Concrete Evidence

by Rachel Grant

“We did a good install last week, but the electrical system failed and fried the pump and the fuse box at the same time. The wiring is old.”

  “Why did the basement flood again?” Lee asked. “It hasn’t rained in over a week.”

  “The main water line to the house had been shut off for months—maybe years. While we were here, we opened the valve to test the rest of the plumbing. Near as I can tell, late last week a damn pipe burst and might be what caused the electrical to go out in the first place.”

  No wonder he wasn’t eager to answer Lee’s questions. He might have caused both the flooding and the electrical damage.

  “Did you run the generator while you were in the basement?” the cop asked.

  The man shook his head. “We checked to make sure the pump was working; then we left. An electrician is supposed to fix the wiring tomorrow; then we’re going to reinstall the sump.”

  Lee left the cop to finish the interview and stepped back inside the house. He stood at the top of the stairs, studying the broken door. How had it been jammed?

  He circled the kitchen, and something on the floor caught his eye. A penny. The old dorm room prank came to mind, and he suddenly understood.

  “What the hell are you doing messing with my crime scene?” the cop asked.

  Lee turned to face him. “I thought you didn’t think this was a crime.”

  “I’m examining every possibility. Now get out of there.”

  He pointed to the penny. “That’s how the door was jammed. She was pennied in.”

  “What?”

  “Pennies were jammed into the frame until the latch was so tight against the metal plate it wouldn’t retract.”

  The cop looked down at the penny. “With one penny?”

  “I bet you’ll find more in the basement. When I kicked the door in, they must’ve gone flying.”

  He studied Lee, and his eyes took on a hard edge. “You’re full of answers. I think I should take you in for questioning.”

  “I’m the one who saved her.”

  “Hoping she’ll be grateful to her hero?”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “You were with her the night Tommy was killed. Were you jealous of the poor kid?”

  Lee’s frustration reached new heights. First the man wanted to write this off; now he considered Lee a suspect. “I don’t have time for this. I’m going to the hospital. If you need to know anything else, you can call me.”

  “I don’t think so, Mr. Scott. I’d like to interview you back at the station.”

  ERICA BARELY REMEMBERED the helicopter ride to the hospital. She didn’t fully come to awareness of her surroundings until she’d been in the hyperbaric pressure chamber for what she assumed was a long time. She felt pressure in her ears, had a pounding headache, and fought nausea, but the sweet, cool air soothed her raw and aching lungs.

  She lay in the chamber, a long, coffin-like glass tube, and tried to think about her father and a time when her life had been simple and happy. It was getting harder and harder to recall his face. But she saw his eyes every time she looked into the mirror and knew she had his smile.

  She and her mother had both worshipped him, and when he died, her mother didn’t just fall apart, she shattered. They then suffered an abrupt and astonishing role reversal, and their relationship never recovered. She never forgave her mother for being weak, and her mother never forgave her for looking and being so much like the man she’d loved and lost.

  Was that why her mother had stolen her identity? To punish her? To destroy her one remaining connection with her father, her pursuit of a PhD in archaeology, just like dad?

  Erica had learned to walk and talk on archaeological sites. Literally. Pictures of her first steps showed Yosemite Valley in the background, and her first word was “dirt.” Her father finished his PhD at the same time she started kindergarten, and from that point he left academia behind and established his own business in the emerging discipline known as cultural resource management.

  Dr. Peter Kesling was a respected man in his field, known mostly for his efforts to establish ethical standards for CRM archaeologists. And she’d violated those very same ethics, placing a black mark next to the Kesling name.

  A nurse came in to check on her. The chamber was equipped with an intercom. “How much longer will I be in here?” Erica asked.

  “You’re halfway finished. You’ve got two more hours.”

  She nodded and closed her eyes. She had plenty of time to think. Too much time.

  Jake had destroyed everything she’d worked for, and now he’d tried to kill her.

  And he’d come damn close to succeeding.

  LEE WATCHED THE GRAINY footage from the casino’s security camera. He easily recognized himself as he stepped out of the building a few minutes prior to Tommy’s death and returned seven minutes later. He probably should have demanded to have a lawyer present for this interview but didn’t want to waste time. He needed to get to the hospital. “I told you then the same thing I’m telling you now. I stepped outside to make a phone call. It was too loud on the casino floor.”

  “Who did you call?”

  Lee looked the officer in the eye. “JT Talon.”

  The man looked slightly taken aback. Only two names were more powerful in this tiny nation within Maryland’s borders: Joseph Talon and Sam Riversong. “Can you prove it?”

  “Of course.” Lee pulled out his cell phone, speed-dialed JT, and handed the phone to the cop.

  The man asked JT several questions, then hung up. “Mr. Talon is on his way here.”

  “I gathered as much.”

  After JT arrived, Lee was free to go, but the officer was still suspicious. “I just hope he puts this much effort into nailing Novak for trying to kill Erica,” Lee said to JT.

  “I made some calls on my way here. Novak’s got an airtight alibi.”

  “Who?”

  “Sam Riversong.”

  He swore and climbed into JT’s ridiculously expensive Lotus. “Still driving the midlife-crisis mobile, I see.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “How many days after Alexandra called off the wedding did you buy this piece of crap?”

  JT’s mouth was a rigid line. “Two.”

  “Next time get a puppy. You’ll pick up just as many women but get fewer speeding tickets.” The seat was so small his knees were practically next to his ears. “Take me to Erica’s car.”

  Ten minutes later, he was in the driver’s seat of Erica’s old Honda and finally on his way to the hospital. He tightened his fingers on the wheel, thinking of the crease she got just above her nose when she drove through stop-and-go traffic. The woman didn’t have an ounce of patience.

  She could have died.

  A well of fear opened up inside him, the one he’d kept locked tight for the last two hours as he dealt with the cops.

  He was falling for her. He couldn’t lie to himself about that any longer. Somewhere in this ridiculous charade, he’d let real emotions develop to supplement the fake ones he’d been using to manipulate her.

  And now he was afraid those emotions would manipulate him.

  When JT recruited him for this job, Erica Kesling was just a name. He’d tried to find out everything he could about her, but reading her résumé and hacking into her college transcripts and applications didn’t prepare him for the woman she was.

  Erica, whose stare could form frost in the midst of a summer heat wave. Erica, who had a sharp mind, a strong sense of loyalty, and a desperation for affection that blew him away. Erica, who had a sultry beauty she kept hidden behind an icy façade, burned like fire in his arms, and who aroused a protectiveness he didn’t want to feel.

  No, no words on paper, no list of classes, jobs, and accomplishments could possibly have prepared him for who she was.

  And he still didn’t know if he could trust her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  THE DARK HOSPITAL ROOM slowly came into focus. A glance at the clock
told Erica it was two a.m. She’d drifted to sleep in the hyperbaric chamber and only dimly remembered being transferred to this room.

  She rolled over, and her hair fell across her face. She shuddered at the strong stench of exhaust and brushed the loose strands away from her nose. She desperately needed a shampoo.

  A shadowed form moved in the chair next to her bed, and she let out a soft gasp.

  “Shhh. I didn’t mean to scare you, Shortcake.”

  Lee. She breathed deeply and settled back into her pillow.

  He lifted her hand to his lips. “How do you feel?”

  “Better.” Sleep pressed on heavy eyes. She turned her fingers and traced his mouth. “Thank you. For saving me.”

  She felt his smile. He kissed her fingertips.

  “You should be home, sleeping,” she murmured.

  “No. I’m right where I belong.”

  She wanted to smile but was unsure if it made it to her face as she dropped back to sleep.

  He was gone when she woke in the morning. A note on the bedside table said he’d gone to work and to call when she was released. Her car keys sat next to the parking garage receipt, which gave the floor and number of the space. A quick search of the closet and she found her shorts and V-neck T-shirt with her purse. Lee had thought of everything.

  The closet also held a large plastic bag marked with the hospital logo, which contained the clothes she’d ruined yesterday. She opened the bag, and the smell of exhaust wafted out, causing an instant headache. From her pants pocket, she extracted the bag that held the bone fragment she’d nearly died collecting, then tossed the clothing in the garbage.

  A hearty breakfast was delivered at eight a.m. After that she took a long, hot shower and washed her hair several times, then waited for the doctor to make her rounds. The exam was brief. Erica’s oxygen level was normal, her prognosis good. She could leave after the last of her paperwork was signed.

  She felt good. Strangely good. New-lease-on-life good.

  She was still waiting for the paperwork when Jake entered her room and closed the door. “Your pet intern told the cops I tried to kill you.”

  “Get out.” She backed around to the opposite side of the hospital bed, and braced her hands on it. She’d shove the heavy piece of furniture into him if he took one step closer.

  “I want to know what you told him.”

  She got her breathing under control. “Get out now.”

  “You better not have told him about the artifacts.”

  A steely calm enveloped her. She stood up straight and walked around the bed, reminding herself she’d prepared to face him every day for the last year. She didn’t need to hide behind the bed. She stopped two feet in front of him and crossed her arms. “What do you want, Jake?”

  “I warned you not to tell anyone. Ever.”

  “I didn’t tell him anything. I have no idea why he suspects you. Maybe because you were an asshole yesterday.”

  “What happened to you in that basement must have been an accident. You need to convince the cops of that.”

  The attempt on her life was an accident. The artifacts didn’t exist. Her mother hadn’t stolen her identity.

  These were the lies Jake and the credit card companies had demanded of her. The credit card companies had urged—and now were trying to force—her to declare bankruptcy because it was better for their balance sheet to write off the debt than to admit being complicit with fraud, whereas Jake’s motive was pure, simple greed.

  She didn’t want to repeat his lies, but now wasn’t the time to stand up to him. The artifacts had to go on display first. “Get out.”

  “You’re running out of options. I’ve protected you as much as I can.”

  She let out an incredulous laugh.

  He stepped closer to her. “I have. I’ve been protecting you from Marco since the first day you stepped on my boat. If he believes you told anyone about him or what happened in Mexico, he’ll come after you, and I won’t be able to stop him.”

  “Right. You’re the one holding his leash.”

  “The only way I can ensure your safety is if you’re with me. Only then will Marco trust you to keep your mouth shut.”

  Jake’s fixation on her made no sense. “Why, Jake? Why me?”

  He took another step toward her and ran a finger down the side of her face. “You’ve fascinated me from the moment you joined the crew.” He let out a derisive laugh. “You, with your ridiculous morals. Maybe it’s because you’re the first honest person I’ve ever worked with.” He shrugged. “I brought you on board, so it was my responsibility to protect such innocence from the likes of Marco.”

  He sounded like he really believed that. “Yet you keep threatening me with Marco.”

  “It’s not a threat, Erica.” He turned on his heel and left the room.

  She peeked out the door and watched Jake saunter down the hall like he didn’t have a care in the world. He turned left, so she grabbed her purse and car keys and headed right. To hell with the paperwork. She was getting out of here.

  She hurried past the nurses’ station, rounded the corner, and came face-to-face with the Menanichoch police officer she’d met the night Tommy was killed.

  His face showed his surprise. “Leaving, Ms. Kesling?”

  “Yes. The doctor said it was okay.”

  “I have a few questions for you.”

  “No problem. You can walk me to my car.” Jake wouldn’t accost her in the parking garage if the officer was with her.

  “Your intern believes Jake Novak tried to kill you yesterday.”

  “Jake Novak? That’s not possible.” She had no choice but to give Jake what he wanted. “What happened in the basement was an accident.”

  “Novak doesn’t have a grudge against you?”

  “No. Of course not. Why would he?”

  “Who do you believe destroyed your office and apartment?”

  Shit. “I have no idea. I guess I’m just having a bad week.” She found the elevator and pushed the call button.

  “A bad week?” The cop laughed but looked at her like she was nuts. “Do you include Tommy Riversong’s murder as part of your ‘bad week’?”

  “I’d consider that the kickoff. Yeah.”

  “You have a remarkably blasé attitude.”

  The elevator doors opened, and they stepped inside. She hit the button for her parking level. “I’m hanging by a thread. It’s either that or fall apart.”

  The cop inclined his head in acknowledgment. “So you believe you were stuck in the basement of the Thermo-Con house by accident?”

  She looked him square in the eye. “Yes.” She realized her hand had strayed to her bottom lip and dropped it.

  “Did you close the door at the top of the stairs?”

  It would be stupid to shut out the main source of light from a pitch-dark basement. “No. It must have drifted closed.”

  “It drifted closed, then jammed?”

  “I was coughing so hard at the top of the stairs, maybe I somehow jammed it when I grabbed the knob.”

  The elevator doors opened, and he walked her to her car. He pulled out a card. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Kesling. Please call me if you think of anything else.”

  “Of course.”

  The officer headed back toward the elevator.

  She locked her doors, started the engine, and headed to her apartment. She needed to find out if the camera disk and envelope were still safe in their hiding place.

  ERICA HESITATED OUTSIDE the door to her apartment, bracing herself to face the mess, the painted insults. She unlocked the door, stepped inside, and was immediately stunned. The crimson slur still adorned the wall, but the mess on the floor was gone.

  Friday night, she and Lee hadn’t bothered to clean anything but the food that would rot if left on the kitchen floor.

  In a daze, she wandered into the living room. A well of emotion swirled inside her. The room was spotless and cleared of destroyed furnishings. H
er sandals slapped loudly on the parquet flooring, and her breathing echoed off the walls in the vast, empty space. The only visible sign of damage was the splatters of red paint.

  In the center of the floor was a receipt from the cleaning service, addressed to Lee Scott and marked paid. She leaned on the wall and took several deep breaths, shaken by a rush of emotion.

  She collected herself and wandered down the hall. Her bedroom was empty except for a few items of paint-stained clothing, which would be useful for workouts or fieldwork. The bathroom was scrubbed clean, no paint stains in the bathtub. Back in the hall, she opened the linen closet and was surprised to see the vandal had missed this space. She still had towels and a few blankets. Her scuba gear was stored on the floor beneath the towels. She checked the hose and regulator. They were intact. She might be able to make a few bucks by selling the tank on eBay and could use the money to buy clothes.

  She closed the closet door. She was stalling and couldn’t put it off any longer.

  She headed to the kitchen. Her dishes had survived, probably because smashing them would have alerted her neighbors, but her toaster and coffeemaker had been submerged in the bathtub. Her heart beat heavily and her stomach lurched as she reached for the lower cupboard door. Time to find out if Jake and Marco had found her hiding place.

  She said a small silent prayer, pushed aside a can of beans and a bag of flour, and sucked in a shallow breath when she saw the box of cherry-flavored Jell-O. Her only hope of living a life without fear of Jake and Marco was sealed inside this box.

  She closed the cabinet door and stood up, clutching the box, feeling the knot in her stomach loosen. The weight felt right—the doubloons gave it extra heft—and the glue seal on the thin cardboard didn’t appear to have been broken.

  She slipped a nail under the end flap. There was no other way to be certain.

  “I thought I’d find you here.”

  Her heart leapt out of her chest, and the box flew out of her hands. She turned abruptly to see Lee standing in her kitchen doorway.

  “Good Lord. You scared the hell out of me!” She placed her hands over her heart and felt the frantic beating. Her eyes followed him as he picked up the box of Jell-O, which had landed at his feet. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.