“Those are called nerves,” he told her as he placed the order—coffee for her, nothing for him—then pulled to the next window.
“Anyone ever tell you that you can be a real downer?” Brianna asked as she took out a five-dollar bill to hand him.
Eyes forward, Jackson waved away her money. “Yeah, you,” he answered. “The last time we worked together, as I recall.”
“Well, I guess nothing’s changed,” she told him. She waited as Jackson paid the woman at the drive-through window for the coffee and then handed the covered container to her.
“Not a real fan of change,” Jackson answered matter-of-factly as he drove away from the fast-food restaurant.
She could believe that, Brianna thought, but she kept that to herself.
Holding the container in both hands, Brianna looked around in all directions. There was no sign of the news van anywhere. “Looks like you lost them.”
“That was the intention,” he answered matter-of-factly.
Brianna took a long sip of her coffee, then put the lid back on. “Still the sparkling conversationalist, I see.”
Jackson glanced in her direction, then looked forward again. “Sparkling conversation was not a prerequisite for graduating from the academy.”
Brianna studied his profile for a long moment. “Maybe it should have been,” she said. “By the way, thanks for the coffee.” She raised the container to her lips again.
“Don’t mention it,” Jackson told her. “I’m serious,” he added before she could respond in any way. “Don’t mention it.”
Brianna sighed. This was going to be a really long, long investigation.
* * *
The road leading to Winston Aurora’s forty-thousand-square-foot mansion—by no stretch of the imagination could the structure be referred to as a mere house—was scenic, long and winding. Exceedingly winding.
“Doesn’t this road ever end?” Jackson muttered under his breath.
“Doesn’t feel that way, does it?” Brianna agreed. “Maybe they want you to feel like you got lost so you’ll just finally give up and turn around,” she guessed. “But if that is the thinking on their part, they forgot to take one important thing into account.”
Silence hung between them until Jackson finally asked, “And that is...?”
She offered him a self-satisfied smile. “We don’t give up.”
“We?” he deliberately questioned. He wasn’t accustomed to “we.” For as long as he could remember, he’d thought of himself as a loner, not as someone who was part of something for more than a few moments at a time.
“The police department,” Brianna told him with a touch of impatience in her voice. Was he deliberately making things difficult? “Work with me here, Muldare.”
“Doing my best,” Jackson replied in a voice that couldn’t have sounded more disinterested if he’d intentionally tried.
She gave him a penetrating look that would have made any other man squirm. “No, you’re not,” Brianna countered.
Without a word in his own defense, Jackson spared her a quick glance before looking back at the road.
The path to the mansion was growing progressively narrower. Jackson half expected to see mountain goats dotting the area any second now. He hadn’t thought that any part of Aurora was still this pastoral looking.
“Is this where I’m supposed to argue with you?” he asked. “Because if it is, you’re going to have to let me in on the game plan, O’Bannon. I’m not much on picking up subtle cues.”
That was for sure, Brianna thought. Out loud she said, “The plan is for you to get your head back in the game and pay attention.”
A dark expression came over his face. “I thought that was what I was doing.”
She shifted in her seat. The hell it was. She only had half his attention, if that much. As far as Brianna could see, there was only one explanation for something like that.
“You don’t want to be here, do you?” she asked point-blank.
“Going to talk to some rich guy who thinks because he has enough money to buy a city, that means he’s above the rules?” Jackson guessed. “No, not particularly.”
“Okay,” Brianna allowed. “Then what would you rather be doing?”
That was easy enough to answer. “Identifying the victims. Finding out how they became victims and then tracking down the person who made them victims.”
Jackson braced himself for an argument. He knew that his mode of operation and his view on things were never the kind to win him popularity contests. But he wasn’t in this for popularity. He was here to act on behalf of the victims. To take their side and, whenever possible, to avenge their deaths.
He was surprised when O’Bannon didn’t attempt to take him apart.
“All very good goals,” Brianna told him, and she genuinely seemed to mean it. “But in order to reach any of those goals, we have to start at the beginning, and the beginning, in this case, is to notify the man who was the last owner of the property of exactly what was found on his property. Who knows? He might say something that will point us in the right direction to find the killer or killers.”
Although he appreciated that she didn’t attempt to belittle his viewpoint, he couldn’t bring himself to agree with what she’d just said.
He laughed harshly. “You really believe that?”
Brianna regrouped. She did her best not to take offense. That would be petty, and she’d been taught to rise above pettiness. Especially when the stakes were high, as they were here.
“I believe in a lot of things you probably don’t,” she answered.
“Well, it probably doesn’t matter what you believe, because I don’t think we’re ever going to get to this guy’s house,” Jackson retorted. The road continued to wind and weave before him like a serpentine river, irritating him no end.
“Oh ye of little faith,” Brianna scoffed, irritating him even more. “Look,” she said, pointing in the distance. “There. Straight ahead,” she told Jackson, then amended, “Well, maybe not so straight, but it’s right there, up ahead of us.”
One more twist of the road and then he saw it—a mansion that looked as if it had its own zip code.
“I’ve seen cities that were smaller,” Jackson commented under his breath.
Brianna heard him nonetheless. “If I lived here, I’d need a ton of bread crumbs,” she said. “Better yet, my own tram.”
He thought of the tiny room where his father spent his days and nights. Part of the time, Ethan Muldare was oblivious to not only how small his surroundings were, but where they were as well.
“Who needs this much room?” Jackson muttered as he pulled up into the circular driveway.
It was a rhetorical question, but Brianna answered him anyway. “Apparently, Winston Aurora and his family.” She had just got out on her side when she saw a young man dressed in what could have passed as valet livery hurrying up to them.
“May I help you?” the man asked in a crisp voice that was far from welcoming.
“We’re here to see Mr. Aurora,” Brianna said, answering for both of them. “Winston Aurora.”
The man’s eyes washed over them disdainfully. “Do you have an appointment?” His tone indicated that he was certain they didn’t.
Jackson took out his badge and ID, holding both aloft. Less than half a beat behind him, Brianna displayed hers.
“We do now,” Jackson informed the man he took to be the mansion’s head of security.
The man looked at each badge and ID individually. Then, appearing annoyed, he nodded. “Wait right here,” he told them curtly.
Turning away, he took out a walkie-talkie and spoke into it in a hushed voice. The unit gave off a loud, piercing squawk, and then a deep voice ordered, “Send them in, Rollins.”
Chapter 3
Leaning in to
ward Jackson, Brianna said in a hushed voice, “Looks like we get to see the wizard after all, Toto.”
Jackson frowned. “Toto was a dog.”
Brianna merely smiled. “He followed Dorothy wherever she went,” she replied, as if, in her opinion, that was enough of a reason for the nickname.
The man who had detained them was back. “Mr. Aurora will see you.”
“Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus,” Brianna murmured under her breath.
Eyes like highly polished small black marbles narrowed as the head of the estate security looked at her. “Excuse me?”
She was aware that Muldare had taken a single step in front of her, putting himself between her and the powerful-looking head of security.
“Nothing. Please lead the way to Mr. Aurora,” Brianna requested, gesturing ahead of the man.
Rollins muttered something unintelligible under his breath as he turned away from them and began to walk toward the mansion.
“That was very noble of you,” Brianna whispered to Jackson, looking up at him, a smile flickering over her lips. “Unnecessary, but noble.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jackson responded in an unemotional voice. The expression on his face was completely unreadable.
The hell he didn’t. Under that dour demeanor, the man was a Boy Scout, Brianna thought. She vaguely remembered that from last time.
“I can take care of myself,” Brianna reminded him.
“Never questioned it for a moment,” Jackson replied in the same nondescript tone.
How could a man be so annoying and yet so intriguing at the same time, Brianna asked herself. But there was no question in her mind that Jackson was both.
You don’t have time for this. You’ve got bigger things on your agenda right now, remember? Brianna reminded herself as she and Jackson walked behind the estate’s head of security and into Winston Aurora’s residence.
After a lengthy walk through the first floor, Rollins led them into a room that was twice as large as the dining room in the Old Aurora Hotel had been. It turned out to be one of the mansion’s two libraries. There were books lining two of the walls, going from the floor straight up to the vaulted ceiling. One of those walls had a door at its perimeter. Two people, a man and a woman, both in their twenties, were just exiting that way. A third wall was entirely made of tempered glass, allowing afternoon sunlight to bathe the room while effectively keeping the heat at bay.
Seated behind the oversize, highly polished mahogany desk, looking like an emperor presiding over his empire, was Winston Aurora.
Winston Aurora was a man who would have easily taken command of any room he entered. Tanned and slender with distinguished-looking graying hair, he was dressed in a suit that would have easily cost a detective first grade a month’s salary—possibly more.
If she hadn’t known better, Brianna would have said that the oldest of this generation’s three Aurora brothers looked as if he had just stepped out of the pages of Gentlemen’s Quarterly and into this library.
Rising when he saw them entering, Winston came over to greet them. His smile was amiable and appeared to be completely genuine. He shook both their hands warmly, starting with hers.
“My son and daughter just left,” he explained, noting the interest in Brianna’s eyes. “Forgive me,” Winston said in a deep, resonant voice that was quite pleasing to the ear. “I’ve lost track. Is it time for the police department’s widows and orphans fund-raiser already?” Even as he asked, he was taking a checkbook out of his inside breast pocket.
Brianna put her hand up to stop the man from writing out a check. “We’re not here about that, sir, although my uncle said you’re always very generous when it comes to making donations to the fund.”
“Your uncle,” Winston repeated. He raised an eyebrow, asking, “And that would be?”
“Brian Cavanaugh,” Brianna responded. “He’s the—”
“—chief of detectives, yes, I know,” Winston interjected. “I know Brian quite well. Are you here in Brian’s place?”
Not answering the multibillionaire’s question directly, Brianna bent the truth a little and told Winston, “He said to say hello.”
“Ah” was all Winston said, acknowledging what wasn’t being said. “Well, if you don’t want my donation for any of your worthy causes, how can I help you two fine young representatives of the Aurora police department?” Winston asked, looking from one detective to the other.
Brianna glanced over her shoulder. The man who had brought them here was still standing just inside the library threshold like a silent, immovable sentry. While she wasn’t afraid of the head of security, the man’s presence did make her feel uneasy. “Could we talk alone?”
“Rollins is privy to everything that concerns me. I pay him quite a bit to make sure that he is,” Winston said pointedly.
“Then you can tell Rollins all about this after we leave, if you decide he needs to know,” Jackson quietly told the older man.
Just a glimmer of displeasure passed over Winston Aurora’s smooth, amazingly unlined face. The next moment, the expression disappeared as if it had never existed.
“Very well,” Winston agreed. “Rollins, step out, please. I’ll let you know if I need you.”
Unlike his employer, Rollins made no attempt to mask his displeasure. Scowling, the man withdrew, closing the door behind him.
“Better?” Winston asked Brianna once the door was closed. Whether it was because he thought she was in charge or because he preferred dealing with women was unclear. But his attention was directed to her.
“Our thinking is that you might possibly wind up preferring it this way,” Brianna explained.
Winston nodded, making no comment. “Sit, please,” he said, indicating the light gray sofa.
Like the desk, the sofa was oversize. It could have accommodated six people without effort.
When the detectives complied, Winston reseated himself behind the desk. For all the world he appeared like a benevolent ruler holding an audience with two of his subjects.
“Now then, I know that Brian’s your uncle, but I’m afraid I didn’t get your name—or yours,” he added, nodding at Jackson.
Brianna automatically reached for her wallet to show the man her credentials. “Detective Brianna Cavanaugh O’Bannon,” she answered, pulling out her wallet.
“I’ll take you at your word,” Winston told her, waving away her wallet, but his brown eyes shifted toward Jackson expectantly.
“Detective Jackson Muldare,” Jackson replied.
Winston nodded. “Now that we all know one another, I’ll repeat my question. How can I help you?”
“Mr. Aurora—” Brianna began.
“Winston, please,” the billionaire corrected her. “‘Mr. Aurora’ makes me feel ancient.” He chuckled. “Please, continue. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
Brianna obliged. Moving forward on her chair, she said, “You recently sold the Old Aurora Hotel.”
“Yes, I did,” Winston replied, “and if you’ve come here to tell me that, you could have saved yourself a trip. I’m not quite the doddering old fool yet. I am aware of all of my financial dealings,” he assured her with a dry laugh.
“When was the last time you were at the hotel?” Jackson asked, wanting to push this along. O’Bannon might be buying this charming act that Aurora was projecting, but he wasn’t sold on it—he thought Aurora seemed to be stalling.
Why the man was stalling wasn’t clear yet, but Jackson intended to find that out as well.
“You mean physically?” Winston questioned.
Jackson looked at him, puzzled. “Is there any other way?”
“Well, there’s Skyping,” Winston answered. “But I closed down the hotel before we could implement that form of communication.”
“All right,�
�� Jackson said, “when was the last time you were at the hotel in person or in spirit?”
Winston paused, thinking. And then he shrugged. “I’m afraid I really can’t remember an exact date. Why? Is it important?” The billionaire turned to direct his question toward Brianna, since she was obviously the friendlier of the two, in the man’s estimation.
“What my partner is attempting to do is establish a timeline, sir,” Brianna explained.
Winston furrowed his brow. “Why?” Not waiting for either of the two detectives to answer that, he continued, “Is there something wrong, Detectives? Don’t tell me that the construction company forgot to get all the right permits.”
Wanting to remain on the man’s good side, Brianna tactfully answered, “As far as we know, sir, all the permits are in place—”
“Then I’m afraid that I don’t understand the reason for all this,” the billionaire confessed, waving his hand at both of them. “Just why is it that you’re here?”
Brianna couldn’t quite decide if what she heard in Aurora’s voice was impatience or concern. For now, she let that go.
“When the wrecking ball hit the rear wall, a body was dislodged,” she told the man, wanting to proceed slowly.
“Several bodies,” Jackson interjected.
Winston looked from one detective to the other, appearing completely caught off guard and speechless. When he finally managed to collect himself, Winston could only echo in hushed disbelief, “Bodies? Whose?”
“That’s what we’re trying to ascertain, sir,” Brianna said.
Winston grew pale right before her eyes. “Do you have any idea who—who killed them?” he asked, his voice almost failing him.
“Another good question,” Jackson told him, his tone totally devoid of emotion.
Exasperated and momentarily losing his temper, Winston demanded, “Well, do you have any good answers, Detective?”
“Not yet,” Brianna answered quickly before Jackson could say something to further irritate Aurora. “But we’re doing our best.”
Responding to Brianna’s soothing voice, Winston seemed to calm down a little. He took in a deep breath, then slowly released it.
Cavanaugh Vanguard Page 3