn’t mean I condone criminal acts. While you’re doing that, a woman who has never so much as had a speeding ticket appears to have a target on her back. I’m not saying she deserves favoritism, or that her rights are any more important than his. That would be hypocritical. I expect you to do your job thoroughly, just as I do mine. If either of us acted with prejudice, the foundation of our supposedly impartial justice system would fail. I am saying that Ms. Cavanaugh might not be an easy target, as we’ve seen from the fact that she’s escaped grievous harm three times within the space of a week. But she is a target. And I’m not telling you how to do your job, but if I were you, I’d start wondering why that is.”
Before Clark could respond the door opened, and Detective Donaldson walked into the conference room, which the hotel manager had set aside for witness interviews. Jack was the last, as he was the one who’d fired the weapon. They’d let him stew for a while, if for no other reason than that they didn’t like him, and this was a rare chance to exercise their authority over him.
But they hadn’t been unfair, or unreasonable. Or even particularly antagonistic. He had to give both Donaldson and Clark props for professionalism. However, Jack was ready to get this over with. He wanted to see Caitlin, ascertain for himself that she was indeed unharmed.
And he wanted to freaking go to bed.
Donaldson looked as weary as Jack felt. The adrenaline from the shooting had finally petered out, and his entire being felt depleted.
Donaldson eyeballed Jack.
“That was a damn good shot.”
“I practice regularly.”
“Still, I’ve seen cops with a lot worse aim, and the knowledge that we might have to draw our sidearm is something we leave the house with every day.”
“You’re implying that makes you somehow more prepared, but most cops have never been physically attacked by a man bent on killing them in as painful a manner as possible. I have.”
After several more seconds of an optical pissing contest, Donaldson nodded. “I guess that would inspire a man to make sure he could hit what he was aiming at.”
Sighing, he settled his considerable bulk into one of the empty chairs across the table. And after sharing some sort of nonverbal communication with his partner, looked back at Jack. “I think it might be time for both of us to lay our cards on the table. Or some of them, at any rate.”
Jack leaned back in his seat, gestured magnanimously. “You first.”
“Fine. Ms. Cavanaugh tells me that you have concerns regarding Darius Presley’s death. And before you pounce, she was not under duress when I questioned her. The EMTs gave her a thorough examination, and once she had the asthma under control, the most she seemed to have suffered – physically, at any rate – was another bump on her head, where she banged into the ice machine. I made sure they gave her the all-clear physically, and Ms. Tidwell was there offering legal counsel. Every damn thing was above board. She’s worn out and frightened by her ordeal, but appears clear-headed.”
Jack drew in a breath. “Thank you. For giving me a rundown of her physical wellbeing. I didn’t have a chance to fully ascertain that for myself as I was reluctant to take my eyes off her assailant. I couldn’t be sure that he didn’t have another weapon.”
“Which is why we tell people to keep their hands where we can see them and not make any sudden moves. He didn’t, by the way. The switchblade appeared to be it. But since I’m not going to sit here and offer details about an ongoing investigation to the man who pulled the trigger, I’m going to ask you to share your thought process with me as to why you think Presley’s death would be anything more than an accident.”
Jack studied the older man. He’d learned something. Something that made him more open to the idea that there was a much bigger story here than Caitlin and a man who followed her home from a bar.
“I’ll be happy to. And in the interest of cooperation, I want to know if you’ve found out anything about the car that almost ran over Caitlin.”
Clark snorted in disbelief. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Not at all. Because I was there on the scene just after it happened, I know one of the witnesses snapped a photo of the plate. But the patrol officers showed up before I could ask her to see it. I want to know if the plate matches the vehicle registered to Ryan Fasteland.”
The younger detective’s lips thinned, but Donaldson lifted a tired hand. “We don’t have a conclusive answer yet. There was considerable distortion in the image, either because the vehicle was moving rapidly or user error. I don’t know. But we’ve got someone trying to clean it up enough to get a clear number on the plate. We’re also checking surveillance footage from nearby businesses that operate outdoor security cameras, to see if we can get a better shot, but you know that takes time.”
Shit. But Jack nodded. “I appreciate your honesty. I’m not sure how much Caitlin told you, but Lance Cavanaugh contacted Darius Presley after his sister’s relationship with Fasteland went sour, and his wife started harassing Caitlin, both online and in person. He was justifiably concerned that she would do something violent.”
“Justifiable because you think she murdered her husband and now is attempting to do Ms. Cavanaugh in?”
“It’s one possibility.”
“You think there’s another?”
Jack hesitated. “It’s the one with the most logic and evidence supporting it at this time.”
Donaldson’s eyes narrowed. “I can appreciate your reticence. Us cooperating is just damned unnatural. But let me say this.” He leaned his forearms on the table, pinned Jack with a hard stare. “If you have information that you’re holding back, information that could help us resolve this mess, I’m not going to look on that very favorably.”
“You’re not suggesting my client break attorney client privilege, are you?” Elise said. “Because you know that is binding not only after the attorney client relationship ends, but even after the death of the client.”
“Damn, and I thought till death do us part was bad.” Clark chimed in. “We know you people run concurrent investigations. So information can be gleaned in ways other than direct communication with your client. And that information wouldn’t necessarily be privileged.”
“You people?” Elise said, her tone dangerous.
“Defense attorneys,” Clark shot back. “What the hell did you think I meant?”
Jack glanced at Elise, who wasn’t normally so combative, and at Clark, who normally showed more finesse, especially with females. Then he dismissed them because he was too tired to worry about that right now. “I don’t have anything concrete,” he told Donaldson. “Only some hunches. If I come up with something that I think is critical, I’ll contact you. And if you uncover information from Ms. Cavanaugh’s assailant that might be relevant to her continued future safety, I’d like to be informed. Or any information, from any source, pertinent to that concern. My main objective at this point is to keep Ms. Cavanaugh alive and well.”
Donaldson studied Jack for several moments and then finally grunted his agreement. “Let’s leave it at that for now. Just make sure you keep yourself – and Ms. Cavanaugh – available for further questioning regarding tonight’s incident. Oh,” he said as he pushed back his chair. “And don’t expect your gun back too quickly.”
Jack had others, so he didn’t really care. And he suspected Donaldson realized that.
“No problem. Although I do expect it back.”
The four of them stood, the two cops talking under their breath as he and Elise walked out of the room.
“That man is an asshole,” she said. “And possibly a misogynist.”
Jack assumed she was talking about Clark, since he’d been the recipient of her death glare. “Lots of women would disagree with you there.”
“Oh, and because he’s a self-styled ladies’ man, that means he’s not a woman hater? The two usually go hand in hand.”
Jack’s lips quirked. “Some would consider me a self-styled ladies’ man, but I’m definitely not a misogynist.”
“Well of course you’re not. And you’re not self-styled. I’ve seen women practically tossing their panties on the sidewalk when you walk down the street.”
“That only happened once. Okay, twice.”
Elise stopped walking. “Seriously?”
“No, not seriously. What’s gotten into you? You’re normally so cool you’re almost glacial.”
She made a noise of disgust. “He just bugged me, that’s all. Acting like marriage is some sort of death sentence for men. Like it’s a frolic in a summer meadow for women? Honey, please. Anyway, I’m going to head out this door here. You tell Ainsley I’ll meet her at the car.”
Elise and Ainsley were temporarily sharing an apartment until Ainsley’s wedding, so they’d driven to the hotel together.
“Thanks for coming out in the middle of the night, Elise.”
“You’re the boss.”
“But not a misogynist.”
Elise gave him the you’re ridiculous wave and Jack turned, headed toward the stairs since they were closer. And for the first time all night, allowed himself to imagine what might have happened if he hadn’t taken the room next to Caitlin’s, hadn’t slept so lightly. Hadn’t been armed. There was a very real chance that she could have been injured, even killed. The asshole had been maybe fifteen feet behind her, and was closing in quickly. Given the fact that she was suffering another panic-induced asthma attack, she wouldn’t have been able to outrun him. Or his knife.
Of course, Caitlin had almost been run over with a Hummer, so maybe he was connecting dots on unrelated tangents.
Or maybe he was just really freaking tired.
He knocked on the door to the main part of the suite, faced Lance’s pale, drawn face when that door opened. Lance gestured him inside.
“I want to take her home with me,” Jack said.
Lance scrubbed a hand over his stubble. “Ainsley said you found us a room at a different hotel.”
“Unless you’re comfortable staying here.”
“Connie’s a mess. Might be a good idea to find some new scenery.” Then he met Jack’s gaze. “Thank you.”
Jack knew he wasn’t talking about the room. “I would have killed him without compunction.”
“Better that he’s alive. To get answers. But I’m sure you realize that. Anyway, all three of the girls are in Caitlin’s bedroom. You have my blessing to do whatever, not that you need it. Unless Caitlin says otherwise, of course. I’m going to go get our stuff together.”
Jack knocked on the door to the bedroom, pushed it open at the muffled “Come in.”
Connie looked up from where she was folding clothes into an overnight bag, her eyes still sort of glazed with shock. Caitlin sat beside Ainsley on the bed, where they’d obviously been deep in conversation.
Jack’s heart lurched painfully. The bruises on her face stood out almost monstrously against her pale skin, but aside from that she looked far more lucid than her friend.
“I’m taking you home.”
Connie stood up, a shirt dangling from one hand. “What?”
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