Joely sat back. “Really? When?”
“Tonight.”
“Promise?” When he nodded, she jumped to her feet and picked up her purse. “Good. My work here is done. I’d better get going.”
Ben shook his head. “You’re leaving? You drove all this way just to rattle my cage about Dad?”
“Of course. What are sisters for?” She gave him a mischievous grin that reminded him of someone else. “Although I could stick around if you’d like to introduce me to Jill.”
Ben rose and followed her to the door. “Pushy, too. How does your husband put up with it?”
“He loves me.” She threw her arms around him and hugged him fiercely. “And if Jill knows what’s good for her, she’ll whisk you off your feet and marry you before you can think twice.” She kissed his cheek. “Love is all about risk, Ben. You’re the bravest man I know, so don’t look back, just go for it.”
He watched her walk away. Czar suddenly squeezed between Ben and the door. Ben started to wave, then on impulse asked, “What exactly is wrong with…Dad?”
Joely’s hand stilled on the minivan’s door handle. “He needs a liver transplant. It’s not immediate, but he was told to prepare himself for the inevitable. At first, he refused to let his doctor put his name on the list of recipients. He doesn’t think he deserves one.
“Fortunately, Mom and the kids and I convinced him otherwise.”
Ben sighed. “Do you remember Guy Peterson? My first partner in Santa Ignacio? He died of liver cancer at forty-three. Never took a drink in his life. I was really bitter at the time. I remember wishing it could have been Dad in that hospital bed, he deserved that fate, not Guy.”
Joely returned to the stoop. She patted his shoulder supportively. “I remember. But even a transplant wouldn’t have helped Guy. By the time they found it, the cancer had metastasized. But Dad’s a fighter. Look at the way he beat his addiction and turned his life around.” She smiled at him. “Wonders abound, Ben. Look at Czar. Nobody thought he’d survive the attack. And Jill’s another living, breathing phenomenon.”
Ben thought about Joely’s comment an hour later when he and Czar headed to Jill’s. To his surprise, he’d managed to nap but had woken up missing Jill. The real marvel, he decided, would be if Jill agreed to marry him. They’d joked about it at dinner, but once he told her the whole story about his past—his family background and many shortcomings, she’d probably hightail it for safe ground.
As he turned on Jill’s street, the dispatcher notified him that Amos needed to talk to him right away. He pulled into the red zone in front of the hospital. “Patch him through.”
“Ben, I just talked to Jill’s mother. She called my office because Jill’s line was busy. Not to worry, I talked to Jill about half an hour ago and she was going online to send me some files she ran across.”
“What kind of files?”
“The ones that someone erased from her computer. She’d made a backup disk and hid it somewhere in the house.”
Ben smiled. Her father knew his daughter well.
Amos went on. “Bottom line is—we know who purchased that ticket for Dorry Fishbank.”
Czar put his head between the partition; his warm breath smelled of fish sandwich—the result of a stop at a drive-through window.
Ben pushed his partner’s muzzle to one side. “Who?”
“Clarice Martin.”
Ben looked at Czar in surprise. “Are you sure?”
“Jill’s mother faxed me the credit card confirmation. She was a bit coy about how she got it, but it looks authentic.”
Ben shook his head trying to process the implications. “That blows my mind. I’d say we need to pay the Martins a visit.”
Amos’s voice sounded almost gleeful when he said, “I’ll meet you at their hotel.”
JILL SCROLLED DOWN the list of new messages on her e-mail screen. She couldn’t believe the junk mail that somehow found its way to her computer. When she got to an odd-looking message with no return address, her heart skipped a beat.
She highlighted it.
Dear Jill,
Just a note to let you know Mom and I are fine. We’re set to board the airplane in a few minutes, but I found this cybercafé and wanted to remind you that we’re thinking about you. We love you, honey, and hope things are falling into place in your life. I have a good feeling about Ben. He’s the kind of man you can trust.
Missing you,
Dad
Jill blinked back tears and hit print. When she retrieved the printed copy, her gaze lingered on the odd heading. It reminded her of the message she’d retrieved from her computer at the Sentinel. “What did I do with that?”
She trotted downstairs and checked in the laundry room where she’d dumped her clothes that morning on the way out the door with Ben. The tiny scrap was folded in the pocket of her stretchy pants.
“Hey, Franklin,” she said, spotting the cat curled up on a stack of towels. “Look what I found. A treasure map, perhaps?”
Frank followed her into the family room. When she sat down on the sofa, he leaped to her lap, purring for attention.
“Sorry, sweetie, I know I’ve been ignoring you. Just let me read this letter then we’ll talk.”
She held the note out of reach of Frank’s twitching tail. It only took a few lines for her to realize the message was from Dorry.
Dear Jill,
I know you probably think the worst about me, but who could pass up a chance to trade those dusty old files for a ticket to paradise? The only price was my silence. The lady who contacted me told me I couldn’t tell anyone or call my family, but she didn’t say anything about e-mail, so I decided to try one of those online coffeehouses until it was time to board the ship.
I just want you to know that I consider you a friend. You’ve always been nice to me and I would have helped you if this opportunity hadn’t come along. But don’t feel too bad. At least I gave the files to someone you work with—Will Ogden. He was nice enough to give me a ride to the bus depot, and I gave him the files. He said he’d keep them safe.
Again, I just wanted you to know that I think you’re a real nice person and if you ever get to Mexico come look me up.
Dorry
Jill was too stunned to move. She read the letter a second time and still couldn’t make sense of it. Why would Will take the files and not say anything?
A sickening thought hit her. They bought him off. Peter, Bud—whoever was behind this—paid Will to sit on this story.
A wave of dizziness passed through her. Will’s career would be over when this got out. And Jill knew Will’s work was his life.
When she was first hired at the paper, Jill had tried to get to know all her co-workers, and she’d spent considerable time talking to Will—until she realized his cynical wit thinly disguised a deeply ingrained bitterness. Brilliant but lazy, Will seemed to feel that the Sentinel was just a stepping stone on his path to greatness. Unfortunately, he preferred to ride, not walk.
“If this place is so penny-ante, why don’t you move to a bigger paper?” Jill once asked him. “The Bee or the Chronicle would probably jump at the chance to hire someone with your experience and background.”
He’d given her a droll sneer. “They only hire J-school graduates, Jillian. My degree from Backwater State won’t cut it. But a Pulitzer might. How long do you think I’ll have to wait until something really newsworthy happens in this town?”
She’d understood then that Will didn’t have a college degree, period. Possibly he’d faked his credentials to get hired at the paper or had found another way to get his foot in the door. But he was a skilled writer and decent editor. He’d been working at the Sentinel since she and Peter first moved to town. Jill remembered Peter’s comment after meeting Will at some Land Barons function. “Will Ogden has a head on his shoulders,” Peter had said. “He’s got more vision than the rest of these local-yokels combined.”
Did that mean Peter had involved Will in
his schemes? Jill had to tell Ben. But first she needed to log off so she could place a call.
She was halfway up the stairs when the doorbell rang. She checked the peephole. Her heart climbed to her throat. Will.
“Hi, Jill, can I talk to you?”
Her pulse raced and warning signals told her to keep the door locked. “Will,” she said, her voice weak and thready. “I was just going to take a nap. Doctor’s orders. Can you come back later? I’m so tired I can barely move.”
“It’ll only take a minute,” he cajoled. “We just got a tip that the cops are on their way to arrest Peter and Clarice. I thought you might want to be there.”
Peter and Clarice?
She was tempted. This was her story. She deserved the byline, but was it worth the risk? She didn’t know exactly how Will fitted into the picture, but she wasn’t foolish enough to trust him.
She leaned her forehead against the door and said, “I’d like to, Will, but I can’t. I’m just too weak.”
When he didn’t reply, she raised to her toes and peered through the viewing hole. He was gone.
A sudden chill as cold as death ran down her spine. She spun around. Will—dressed in his usual dapper corduroy pants and Neiman Marcus sweater—stood at the opposite end of the foyer.
“How’d you get in?”
He held up a key and smiled. His self-satisfied grin made her knees buckle. “Peter lent me his.”
“My father changed the locks.”
“Not the one in the garage, and darned if my opener doesn’t still work, too.”
Jill suddenly understood: Will was the person who had attacked her. He’d tampered with her computer and stolen the files. But he hadn’t killed Dorry. That was some relief. “What do you want?”
He shrugged indolently. “A decent living. Television without commercials. A Pulitzer. But I’ve settled for a quick payoff.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jill said, going for bluster. “I’m not well and I’d like you to leave. Ben will be here any minute.”
Will laughed. “Nice try, Jillian. But you must not have been listening. The police, including Dog Boy, are busy arresting your ex.”
“For what?”
“For all sorts of nasty stuff like insider trading, bribery, attempted murder. Both Peter and Clarice will be singing like larks in a matter of minutes, which is why you and I are leaving.”
Jill’s heart turned over. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Yes, Jill, you are.”
He lifted his hand and pointed a compact silver revolver at her. The small black hole at the end of the barrel looked deadly. How come guns never look that scary on television?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BEN KNOCKED on the hotel door with mixed emotions. The cop in him tingled with anticipation, but the thrill of solving the puzzle was offset by the knowledge of how this would impact the woman he loved.
Since Joely’s visit earlier that afternoon, Ben had found it easier to admit the depth of his feelings for Jill. The real test would come when he told Jill how he felt, and he was ready to take that chance—once she’d recovered from the shock of her ex-husband’s nefarious schemes.
Jimmy Fowler elbowed Ben aside and pounded his fat fist on the door. “Open up. Bullion P.D.”
The door opened with silent dignity. The woman standing across from them was dressed in a white wool pantsuit, her hair knotted sleekly at the nape of her neck. Except for the red around her eyes, she looked as coldly elegant as she had the first time Ben met her.
“Officer Jacobs. We’ve been expecting you.” She opened the door wider.
Jimmy’s hand went for his gun, but Amos jostled him to one side. “Relax, boys, we’re here to talk.”
Ben found the expression funny—like something out of an old western. When he looked at Clarice, he could tell that the thought had crossed her mind, too. Oddly, the revelation made her more human—something he wasn’t prepared to acknowledge.
Czar stepped forward, tugging on the lead Ben held.
“This is the dog that saved Jill’s life,” Clarice said in a thin voice.
Ben thought she looked paler than usual. “Yes. His name is Czar.”
“He was hurt, but now he’s well. Like Jill.”
Although it lacked the proper inflection to make it a question, Ben knew she was inquiring about Jill’s health. “Jill’s doing great. Almost back to normal.”
“Which is supposed to be a good thing?” a voice asked dryly.
Ben turned to see Peter Martin enter the suite from an adjoining bedroom. He sensed rather than saw Jimmy’s wary response. Czar, too, flattened his ears and watched Peter’s every move.
Clarice sighed. “Don’t start, Peter. None of this is Jill’s fault.”
“It’s all Jill’s fault,” he snapped. “She’s never been content to let small things go for the sake of the bigger picture. I told you she’d be a problem, but would you believe me? No.”
Ben looked at Amos and Jimmy who stood to one side, listening avidly. A common police tactic to obtain a confession was to turn two cohorts against each other. He had a feeling it wouldn’t take much effort with these two.
Clarice pointed toward a conference table near the window. The executive suite was equipped with extra chairs and all the trappings of business: fax, computer hookups and two phones. “Please sit down. Our lawyer is on the way. He advised us not to say anything until he gets here. Could I offer anyone a refreshment?”
“Tainted champagne, perhaps?” Ben asked, pulling out a chair.
Clarice’s step faltered; Peter caught her arm. “Dammit, Clarice, I knew we should have rescheduled. The doctor said you need rest.”
Her snicker held a fatalistic quality. “Oh, I think I’ll have plenty of time for that where we’re going.”
Ben and Amos exchanged a look. Jimmy motioned them to the window. “Lookee there. Hatch Brumley. Only Rolls in the county.”
“The lawyer?” Ben asked.
“He ain’t no F. Lee Bailey but it ain’t for lack of trying. I’ve seen him on TV representing Land Barons before. He’s smooth as a good bowel movement.”
Clarice made a gagging sound and excused herself.
Peter gave them an accusatory look then went to wait by the door.
His wife returned, and a few minutes later, after introductions had been made and everyone was seated, Hatch Brumley opened the discussion. “How much?” he asked.
Amos, who had been in the process of removing a pen and pad from his shirt pocket, froze. “I beg your pardon.”
“How much is it going to take to let the Martins walk?”
Ben studied the man with distaste. Well-dressed, in his early fifties, Hatch Brumley disguised his extra twenty pounds through the talents of his tailor. His sparse hair, a questionable shade of tan, seemed sprouted from inflamed patches of scalp. Hair plugs?
Jimmy made a fist and shook it at the man. “Are you trying to bribe us? ’Cause if you are, I’d be happy to show you what you can do with the money.”
Brumley chuckled indulgently. “You small-town cops always think in terms of bribes. I was referring to an exchange of information in return for immunity.”
Amos reprimanded Jimmy with a look. He sat forward. “Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself, Hatch? We came here to talk to the Martins, not charge them with any crime.”
Ben was tired of playing games. “Did you put something in Jill’s drink the night of the party, Mrs. Martin?’ He looked straight at Clarice.
Her odd, pale eyes didn’t blink. “Yes.”
Brumley exploded. “Dammit, Clarice, hold your tongue. You’ve just incriminated yourself. What the hell do you think I’m here for?”
She looked at him. “To protect Land Barons’s interests, of course.”
“What did you put in it?”
“A sleeping aid. Nothing poisonous or deadly. My hope was that Jill would become groggy and would be afraid to drive h
ome. This was before I found out that she’d come with a date, but, of course, by then it was too late to take it back.”
For some reason, Ben believed her. “Why’d you hire someone to tamper with her brakes?”
Her lawyer sputtered, but Clarice cut him off. “I don’t know what happened to her brakes. Although I might suggest that you talk to Mayor Francis. I saw him wiping something black from his hands as he was entering the men’s room. And it’s my understanding he’s an avid collector of old cars with considerable knowledge of such things. My sole contribution to the evening’s fiasco was to put a sleeping powder in Jill’s champagne in hopes that she’d be too woozy to drive.”
“Why?” Amos asked.
“To allow someone time to enter her house and extract any files she had on Land Barons from her computer. We needed to find out how damaging her research might prove to be. Plus, we wanted to know whom she’d contacted with the information.”
“How’d that person get in?” Jimmy asked. “We didn’t see no forced entry.”
Peter gave his wife a dirty look. “Jill gave me a key so I could pick up the remainder of my personal property in her garage.”
“And you gave the key to the person you hired to kill her,” Ben said.
The little bit of color in Clarice’s face disappeared. Her ghostly pallor looked unhealthy. “No,” she cried with surprising passion. “Jill was my friend. I would never have let someone hurt her. It was an accident. She returned too soon. When the dog came at him, he reacted poorly. He didn’t mean to hurt her.”
Peter and the lawyer both did their best to keep her quiet, but Clarice seemed intent on spilling her guts. Ben knew that without apprising her of her rights, her confession wouldn’t be allowed in court. Amos seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he pulled out his plastic Miranda card and read the words verbatim.
“Mrs. Martin, you’ve just admitted your involvement with a nefarious scheme that nearly killed a woman and wounded a canine police officer. These are very serious charges. Mr. Brumley’s correct. Anything you say from this point on can and will be used against you. Do you understand?”
Wonders Never Cease (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 25