Santa Assignment

by Delores Fossen

  Four words. Four simple words that made her feel as if someone had put a knife to her throat.

  "Welcome home, Ashley Palmer."

  Chapter Eight

  "What do you mean the 'Welcome home, Ashley Palmer' message could have been legit?" Ashley asked him. "My phone shouldn't even have been on, so there's no way I should have had a message, legit or otherwise."

  Brayden mentally went through the explanation he'd received just minutes earlier from the lead detective. He hoped the explanation made sense when he repeated it to Ashley.

  "The manager of the company who oversees your property said the phone reconnection was a mistake. A clerical error. He thinks what happened was one of his employees was supposed to do a work order for another residence, and this employee went to your address instead."

  Ashley sat on the living-room sofa and curled her sock-covered feet beneath her. "A mistake," she repeated, not sounding at all sure she believed that.

  Brayden was right there with her, on the same doubting page, and he was still trying to decide if the manager's explanation fit the evidence.

  She grabbed a throw pillow and hugged it to her chest, practically putting it in a choke hold. "That might explain the phone being on, but what about the message itself?"

  "The manager said they routinely send automated welcome home messages to their clients who've been out of town. A way of letting the client know they care."

  Ashley paused a couple of seconds, probably to consider that. "So, it wasn't a threat after all." That choke hold on the pillow eased up a bit. Temporarily. "Except it still feels like one."

  Yes. It did.

  His instincts told him not to back off from his concerns just yet. But Brayden was wondering if he could even trust his instincts where Ashley was concerned.

  The boundaries between him and Ashley were definitely blurring.

  Which probably had something to do with the fact that he'd had sex with her only hours earlier. Hard to get around that new wrinkle in their relationship.

  She looked up at him, her eyes slightly narrowed. "What about the candle and the flowers? Did the manager have an explanation for those, too?"

  Brayden shrugged. "Only that the cleaning crew could have put the items in the bathtub and forgot to take them back out."

  On the surface it was a tidy explanation.

  He hated tidy explanations.

  However, Brayden kept that to himself. Ashley already had enough to deal with without adding his suspicions.

  She gave that pillow a punch, a hard one, tossed it back in the corner of the sofa and jammed her hands in her hair. "Okay. Sounds reasonable," she mumbled. "But it sure didn't feel reasonable when I was in that bathroom."

  Brayden made a sound of agreement and might have added more if he hadn't noticed the bruise on her left wrist. A distinctive thumb-print-sized bruise that had already started to turn purple. One he'd no doubt given her. Despite her denial, he had been too rough.

  Hell.

  Was there anything about this frickin' night that had gone right?

  His body immediately offered him an answer.

  An answer that Brayden disregarded.

  While he was at it, he disregarded the slight buzz of pleasure that was still with him. The buzz that always came with release, with sex.

  A buzz he hadn't felt in a long, long time.

  "All of those coincidences could have happened," she continued, still mumbling. "Right?"

  Brayden nodded, his affirmation setting off that BS meter in his head. And he was glad it did. Despite its implications, concentrating on the manager's BS explanation was a welcome alternative to the other things on his mind.

  He got up and turned away from her so he wouldn't have to look at that bruise. Or at her. Maybe putting her out of sight would cause that buzz to stop buzzing, as well. "I'm still having a team go through your house, just to make sure everything's okay."

  "Thanks." A few moments later, she groaned. "I feel so stupid. Next time I have a bout of paranoia, I'll try not to involve the police."

  He considered several comebacks but decided against voicing any of them. It seemed a good time for another nod so that's what he did, especially since he wasn't convinced it was paranoia.

  He hated coincidences almost as much as he hated tidy explanations.

  His cell phone rang, and when he saw the number on the display screen, he stepped out of the living room to take the call. This probably wasn't anything Ashley needed to hear, not after the night she'd already had.

  "It's me," his brother, Garrett, said after Brayden answered. "You wanted me to check on Colton. I did, and he's fine. Joe's with him tonight."

  That made Brayden breathe a little easier. His brother-in-law, Joe Rico, was one tough cop. He trusted Joe to do everything humanly possible to protect his son.

  If protection was necessary, that is.

  "Is the evidence response team at Ashley's house?" Brayden asked.

  Even though Brayden tried to keep his voice low, at the sound of her name, Ashley looked up, automatically snaring his gaze. She was still on the sofa and had turned on the TV, pretending to watch the late-night news. But he knew for a fact it was a pretense.

  She was pale. Too pale. And despite her apparent willingness to accept the manager's explanation about the flowers, candle and greeting, that willingness didn't seem genuine.

  "The team's at her house now," Garrett informed him. "But they've found nothing so far. There are prints, of course, but they belong to Ashley, her cleaning lady—and you."

  Prints. Somehow he'd forgotten his prints would be there. "You'll probably find mine in several rooms."

  Especially the laundry room.

  Because that buzz rippled through him again, Brayden let that thought and the accompanying images slide right on by. Well, he tried to anyway. But some of the thoughts stayed with him a couple of seconds. Specifically the image of Ashley's body. For some reason, the memory of that just wouldn't go away.

  This time, the feeling was more than a buzz. The muscles in his lower body clenched. An aftershock of pleasure. Brayden curled his hand into a fist and pressed it hard to his forehead. Much more of this and he'd need a cold shower.

  "Are you still there?" Garrett asked.

  "Yeah." And he had to get his mind back on the conversation because his brother was apparently waiting for an explanation about those prints. "Ashley and I stopped by her house on the way to the clinic. She wanted to check on the place."

  "Good thing you were at her house and not the clinic. I heard about the fire. Suspected arson, huh? You think it's tied to you and Ashley?"

  "Maybe. And maybe it was just bad luck, for the doctor and for us. By the way, how's Dr. Underwood?"

  "He's still in the hospital with burns to his hands. I don't think he'll be at work anytime soon. How does that affect your plans? Does this mean you missed your chance to make a baby this month?"

  Brayden debated how much he should say but knew sooner or later his family would have to know. "Not exactly. Ashley and I took care of it."

  And he left it at that.

  Garrett paused. For a long time. "Oh."

  That oh conveyed a lot. Brayden knew what Garrett was thinking.

  "Oh?" Garrett repeated, fishing for more.

  "Yes, oh!" Brayden snapped.

  "Sorry. If you think it'll help, I'll come over and pick a fight with you. Might burn off some of that anger."

  "It won't help." Nothing would. Not even that cold shower he'd threatened his body with. "And I'd prefer you didn't say anything else about it. Not to anyone. Not to me. Especially not to me."

  "I live to serve and please," Garrett said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. But the sarcasm faded when he continued. "I'm sorry. Being with Ashley couldn't have been easy for either of you."

  "It wasn't."

  And it was past time they moved on to a different subject. Since his brother probably wouldn't move them in that new direction, Brayden to
ok the initiative. "I need you to work with Katelyn and Joe to make sure Colton's being watched at all times. I also want patrols stepped up at the hospital and at my place. Just in case."

  Another of those pauses, as if Garrett were about to call him on the abrupt switch in topic. But his brother obviously knew it wouldn't do any good. "Anything else?"

  "I need some files. Those for the investigation into Ashley's stalker. And the ones for Dana's murder."

  "Brayden." Garrett doled out some profanity. "You don't need to be going back through all of that—"

  "It's exactly what I need to be doing. You and I both know what happened to Dana could be related to Ashley's stalker."

  "Could be. Those are the operative words. And even if they are related, you shouldn't be the one trying to connect the dots. Hear that? You're too close to both victims, Brayden. Hell, you're trying to get one of them pregnant."

  A reminder he didn't need.

  "Just please get me the files, Garrett. If there are any dots to be connected, I want to find them."

  The please was deceptive because it wasn't a request. He hated to pull rank, on his own brother no less, but one way or another he would go back over that information. That tidy explanation was already starting to gnaw away at him.

  "Is that it?" Garrett asked, obviously riled.

  "Yes." Brayden was about to hang up when he thought of something else. "What about that alias in the van, that Jerome Knollings?"

  "Nada. He's disappeared."

  "Or maybe he's simply gone back to using his real name?" Brayden gave that some thought. "Find a current address on Trevor Chapman and run a check on him. Find out if he was out of town recently, specifically if he made any trips anywhere on the East Coast."

  "Trevor Chapman," Garrett repeated. "As in Dana's former client."

  Not a question, an objection.

  "Yes. The brother of the man Ashley and she were supposed to meet the night she was killed," Brayden unnecessarily confirmed.

  He appreciated his brother's concern, he really did, but he didn't need Garrett to run interference for him on this one. "I know you're trying to help," Brayden assured him. "But this isn't the way. If I look hard enough, this time I might find that all of this comes together."

  Thankfully, his brother didn't remind him that he'd been hoping it would come together for two and a half years and it hadn't yet.

  Brayden ended the call and went back into the room. But after realizing he had yet another task on his hands, he paused in the doorway, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Somehow, he needed to convince Ashley to go to bed and get some sleep.

  "I thought you said you believed the property manager's explanation of what happened?" Ashley commented. "Yet, you just told your brother to check out Trevor Chapman."

  Brayden lifted an eyebrow.

  "I overheard you talking to Garrett," she said quickly. "And don't give me that evil eyebrow. You would have done the same thing in my position."

  Since it was true, Brayden just lowered his evil eyebrow and stared at her.

  "So, why do you want to check on Trevor?" Ashley asked. "You think he has something to do with this?"

  "You know Trevor better than I do. What do you think?" Brayden sat down in the chair across from her. "You think he could arrange for some coincidences, like a candle and flowers in your bathtub? The fire started by the candle at your house in Virginia?"

  "My first reaction is to say no, that if anyone's responsible, then it's his brother. Hyatt's the one with the short fuse. Trevor just follows orders. Hyatt's orders. Of course, I haven't seen either of them since the trial, and people change. I suppose Trevor could now be as potentially lethal as Hyatt."

  Yes. Lethal was the right word.

  There was no doubt in Brayden's mind that Hyatt had been the instigator in the assault that'd nearly left Miles Granville dead. And if Hyatt had done that brutal assault, it wasn't a stretch to believe he'd go after a woman that he believed had wronged him. In Hyatt's eyes, Ashley had seriously screwed up by not getting him an acquittal.

  And those suppositions always brought Brayden back to the big question. A question he'd asked himself at least a million times. Had Hyatt been angry enough with Ashley to pick up a high-powered rifle, aim it at an unarmed defenseless woman and fire three shots?

  Had Hyatt killed Dana?

  That's where the dot connections got a little fuzzy.

  Since Hyatt had just escaped from jail, maybe he'd talked his wimp of a brother, Trevor, into doing the shooting for him? That way, Hyatt could stay in hiding.

  Or maybe it was neither of the bothers.

  Maybe it was Miles Granville, the other victim in this tangled web. Brayden had never ruled out the man because Granville had been just as angry with Ashley as Hyatt had been. Maybe even more so.

  After all, she'd defended the man who had tried to kill him.

  That gave Miles Granville one powerful motive. Plus, like Trevor, Granville had no alibi for the night of Dana's murder. Still, motive and lack of alibi didn't close a case. Simply put, there was no evidence against any of the three men.

  And like Ashley, Miles had been in hiding since Dana's death. A name change. A new residence. Serious security precautions. And even though Brayden knew the man still lived in San Antonio, Miles kept a low profile. That didn't exclude him as the stalker, but he seemed more of a victim than a perpetrator.

  Ashley's laptop was on the coffee table between them, and she used her foot to move it closer to him. "The files you asked Garrett to get are all in there. And do us both a favor and don't ask how I got them."

  Oh, hell.

  He hadn't wanted to get into this with her. Not tonight. Not ever. And he really didn't want to know what she was doing with those files.

  "I've been trying to connect the dots, too," Ashley added. She paused, obviously waiting for him to respond. When he didn't—well, except for a scowl—she continued. "Aren't you even going to ask if I've had any luck?"

  His scowl only got worse. "No."

  "Well, I haven't. I think Hyatt's behind this, but maybe I feel that way because it's what I want to believe. Somehow, it's easier to have a face, a name, for Dana's killer, even if no one can find him."

  Well, it wasn't easier for him. Name or no name, he hadn't been able to bring his wife's killer to justice. That fact was always there. Always.

  The ultimate failure for a cop.

  "Well?" she prompted, tipping her head to the laptop. "Are you going to open those files?"

  Brayden toyed with the idea of doing just that, but he knew if he did, it would only delay her going to bed. She looked exhausted, and it was too late to rehash what wouldn't be a quick hashing of those old files.

  "When you interrogated me that night," she continued, obviously ignoring his every verbal and nonverbal cue. "Or rather when you took my statement, you asked why I'd gone to that meeting with Hyatt."

  "You had it right the first time. It was an interrogation. One I shouldn't have been doing."

  And that's why the captain and Garrett had literally dragged him out of that interview room. However, the damage had been done. He'd put Ashley through a good fifteen minutes of hell, treating her like a criminal instead of a woman who'd just lost her sister.

  Since reliving all of that turned his stomach, Brayden tried another of those verbal cues. "Why don't you go to bed? Get some rest."

  He got up, thinking she'd follow his lead, but Ashley just sat there staring at him. "I went to the meeting with Hyatt because he said he needed legal counsel. And I also went because I wanted to talk him into giving himself up. I knew it'd look better for him, and for me, if he turned himself in before the cops found him."

  "Ashley—"

  "But I also went out of a warped sense of duty. I was his lawyer, his old friend, and he asked me to meet him. And he asked Dana, of course. He said he had some concerns that involved both of us. That's where the warped part really comes into play. I didn't tell her ab
out Hyatt's shaky psych eval because it was confidential. Because he was my client, not hers. Because he begged me not to tell anyone. But I should have told Dana. Looking back, I wish I'd done everything in my power to keep her from going with me that night."

  Brayden cursed. "Ashley, I can't give you what you want. I'm sorry. But I just can't forgive you."

  "I know. The truth is—I want you to blame me. It's easier that way. Easier if you hate me."

  He shook his head and cursed again. "I don't hate you."

  "It's easier if you don't forgive me because then I don't have to forgive myself." Tears shimmered in her eyes. Tears she tried to wipe away with that bruised hand.

  Oh, hell.

  He wanted to reach out to her. And maybe pull her into his arms. To comfort her. It made him ache to see her this way. But more than his need to comfort her, and more than his need to lessen the hurt, he needed space. Because he couldn't take any more of this. So, instead of touching her, Brayden crammed his hands into his pockets.

  What he couldn't do was make himself turn away.

  Or stop himself from listening.

  "Each night, I replay the moments leading up to the shooting," she went on, her voice fragile now. "Except I change things. I make things right. I'm the one who drives there—alone. I'm the one who steps out of that car. I'm the one who ends up on that sidewalk. And I'm the one who dies."

  Brayden had his own version of that night. One where he arrived in time to save Dana. To save the day. To arrest Hyatt—or whomever was responsible. And then he took his wife home and they lived happily ever after.

  "You've put yourself in purgatory," Brayden mumbled.

  "Well, yeah. But I have company, right? You." Now she got up, adjusted her sweater and hitched her thumb toward the laptop. "The file is in the 'pending cases' folder."

  She'd already turned to leave when the phone on the end table rang. Since it was too late for social calls or telemarketers, Brayden figured it was family, job or emergency. Or a combination of all three. Bracing himself for the worst, he answered it.

  "Brayden, it's me—Joe."

  Brayden barely heard the greeting, because in the background, he could hear his son crying. The sobs came through loud and clear over the phone line, and Brayden realized he hadn't braced nearly enough.