“And picked up pizza on the way home,” Jackson added.
“There’s also a copy of his medical record from that visit. Just there, in the back.” Veronica leaned over and tapped a long fingernail against the file. “Given the clarity of the print from the crime scene, I think we can agree there’s serious doubt as to its authenticity,” Veronica said.
“You’re saying you think his print was planted?” Evan asked.
“I’m saying I think you have some more investigating to do before you question my client further. Against my advice, my client hoped to stave off any media speculation with his ill-advised visit to the police commissioner. I can assure you, this won’t happen again—especially seeing as you now have actual proof Mr. Tremayne was outside the museum at the time of the crime. Honestly? I don’t see you have much of a case. Unless there’s additional evidence we’ve not been made aware of?”
“You’ve seen it all.” Evan took the file from the detective and waved them away. “I apologize for any inconvenience, Jackson. But you’ll understand if we continue to pursue our investigation.”
“I wouldn’t expect any less,” Jackson said.
“Excellent.” Veronica guided Jackson ahead of her. “We’ll consider this matter closed for now, then. Here’s my card.” She plucked one out of the pocket on her hip. “If you have any further questions for my client, please call to arrange a time. Nathan, Mr. Tremayne. Shall we go?”
Not about to contradict her, Nathan trailed silently behind as she led the way out of the station house, her thin heels tapping along the linoleum as they stepped out into the late-afternoon sun.
“Veronica—” Nathan began, only to have her spin around and aim laser hot eyes at the two of them.
“Whatever you two have to discuss, I suggest you take it far away from here.” She flicked her gaze up to the black surveillance camera over the double-paned glass doors. “And you.” She pointed a finger at Jackson. “No more visiting D.A.’s offices or police stations without your lawyer present, do you understand me?”
“I do.” For the first time, Nathan heard an unease in his father’s voice, one that did nothing to quell the nerves sparking in his own system. “Thank you, Veronica.”
“Craziest bloody family I’ve ever met,” she muttered, giving them a wave and swishing her way down the street.
“Are you sure you and she—” Jackson said to Nathan with an arched brow.
“I’m sure,” Nathan said. Some days he felt as if he’d adopted another sister since Veronica had hit town with Sheila’s now-husband. “But Veronica’s right.” He cocked his head to the side and led the way down Santiago Street toward the Tremayne Investments and Securities building.
“Do your sisters know what’s going on?” Jackson asked.
“I don’t know what’s going on.” Nathan cringed. “But if you mean do they know you’ve put yourself smack-dab in the middle of the Nemesis investigation? Sheila was there when I got the call.” It had taken every ounce of persuasive power he possessed to convince his sister to let him handle the situation. Sheila had enough on her plate these days without having to worry about their suddenly-gone-rogue father, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t expected to report back, preferably at dinner tonight. “What the hell, Dad? Exacting revenge as Nemesis not enough for you anymore? Now you’re pulling jobs on the side?”
“Nathan—”
There it was. The tell he’d been watching for, hoping for. His father’s slight askew glance, a darting of blue eyes that eased the pressure building in Nathan’s chest as a new ball of worry formed. “Evan was right.” Sort of. And so was Nathan. Thank God. “You’re being set up.” Jackson let out a long breath.
“Glad I don’t have to explain.”
“You have plenty to explain. That said, if you had stolen the crown, you wouldn’t have left a print, let alone allowed yourself to be caught on tape.” Weeks of pent-up frustration bubbled to the surface. “This has something to do with those sudden disappearances of yours, doesn’t it? What you’ve refused to talk about when we’ve asked. Except whatever it is had you turning yourself in to the police instead of coming to us so we could be prepared. Now we’re all at risk.”
“I’m afraid I put you all at risk a long time ago, Nathan.” The lines around his father’s tired eyes hinted at the strain he was under. “I was hoping I could find a way to work it out on my own, that I could keep you and your sisters out of this, especially now that they have their own families to consider.”
“You let me worry about Sheila and Morgan.” Nathan waved away his father’s concern with a dismissive hand even as he imagined the potential fallout. Marriages, businesses, charities . . . where would it end? “Just tell me what’s going on. If you weren’t at the museum that night to steal the crown, why were you there?”
“To meet someone,” Jackson said in a low voice. “Someone who never showed. Now we know why.”
“To frame you for stealing the crown.” Only now did Nathan realize what he’d previously identified as grief in his father’s eyes was more of a hovering ghost.
“When I first talked to you and Sheila about the idea of Nemesis two years ago,” Jackson said. “I told you I was looking for something to focus on after your mother died. But that wasn’t my first foray into that arena. Everyone has a past, Nathan.” Jackson took a deep breath, dropped his head back for a moment to look at the cloudless sky. “And mine has come back with a vengeance.”
Chapter Two
“I’m sorry, but this section of the museum is closed until further notice.”
The female voice drifted over Nathan with the same softness as the jasmine scent wafting down the tiled hall of the Wellington Museum. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes skimming the curvy figure of the brunette standing behind him. Polished, his sister Sheila would say; bordering on stylish from her tailored button-down white blouse and snug, knee-hugging black skirt, all the way to her sharp-toed patent black pumps. Every inch of this woman said collected and professional. Had it not been for the suspicious glint in her curious brown eyes and the fact he needed to get into that display room, Nathan might have let his gaze linger—and enjoy—longer.
“Yeah.” He pushed away from the door frame and turned on the double-dimpled smile that had sent numerous women tumbling into his bed. “The crime scene tape kind of gave it away.”
Her deep red lips didn’t curve. They didn’t even twitch. Instead, she tapped long, manicured fingers against her waist, kicking out a hip as she arched a brow. Her hair fell down her back in soft waves, hints of copper catching the recessed lighting of the museum’s ceiling. Sable, he thought. He’d bet her hair would feel like sable sliding between his fingers.
Nathan resisted the urge to clear his throat, something he tended to do when uncertainty descended. He prided himself on being able to read people; it was, after all, part of his job as a security expert and thief. Looking at this woman, however, filled his mind with an odd kind of static that prevented him from pinning her down. Appearances aside, there was something electric yet unreadable about her. One sparked his blood. The other . . . well. Nathan grinned. There was little he enjoyed more than a challenge.
“It’s been two weeks since the theft. That seems a long time to keep an exhibition closed.” He kept his tone even and calm. Damn it, he figured it would be easy enough to examine the room and try to find out how the thief—or thieves—managed to abscond with the crown. Veronica’s fingerprint revelation might have taken some of the heat off his father, but without any other leads, there wasn’t anyone other than his father for the investigation to focus on.
He pushed away from the wall. With those metal gates in his way, he’d either have to pay the museum an after-hours visit, an action that would only tempt fate or . . . Nathan looked at the woman beside him. Or maybe there was another way in. “It’s a shame to keep the rest of the collection un
der wraps even without its centerpiece.”
“I agree,” the woman said. “Unintended consequences to people’s reckless behavior I suppose.” She stepped back in a silent signal for him to leave.
A signal he ignored.
While Nathan understood Jackson’s desire to protect the family by turning himself in for questioning, he also believed his father had set the timer on a family bomb. If they weren’t careful, their real secret was going to come out, and exposing the Tremaynes as Nemesis would have far-reaching—and devastating—consequences.
Nathan shifted sore and tired muscles beneath his suit jacket. At least he’d managed to get ahead of the press where his father’s “arrest” was concerned with what he hoped was an elaborate excuse. If people were focused on the supposed reason for Jackson’s interactions with the police, hopefully they’d veer off the real story. The media didn’t care who they crucified for the theft as long as someone was hanging from the cross. That Jackson Tremayne was one of the most respected and well-liked men in Lantano Valley wouldn’t matter. None of the good his family had done in the past would matter. There wasn’t anything the public liked more than watching those they admired fall from grace. “Have there been any developments in the case?”
“There will be a public announcement well in advance of the exhibit reopening.” The gentle chime of classical music emanated from the hidden speakers in the hallway. “This way, please, Mr. Tremayne.”
That she knew his name shouldn’t have surprised him. “I know I would have remembered us meeting before, so I can only assume my reputation precedes me.”
Delicate fingers trailed lightly across the banister as she clicked her way down the curving marble staircase, Nathan nipping at her heels. “I’ve spent the last couple of days familiarizing myself with everyone who’s ever stepped foot in or has a connection to the museum. I find it interesting that you, the son of the prime suspect, were one of the security consultants for the recent system upgrades.”
“My father didn’t steal the crown.” Nathan’s gaze was pulled to the gentle sway of her hips and the effortless way she glided on heels his sister Sheila would have considered training wheels. His hands flexed inside his pockets and as he lifted his gaze to her face, he caught a glimpse of a sly smile over her shoulder.
“A son defending his father is hardly surprising.”
“He’s innocent.” The words shot out of his mouth like supersonic bullets, fast, quick, and more than a little hot. Whoever she was, clearly she hadn’t been brought up to date on the developments in the case. She didn’t know his father’s fingerprints hadn’t passed muster.
“No one is innocent, Mr. Tremayne. Not in my experience.”
“Perhaps we need to expand your experience. Let me in that display room and I’ll prove it.”
She slowed her pace to walk beside him as she guided him toward the front door past an elaborate exhibit of Aztec statuary and hand-hammered copper pottery. “You’ll understand if I don’t allow the son of a suspected thief anywhere near what’s left of that collection.”
“Tell you what.” Nathan took a step closer. Instead of moving back, she stood her ground and straightened her spine. Oh, yeah. Very interesting. “How about we continue this conversation over dinner? There are some great bistros a few blocks from here, right in the heart of the art district.” He glanced at his watch and cringed. Sheila had told him if he didn’t show at her place by five thirty she’d send a hunting party after him. Time to get a move on. “Tomorrow night?”
“I appreciate the offer.” He was struck by the hint of mystery he saw behind perfectly outlined eyes. He’d seen that seductive look before—in ancient paintings, in portraits of regal queens from Cleopatra to the legendary owner of the Crown of Serpia, Princess Kasha herself. Her smile widened, this time with a touch of humor, approval, and more than a little flirtation. “But I don’t go out with strange men.”
“Who says I’m strange?” He couldn’t seem to stop grinning around this woman. What was it about her? He didn’t have time for distractions, didn’t need them. And yet . . .
She grasped the brass handle behind him. “I don’t go out with men I don’t know.”
“Nathan Tremayne, remember?” He covered her hand with his and felt her fingers freeze beneath it. For an instant her gaze skittered from his, as if she was shocked he’d be so bold as to touch her. For that instant, the mask dropped away and he wondered if she felt the connection, too. Her skin was as soft as he’d imagined and he could feel the confidence coursing over her, calling to him as loudly as a weekend heavy metal concert. “Security consultant and vice president of Tremayne Investments and Securities.” He tightened his hand. “Potential troublemaker as evidenced by my penchant for venturing into forbidden areas.”
“Troublemaker I’ll attest to.” She plucked his hand off of hers. “Since you’ve already deduced I’m new to town, I’ll take your invitation under advisement. But for now, I have a job to do.” She pulled open the door. “And you, Mr. Tremayne, are in my way.”
Nathan glanced outside, not quite ready to raise the white flag of flirtation surrender and leave. When was the last time he’d been rebuffed by a woman so eloquently? So elegantly? “At least tell me your name.”
“Laurel Scott.” She pushed open the glass door. “Senior investigator for TransUnited Insurance.”
“You’re the insurance investigator?” Whatever warmth had been working its way through his body chilled at her words. This was the investigator Evan Marshall had called a hard-ass? The one who could very well have Nemesis in her sights? Boy, his radar must have short-circuited in the last few minutes not to pick up on this. She wasn’t a mere museum employee with access. She was the guardian at the gate.
“I see my reputation precedes me as well.” There was a different spark in her eyes as she smiled at him, one that moments ago might have sent Nathan to his knees, but instead he steeled his softening heart. There wasn’t time for distractions—not with his family’s future hanging in the balance. He may have missed the target on a lot of things in regards to this woman, but he was right about one thing: she was definitely going to be a challenge. Time to reevaluate his tactics and figure out exactly how useful Miss Scott could be. “Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Tremayne.” That softness had returned to her voice. “It would be quite interesting to have dinner with the man whose father I plan to put in jail. Have a good evening.”
Nathan took a stumbling step onto the sidewalk and watched, dumbfounded, as she closed the door, turned the key and gave him a little wave of her fingers before she disappeared into the museum.
***
With a bag of J & J Markets’s Italian takeout in one hand, her briefcase and oversized designer hobo bag in the other, Laurel kicked the door to her city-view room at the Empire Hotel closed and dropped out of her skyscraper heels with a relieved sigh. “What a day.”
Her cell phone rang from deep inside her purse, that distinctive, stomach-clenching graveyard tune that eroded her appetite. She dipped down and dumped everything to the floor to dig for the phone, taking an extra moment to center herself before answering. “Yes, Mr. Manville.”
“We had an agreement, Laurel.” The sharp-edged masculine voice sliced through her and she sagged to the floor. What she wouldn’t give never to hear his voice again. “I haven’t heard from you in almost a week. I’d like an update on your progress where Jackson Tremayne is concerned.”
The accusation triggered hatred and fear, throwing them into a battle in her too-tight chest. Laurel swallowed hard and pressed white knuckles against the throbbing above her left eye. “I haven’t had anything to report until today.”
“You’ve made contact then?”
“With the Tremaynes? Yes. Nathan came into the museum this afternoon.” An image of Nathan’s healthy chiseled face and longish blond hair that spoke to a bad-boy edge she hadn’t qu
ite expected flashed through her mind. He’d shot that tempting smile in her direction in a way that almost made her forget what she’d been sent to do. Almost. “He wanted access to the display room. He swears his father is innocent.”
“Jackson Tremayne is anything but innocent.”
The cold loathing she heard in Manville’s voice whenever he spoke of Jackson Tremayne chilled her blood. “Contrary to what you told me, there’s strong evidence proving Jackson Tremayne didn’t steal the crown,” Laurel protested. The call from the D.A. less than an hour ago had thrown her firmly into flux. “Yes, he was in the vicinity of the museum, but I just learned he turned himself in for questioning in regards to the Nemesis theft that took place at the same time. He couldn’t have been in two places at once.” Not that Jackson committing either crime made any sense to her. Then again, nothing made sense to her these days. She just did as she was told.
The stretch of silence had her squirming. “Interesting development.” Manville sounded almost amused when he spoke. “And clever. Apparently he’s decided to play along after all. No doubt this will call for a change of plans. I don’t need to remind you, Laurel, that your job with TransUnited is merely a cover. You work for me.”
“No, you don’t need to remind me.” Being a plant in the high-end insurance company to help fill Manville’s monetary coffers had been the bane of her existence these last five years, but not for much longer. She was so close to being out. So close to breaking free . . . “But that doesn’t change the fact that TransUnited expects me to conduct a legitimate investigation. I can’t prove an innocent man guilty of something without raising suspicion.” And Nathan Tremayne was already suspicious. She’d seen it in his eyes every time he looked at her with that piercing green gaze of his. Laurel shivered. The farther away she stayed from Nathan Tremayne the better.
“For now, your investigation puts you where I need you. Close to the Tremaynes. And don’t think you can keep anything from me. You’re not the only person I have keeping tabs on them.”
Trouble with Nathan Page 2