But she did.
The realization came like a sickening blow to her ribs when she thought about her conversation with Vanessa Cooper. She needed to tell Cody. She hadn’t agreed to sell the recording from the night of the murder, but she hadn’t said no.
Cody wouldn’t understand. He already considered her money hungry. How had he put it? “So what if you don’t like being poor?” as if that were some fatal flaw in her character, one he had to work hard to overlook. She didn’t want to make it any harder for him.
Well, okay. It was definitely true she disliked being poor, but she didn’t need to rub Cody’s face in her need for stability.
She’d demanded an outrageous sum of money for the video. No way would Channel Eight come up with that much cash, but she needed to call Vanessa and put an end to the whole idea.
When he’d lapsed into deep, regular breathing, Merlene quietly rose. After one last admiring look, she placed a quilt over his body in case he grew chilled in the night.
She sighed, wishing she could wake him and lure him to her bed. But hopefully tomorrow he’d be full of renewed energy...and still on her couch.
First, she needed to contact Vanessa.
She soundlessly closed her bedroom door and moved to the phone to call the reporter. No answer, so she left a message.
Then she reopened her door in case Cody awoke in the night.
* * *
CODY SNIFFED THE air appreciatively while struggling to consciousness. At least that’s how it felt: as if he’d been in a coma. Man, he couldn’t remember when he’d had such a good night’s sleep, and he could swear he smelled coffee.
He forced one eye open, and the second followed quickly.
A vision in a white silk negligee, Merlene was curled up in an overstuffed armchair six feet away, sipping a mug of what had to be the coffee. Her long hair cascaded to her shoulders, providing a sensual contrast to the delicate nightgown. She turned a page of the Miami Herald, then glanced his direction.
The smile that washed over her face made him hard. How could anyone look that gorgeous straight out of bed?
“Good morning,” she said, placing the newspaper on the table between her chair and the couch. As she leaned forward, Cody caught a heart-stopping glimpse of full breasts barely concealed beneath flimsy lace.
“Come here,” he growled.
Cody groaned with pleasure as she crossed to him, suspecting that she’d deliberately worn this seductive nightgown as punishment for his falling asleep the night before.
Man, he must have really been zonked to pass out with Merlene in his arms.
She perched on the couch and brushed a kiss on his lips. He snaked his arms around her, lifting her to lie beside him. She shrieked but then relaxed next to him.
Wired. That was the only way to describe his mood. And ecstatic. He should be groggy from the deep sleep but was wide-awake, aware of every spot on his body where they touched.
“Did you sleep okay out here?” she asked. Her breath rippled across his chest like a soft, warm wave.
“Best sleep I’ve had in years.”
“Did you really stay awake all night, every night in your car?”
“I dozed lightly,” he admitted. “But the slightest noise woke me up.” He chuckled. “Nothing like last night.”
“Nobody has ever looked out for me like you do. Never.” She paused, but he knew she had more to say. She placed her palm directly over his heart. “I’ve decided I like it.”
“Good, because I don’t think I’m going to be able to stop looking out for you.”
When she didn’t respond, he rolled her on top of him. He wanted all or nothing with Merlene. He had to know if she could give up her dreams of big cars and big houses, had to hear her say she loved him, that she’d spend her life with him, for richer, for poorer.
“Cody, I need to tell you something,” she said.
Impatient, he interrupted. “Do you have time to do some shopping with me today?”
“Shopping?”
“There’s something I want to buy you.”
She lifted her head, gray eyes sparkling. “I like that idea.” Her long hair tickled where it brushed against his skin.
Disquiet rubbed at the back of his mind as he witnessed her pleasure at the prospect of a gift. But everyone likes a present, he told himself. Was it too early to buy a ring? Maybe just a small piece of jewelry—he shook his head when the phone rang.
“Ignore it.”
“No problem, Detective. You go right on talking.”
Cody smiled but knew he couldn’t continue until the phone stopped ringing. The answering machine clicked on.
After Merlene’s recording, a female voice said, “Hey, girl. This is Vanessa. I got your messages. I don’t know if this damn machine is working, but stop worrying. I got the okay for your money. You’ll get a check as soon as we get the video and the interview. My station manager wants to set it up yesterday. Call me.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CODY FROZE, EVERY muscle in his body stiff with disbelief. Rolling to a sitting position, he placed his head in his hands and took a deep breath in an attempt to calm the turmoil raging inside him. He had to wait another moment before he could speak. “You’ve talked to Vanessa Cooper?”
“Yes, but—”
“You promised her an interview?”
“No. I haven’t promised anything. But I was thinking about it.”
“My God. You made a copy of the recording before you gave it to me?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
He turned to look at her. Her pale skin was now tinged a guilty pink.
“That’s what caused the delay. Damn.”
She didn’t deny his accusation.
“And now you’re going to sell it?”
She raised her chin. “Honestly, I haven’t decided yet. She offered me a lot of money.”
“If money is that important to you, Merlene, then...” He trailed off, now anxious to get far away from her, from impossible dreams. He stood and jerked on his pants. “What do you think it’ll do to the prosecution if your video is shown on the six-o’clock news before it’s placed into evidence?”
“I won’t let that happen.”
“Yeah, right,” Cody said, yanking up his zipper. “Don’t do it, Merlene. You know it will destroy my case. Don’t you want Neville Feldman off the streets?” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Or doesn’t it matter since you know he’s not a murderer?”
“You think I know someone else is?” She reached for him, but he stepped away, avoiding her touch. “Last night you said you believed me.”
“And I’ve been a fool. I’d convinced myself that you— Never mind.”
“Cody, slow down. I haven’t done anything.”
“Do you know how hard I’ve worked to convince my lieutenant that you weren’t involved in this murder? That your video wasn’t an attempt to frame men who were already under investigation?”
“Frame? Who? What are you—”
“So you’ll do anything for the right price?” He faced her again. “Maybe you and the grieving widow did plan this ahead of time.”
Her jaw dropped. “So, because I didn’t immediately shut Cooper down, you now think I planned this murder with Pat, that the video is a cover-up?”
“You tell me, Merlene. Are you conning Channel Eight at the same time you and your client walk away with millions in insurance proceeds?”
An angry flush replaced the confusion on her face, but he didn’t wait for the denial. He had to get out, away from Merlene, before he hurled something against the wall.
He grabbed his belongings and escaped to his car without looking back.
Her betrayal worked on him like fire devouring a dry,
wooden building. Merlene’s treachery hurt worse than his father’s greed. He wouldn’t have believed that possible, but he’d trusted her, believed in her and she didn’t see anything wrong with auctioning off evidence to the highest bidder. Why hadn’t he seen that in her?
He pounded his fist on the steering wheel. Yeah, okay. Maybe comparing her actions to his father’s thievery was a stretch, a leap he was too quick to make because of his family history. Merl hadn’t actually stolen anything, but damn, it sure felt like something had been taken from him. Something important.
God, he was a fool. Montoya was right. Her escape from the safe house should have told him all he needed to know. She’d held back her video for some reason—he just had to figure out what. Was she just after the money, or was she a murderess?
Cash definitely spun her world around. Oh, hell, maybe throw in a jewel or two, a fancy car. He’d seen firsthand evidence she’d settle for that. If someone died, so what? Merlene Saunders would have her nest egg, plenty of money so she’d never want for a thing.
And he’d fallen hard into her trap. He must have been an easy conquest, falling all over himself to protect her. But not anymore. She was on her own now. Let her find a new bodyguard. He had better things to do with his life.
* * *
MERLENE LISTENED TO his car roar away, tires squealing as if he were escaping a sniper on the roof.
She’d watched Cody dress and leave, paralyzed by a shattering sense of loss. He wouldn’t even look at her. He despised her. They’d been on the brink of something wonderful and, once again, she’d ruined everything.
So what else was new? It was the same old story, just told in a different and incredibly painful way.
Even as a hungry child she’d always been able to imagine some way out of a bad situation, some action to make things better. A place to beg for food, a spot to get warm. But not this time. She felt as if she’d been ripped into little pieces and thrown into boiling water. Fighting tears, she collapsed on the couch and placed her throbbing head on a leather cushion still warm from Cody’s body.
How could he think she was involved in Dr. Johnson’s murder? How could he believe her capable of such a brutal act?
Because he considered her nothing but a greedy witch, a gold digger seeking cold hard cash any way she could get her hands on it. With a jolt she realized she had no one but herself to blame for Cody’s judgment of her. God, she’d even requested payment the night he asked her to record the comings and goings from the Johnson home. At the time, her plan had seemed like an inventive way to get him out of her car, but all it did was reinforce his negative opinion of her character. After hearing Vanessa Cooper’s message, why would he think anything else? Likely anyone would agree she was a calculating shrew who would stop at nothing—even homicide—to achieve wealth.
And that wasn’t her. Not truly. She didn’t need a lot of money. All she wanted was to feel safe, to never be terrified, cold and hungry again.
If she were honest, she worried too much about having enough security. That obsession always seemed to get her in trouble because she hadn’t understood what it was that she lacked. But now she did. Loving Cody had showed her that cash couldn’t provide the safety net that she craved. Only love could. And now she’d lost him because he thought her so grasping she was even capable of murder. Murder!
She squeezed her eyes shut, willing back the moisture that threatened to spill down her cheeks. She had to think...not give in to a useless crying fit.
Merl dredged up what she’d considered earlier and dismissed as ridiculous. Could Pat really have hired a private eye only to provide a perfect alibi? It was brilliant, of course. No one would suspect the wife when Merlene had recorded the arrival of men already under investigation minutes before fatal gunshots. Pat had insisted that the surveillance continue, even suggesting the trip to Ocala, and then canceling. Could she have been plotting murder the entire time? Had Pat been positioning dupes where she wanted them on surveillance? Had her client been inside the house pulling the trigger while, right on cue, her P.I. focused a camcorder on the arrival of Neville Feldman?
The police had no concrete evidence against Pat or they would have already made an arrest. And if they thought the wife was responsible for her husband’s death, why had they been so hot to apprehend Neville before he shot the guy upstate?
Merlene sat up. And how long had she been a suspect? Had Cody kept her locked up in the safe house to keep an eye on her or to protect her?
Had he made love to a woman he considered a murderess?
There were too many questions without answers, and she needed to dig out those answers.
She stood, squared her shoulders and moved to the bathroom for an aspirin. She’d relied on herself since she was a child, and that’s the way her life would always remain. She didn’t believe in fairy tales where a knight came galloping to the rescue on a white horse.
Damn Cody Warren and the whole damn police department. Who needed them? She’d do her own detective work. If Pat had used her to frame an innocent man, this was one P.I. who intended to set the record straight.
Merlene grabbed the phone and placed a call to D.J.
Her boss was an experienced detective with contacts all over the state, probably all over the country. She needed his help again.
* * *
MERLENE MET D.J. in his home office the next morning. Last night she’d laid out the situation for him and asked him to dig up any information he could.
Searching his face for signs of illness, Merlene settled herself in a chair before his desk. Was it her imagination, or did D.J.’s skin tone appear better today, not nearly as pale? Yes. He definitely looked more rested.
“How are you feeling, boss?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t bristle at her question.
“Better, and that’s the truth. Nothing like a good mystery to get the blood flowing.”
“Glad to be of help.”
“Now don’t get all sarcastic on me. I know how important this mess is to you. One of the downsides of being a private investigator is sometimes winding up a suspect.”
“Has that ever happened to you?”
“Oh, sure.” D.J. waved a hand. “I tell you, this is a situation we have here,” he muttered. “I might even be willing to bend the rules a little. Cody’s right. Something doesn’t add up.”
“So what did you find out?”
“Plenty. I had to call in a bunch of favors, but I’ve confirmed that Pat Johnson did not fly on any commercial flights into either Miami International Airport or Fort Lauderdale–Hollywood Airport near the time of the murder.”
“Of course not,” Merlene said. “She’s too smart for that. Could she have made the trip by car?”
“No way. I’ve done the calculations.” D.J. turned to his computer and a spreadsheet appeared on the monitor.
“Speeding the entire distance, not stopping to eat or rest, no way could the woman have driven from South Florida back to the North Carolina mountains in the fifteen-hour window between the time of the murder and when you spoke to her the next afternoon.” D.J. swiveled back. “You’re sure you didn’t reach her on a cell phone?”
“Positive,” Merlene said. “I quit trying the cell number because I always got some message about the customer being unavailable. What about a train?”
“The service doesn’t exist,” D.J. said.
“Bus?”
“Nope. No public transportation could have accomplished the journey in the relevant time frame. If Pat Johnson shot her husband, she flew into town that day.”
“Or maybe she paid someone else to pull the trigger,” Merlene suggested.
“Murder for hire?” D.J. asked.
Merlene shrugged. “Why not? It’s happened before in Miami. Remember the Cohen case?”
“Could b
e,” D.J. admitted. “Can’t discount that plan. But if so, she hasn’t paid the hit man yet. I’ve seen the Johnson accounts. No big outlays of cash.”
“She could have offshore accounts,” Merlene persisted.
D.J. sat back, placed his hands on his belly, obviously deep in thought. “I’m digging for that. But where would she get the money to put in offshore accounts? The woman doesn’t have a job. Would her husband just hand over that kind of cash?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think she could save that much from the monthly bills?”
“I doubt it.”
D.J. sat up. “She didn’t hire anyone. Doesn’t ring true.”
“From what I know of Pat, I don’t think she’d trust anyone else to do the job right,” Merlene said, believing D.J.’s instincts. Pat hire a hit man? She’d be seriously trusting a paid assassin to never rat her out. Blackmail would always be something to worry about.
“Another thing.” Wearing a huge grin, D.J. slid another stack of papers closer to him. “And this bit of info was hard to obtain, but I managed.”
“What?” Merlene asked, her curiosity piqued.
“Cody is also correct that Mrs. Johnson recently tripled her husband’s life insurance policy. Agent’s name is Jeff Kinney.” D.J. looked up. “She’s already filed a claim.”
Merlene nodded. Of course she had. Pat seemed to believe no one was looking in her direction when lots of people, including the police, had eyes all over her.
“The woman made her claim the day she got a certified death certificate, which was expedited, by the way.”
By now nothing Pat did surprised Merlene. Why hadn’t she seen through her client? Probably because she’d been hot for those lucrative insurance contracts Pat had dangled in front of her nose. Had that all been part of Pat’s game, too?
“Anything else?” Merlene asked.
“That’s all so far. I’m still working on the possibility of those offshore accounts, but I don’t think they exist.”
Merlene sighed. “Probably not.” What did it matter anyway?
To Trust a Cop Page 21