Critical Exposure

by Ann Voss Peterson

  He didn’t look sorry. He looked emotionless. Just one more brick wall like the many she’d run into since Bray had disappeared. “The last state police detective I talked to said he would keep me informed about the search for my brother. I haven’t heard a word since.”

  “There’s nothing to tell. However, I do have some questions.”

  “You haven’t found anything at all?”

  “No.”

  “Have you been looking?” She knew she shouldn’t be snippy with a man in a position to help, but she couldn’t seem to bite the words back. She was getting so frustrated she could barely keep from screaming. “Because it seems to me you’ve been doing a lot of nothing.”

  One side of his lips twitched as if he was suppressing a smile. Or a comment he might regret. “Take my word for it, Ms. Sloane, we’ve been doing more than nothing. Now for those questions.” He pulled a notebook from the inside pocket of his suitcoat and flipped it open. Another dip into the pocket and he held a pen.

  “Another detective already asked me a bunch of questions.”

  “I have more.”

  She was sick of questions with no answers. Worry with no relief. But what was she going to do? If answering more questions had even the slightest chance of helping find Bray, she’d take a swing at anything he could throw. At least she would be doing something, getting somewhere. “Ask away. Although I don’t know what I can tell you that I didn’t already tell the other detective.”

  Zoe squealed and threw her body forward, trying to reach the floor and crawl. “Pay. Pay.”

  Apparently the ten-month-old was as tired of waiting as her mother. “Take it easy, sweetheart. You can play as soon as we’re done here.”

  Detective McClellan nodded to the round table in the little room. “Would you like to sit down? Your baby seems like a handful.”

  “She’s fine.”

  As if to prove her mother’s words were true, Zoe grabbed Echo’s hair. Wrapping the mix of brown and blond strands around her fingers, she stuck her thumb in her mouth.

  Echo smiled down at her little angel baby. When she looked back up, the detective’s eyes were focused on her, his gaze so intense she suddenly felt exposed.

  He cleared his throat but didn’t look away. “When you talked to Detective Francis, the only friend of your brother’s that you named was Gage Darnell.”

  Of course, his questions. “Bray had friends in the service, but since he got out, the only one he kept in contact with was Gage.”

  “What about women?”

  “He didn’t date much. He always said he was too busy with the business.” And he was, but that wasn’t the whole story. She’d known the truth. That after Zoe’s father walked out, leaving Echo alone and pregnant, Bray had spent what little free time Five Star Security left him helping her get back on her feet. Guilt tightened the base of her throat.

  “How long has he been out of the service?”

  “Three years. That’s when he started Five Star.”

  “Three years is a long time to be celibate.”

  “Maybe for a man.” She’d just as soon stay celibate the rest of her life.

  He curved a dark brow. “I was under the impression your brother is a man.”

  Her cheeks heated. She didn’t know what it was about Detective McClellan that made her feel so threatened. Maybe it was the prospect of relying on someone to help her. Or the way he looked at her. Or the simple fact that he was one of the most attractive men she’d ever seen. Whatever it was, she had to get her act together. She needed to find Bray, and the detective could help. But if she didn’t curb her inner bitchiness, she was going to alienate him. “I think something happened while he was overseas. Anyway, since he’s been back, he’s steered clear of relationships.”

  “How about people who worked at Cranesbrook?”

  She searched her memory. “There was one. But she isn’t a girlfriend. He didn’t like her much.”

  “Did he give you a name?”

  “Claire Fan…something. Fanshaw. I think she works in the computer division.”

  He scribbled a note. “What did he say about her?”

  “It’s not what you think. They weren’t having some torrid affair. The only time Bray mentioned her name was to tell me how she was demanding to have security clearance into computer files that even he wasn’t cleared to view.”

  “But he did mention her. By name.”

  “To tell me she was acting like a demanding brat.”

  He scrawled more notes before directing that penetrating gaze back to her.

  She wanted to squirm in her chair. The man seemed to have little emotion of his own. Instead, he had the disturbing ability to home in on every word, every shiver of emotion she felt. He made her feel totally exposed. As if she was naked in front of him, though he was buttoned up in a three-piece suit.

  “Have you noticed your brother acting strange recently?”

  “Strange? How?”

  “Tense. Nervous. Anything out of the ordinary.”

  She fought the urge to pace. The truth was, Bray was always tense. Especially since he’d gotten out of the service. But that wasn’t surprising. Starting a security company was stressful, not to mention the stress she’d inadvertently piled on him. If Bray was nervous and tense, it was because of her. “He seemed the same as always.”

  The detective held her gaze, as if he didn’t quite buy it and was waiting for her to come clean.

  The sound of her heartbeat pulsed in her ears, ticking off the seconds. Could he read what she was really thinking? Did he know the guilt she felt?

  Finally he dropped his gaze to his notebook. “Was your brother experiencing any personal problems that you know about?”

  These questions just got better and better. “No.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She wasn’t. Not really. Knowing Bray, even if he was experiencing some personal problems, he probably wouldn’t tell her. He wouldn’t want to add to her burden. “He didn’t say anything to me about personal problems.”

  “How about financial problems?”

  At least she could answer that one. “He didn’t have financial problems. He saved a lot of money while he was in the service. And Five Star was very successful.”

  The detective scribbled more notes, then turned that stare back on her. That stare that saw so much, yet gave away so little. “Did your brother talk to you about any frustrations he was experiencing with his contract for security at Cranesbrook Associates?”

  She might not be able to read the detective’s emotionless features, but she could read his questions. “Why are you asking about all this stuff?”

  “Standard questions.”

  “Standard for a suspect, maybe.”

  He didn’t react.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” Her stomach seized. The headlines in this morning’s newspaper flashed through her mind. McClellan was the detective in the paper. The detective who’d shot the Cranesbrook president. The detective who’d uncovered the explosion in one of the Cranesbrook labs. “Bray was caught in that explosion. You can’t think he caused it.”

  “I think whatever the evidence leads me to think.”

  “Evidence?” Her voice cracked with anger. He couldn’t have any evidence. Bray did nothing wrong.

  Zoe stared up at her with wide eyes.

  “Then why hasn’t he turned up? In a hospital? In a morgue? He hasn’t even tried to contact you. Those things alone are enough to arouse suspicion.”

  She shook her head. She couldn’t believe he was suggesting this. “My brother is a good man.”

  “Good men can get caught up in unsavory things, Ms. Sloane.” If she wasn’t mistaken, a flicker of sympathy warmed those dark eyes.

  Sympathy she didn’t want or need. “Bray would never do anything to hurt people.”

  “Your brother was a soldier. Special Forces. I suspect he’s capable of many things, some that involve hurting people.”

  �
�But he wouldn’t. He’s a good man. The only good man I’ve ever known.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He looked as if he meant it this time, but that didn’t make Echo feel one bit better. “You’re wrong about Bray. I’ll prove it.” And she would. If only she had the first inkling how.

  Zoe looked up at her through squinted eyes. Her face crumpled, and a stuttered cry broke from her lips.

  Echo struggled to keep from breaking into tears herself. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Everything’s okay.” But Zoe continued to cry, as if she recognized Echo’s reassurances for the empty lies they were.

  Chapter Three

  Rand shouldn’t have been thinking about Echo Sloane as he entered the administration wing of Cranesbrook Associates’ main building. God knew he had plenty to occupy his mind. But somehow he couldn’t wipe away the look of helpless frustration on her heart-shaped face when she’d figured out her brother was a suspect.

  She obviously adored Sloane. And that was what had dug into Rand’s chest. Because if Bray Sloane had a role in whatever Sid Edmonston had been trying to keep quiet at Cranesbrook, Rand didn’t want to think how devastating that would be for Echo.

  He shook his head, trying to dislodge the thought. He shouldn’t care. He couldn’t. Whether Echo Sloane was hurt wasn’t his business. His business was finding out who killed Maxie Wallace. His business was stopping whoever had taken up Sid Edmonston’s murderous mantle. His business was getting to the bottom of this Cranesbrook mess and ending it once and for all.

  The possibility of Echo Sloane getting hurt in the process couldn’t be his concern.

  A state trooper Rand didn’t know stood in the hall outside Edmonston’s office. Rand gave his name, and the trooper jotted it in the log book, along with the time he arrived.

  “Who was stationed here when Officer Wallace was killed?” he asked the trooper.

  “Cop from St. Stephens. Detective Farrell already talked to him. At least, he tried.”

  “Tried?”

  “The kid was crying. Couldn’t stop. Was like that when we found him, before anybody knew Wallace was dead.”

  Strange. And definitely something to follow up. “Thanks.” Rand moved past the trooper and continued to the office where he’d shot a man only yesterday.

  Entering through the shattered glass door, he stepped over the bloodstain on the carpet without so much as a twinge for the bastard who left it. He only wished the murder spree had ended with the crooked president’s death. He only wished another cop hadn’t died. He stepped into the inner office of the suite.

  The first thing he saw was Maxie’s curly red hair. The next was the blood. She lay on her side, curled into the fetal position, her eyes wide with fear and clouded with death.

  Pressure bore down on his chest. No matter how he prided himself on controlling his emotions, he couldn’t pass over this death without feeling the ache of grief all the way to his bones. Maxie Wallace was a fellow cop and a good one. And the thought that some bastard had stolen her life was an unspeakable tragedy. That it had happened on the heels of Richard’s death was nearly too much to bear.

  The medical examiner glanced up at him. A woman in her midfifties, she sized Rand up with eyes that had seen the result of far too much violence. “McClellan, right? Want to take a look? I’m just about to remove the body.”

  The body. Not “Maxie,” not even “her.” The woman who a short time ago had been bursting with life was no more than “the body” now. “Cause of death?”

  “You’re going to have to wait for my autopsy report to get the official word. But from the look of it, I’d say blunt-force trauma to the head.”

  “She was beaten to death with her own gun.” Detective Dean Farrell stepped out of the small closet tucked behind the wide mahogany desk. “Just the way that janitor was killed. But I guess we can’t attribute this to Sid Edmonston.”

  “No, guess not.” Rand didn’t relish the idea of working with Dean Farrell on this case. He was a good enough detective, but as good as the guy might be, he was no Richard Francis. He and Francis had been so used to each other, they’d often read each other’s minds. “You finished with the photos?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Were the tech guys here?”

  “Just left.”

  “No chance you found that DVD she reported.”

  “Nope. My guess? The person who killed her has it.”

  Rand nodded. His conclusion also. The question was, how did the murderer get in? And what did that video reveal that was worth killing for? “Was anyone else in this building?”

  “Most employees got the day off. I guess that’s one of the perks when the company president dies.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Seems like a lot to go through to get a vacation.”

  In normal circumstances, Rand might joke right along with Farrell. But with Richard Francis already dead and Maxie lying only a few feet away, he didn’t have the stomach for it. “I’ll check out whoever made it in.”

  “You know her?” He nodded in the direction of Maxie’s body.

  “Yeah.”

  “Then get. I’ll finish up here.”

  Rand let his thanks hang in the air unsaid and turned away. He’d thought he could handle seeing Maxie. He’d been wrong. But it wasn’t grief that got to him. Or even the recent sting of losing Richard Francis. Whenever he looked at her battered face, all he could think about was the extra role he’d given her in the original murder at the mental hospital, the murder that had led him to Cranesbrook. And he couldn’t help feel that if he hadn’t called on her help, she’d still be alive.

  Taking one last glance, he left the office and made his way down the deserted hall. As he drew closer to the computer department offices, the click of a keyboard broke the silence. He walked past the vacant support staff office and followed the sound through an open door.

  Inside the small office labeled Supervisor of Computer Operations, he found a lone woman staring at a computer screen. Her wavy, shoulder-length hair matched the red cherry finish of her desk and credenza. He eyed the name plate on her desk. Bingo. “Claire Fanshaw?”

  She pivoted in her chair and narrowed green eyes on him. “McClellan, right? Your picture was in the paper this morning.”

  “Don’t believe everything you read.”

  “Never do.”

  “I need to ask you a few questions.”

  She brushed her hair back from her face. “What’s going on? I saw an ambulance and a crime-tech truck come through the gate.”

  “What else did you see?”

  “Nothing. I’ve been in here all day. I just noticed the commotion through the window. So what happened?”

  He ignored her question. “Who did you see this morning?”

  “Just Dr. Kelso.” She checked her watch, a sparkly number. Probably expensive. “He left pretty early. Several hours ago. I’m not sure of the time.”

  So the director of the computer division had been here. Rand made a note. “Anyone else?”

  “Anyone who dared come to work was probably snared in police tape on the way in.”

  “Except you.”

  “I brought a pair of scissors.” Her lips flickered in a guarded smile. “I had a lot of important work to do.”

  “Have you ever heard the name Project Cypress?” Gage Darnell had told him the name of the project being developed in the lab where the explosion took place. But neither Darnell nor Rand knew what it was. Hopefully Claire would.

  “Project Cypress?” She looked directly at him, as if she didn’t have anything to hide.

  Right. He’d dealt with enough criminals to know a false innocent act when he smelled one. Even if it was delivered by an obviously practiced liar. “I can tell you recognize the name, so you might as well drop the act.”

  “Sorry.” She had the good grace to look a little sheepish. “I don’t work in the lab. I don’t know much about the individual projects. Even if I did, I couldn’t tell you. Cranesbrook works on
top secret projects. I could lose my job. Or worse.”

  “Worse?”

  She shifted in her chair, the overhead light reflecting off a glittery scarf draped around the neck of her plain sweater. “It’s the latest thing. The government likes to go after people who leak information. Haven’t you noticed?”

  He was pretty sure she’d had something more specific in mind than the current political atmosphere. Of course, getting it out of her was another thing altogether. She obviously didn’t trust easily. “Are you saying Project Cypress is part of a government contract?”

  “Most of what Cranesbrook does is part of a government contract. And I only have the clearance to know about a fraction of it.”

  And judging from her habit of answering ques tions with questions, she’d like to know more. “What if I told you what I know? Would you be willing to share then?”

  She perked up, suddenly all ears. “Maybe.”

  “Project Cypress was being developed in Lab 7, the lab where the recent accident took place. As a result of the accident, two men were hurt and one disappeared, and the president of Cranesbrook killed three men to cover up the accident.”

  “Three? I heard he killed a janitor and a detective. Who’s the third?”

  “A security guard. He died in a hit-and-run. We didn’t know it was related until we searched Edmonston’s house last night and found blood and dents on the front fender of his car. Same blood type. As soon as we have a DNA match, we’ll release the information to the public.”

  He watched Claire, trying to gauge if he was reaching her. Hard to say. “Another thing the public doesn’t know quite yet is that there has been another murder. This morning. Right in this building.”

  Claire sucked in a breath. “Who?”

  “A police officer who was gathering evidence.”

  She pressed her lips together, a small crease digging between her brows. “So it wasn’t just Edmonston.”

  “No.”

  “Do you have a suspect?”

  “That I can’t share with you at this time. But I do know some other things. For instance, I know you’ve been trying to get a higher security clearance recently. And I’m guessing it was so you could take a peek at Project Cypress.” He might be making a leap, basing his pronouncement on a hunch he’d gotten while talking to Echo Sloane, but he sensed if he wanted answers from a woman as guarded as Claire Fanshaw, he’d have to swing for the fence.