Crash Into Me

by Jill Sorenson

  Sonny closed her laptop and rose to her feet. She dressed with special care, focusing all of her energy on her outward appearance, because inside she was a mess. In an attempt to maintain a cool, professional façade, she opted for a sedate white blouse, black tailored trousers, and a matching jacket loose enough to hide her SIG.

  By the time she arrived at James’ house, Paula DeGrassi and a team of CSIs were already there. Sonny felt nauseous. She wasn’t ready to face the monster who was her father again, even if he was stone cold dead, facedown on the bed.

  She forced herself to study the man with detached interest, analyzing details like an automaton, unable to look Sergeant DeGrassi in the eye.

  The corpse wasn’t the most gruesome sight she’d seen, not by a long shot. It was the most horrifying, however, because Arlen Matthews didn’t appear to have been strangled, shot, or stabbed. If anything, he’d been bludgeoned, and by her own hand.

  She leaned forward, holding her breath against the smell of old booze and fresh death, trying to see if he’d sustained any other injuries. Had Arlen Matthews died in his sleep, minutes or hours after she bashed him over the head?

  This was bad. Oh, so much worse than getting caught in bed with Ben.

  “His son found the body,” DeGrassi said, referring to her notes. “Stephen Matthews. He sounded just like the kid who reported Lisette Bruebaker.”

  Sonny cleared her throat. “Really?”

  “Yeah. And this guy was a small vessel fisherman, so it fits. That’s why I contacted your special agent in charge.”

  Of course. Sonny hadn’t been checking in, so Grant had no idea that Arlen was connected to the SoCal murders. Neither had DeGrassi, until now.

  “I asked this kid, Stephen, about the phone call and he acted like he didn’t know what I meant. Then he said yes, he made the call.” She shrugged. “He’s got another brother, James Matthews, age seventeen, who lives here and has yet to be accounted for.”

  Sonny’s mind raced with possibilities. If she didn’t come clean right now, James or Stephen could be implicated in Arlen’s death. Last night, she’d washed her drinking glass and worn gloves while searching for clues. Other than the broken lamp, which might go unnoticed in this heap, there would be no trace of her here.

  Then again, James would surely tell everyone what she’d done when they found him. Sonny closed her eyes and clenched her hands into fists, visualizing the dregs of her career swirling down the toilet.

  “What’s that?” DeGrassi asked, nodding to one of the crime scene technicians.

  A young man in a white jacket and latex gloves was lifting an expensive-looking bracelet from the top of an open magazine. He froze, letting the jewelry dangle from the tip of his forceps. “It’s been photographed.”

  “Put it down. I want to look at it.”

  Sonny couldn’t believe her eyes. That bracelet had not been here last night. Absolutely no way, not a chance. She’d searched every inch of the place.

  DeGrassi stepped forward, adjusting her glasses and peering down at the pretty, custom-made piece. Sonny came up beside her to do the same.

  It was a simple platinum disk on a delicate silver chain. On the surface of the disk, a handful of well-placed sparkles, aquamarine and diamonds by the looks of them, made the crest and swell of a tiny wave.

  Sonny’s breath caught in her throat.

  “Hmm,” DeGrassi said. “Turn it over.”

  On the back, so small as to be almost indiscernible, there was a romantic dedication. The engraved words made a chill run down Sonny’s spine.

  TO OLIVIA. LOVE, BEN. FOREVER.

  Sonny had withheld a lot of information from DeGrassi, but as staff sergeant of the Homicide Division, she must have known Ben was a suspect in his wife’s murder, and that he was at the station being interrogated by Grant right now. “Give the techs a few minutes to see what else turns up, and you can take this to your S.A.C.”

  Sonny managed a brusque nod.

  DeGrassi’s sharp gaze narrowed on Sonny from over the tops of her reading glasses, but she didn’t say anything more. Instead, she gestured to the CSI, indicating that he continue collecting evidence, and bagged the item herself.

  Needing a breath of fresh air, and a moment to recover her wits, Sonny walked out to the backyard. It was as cluttered with trash and debris as the rest of the house. She was amazed that James could show up anywhere looking clean; she felt dirty after only a few minutes inside the place.

  Tapping the toe of her shoe against the concrete patio beneath her feet, she pondered the case, searching desperately for some answers. Unless Arlen had roused in the middle of the night and brought out the bracelet, or in her frantic state of mind she’d missed it, the piece of jewelry had been planted.

  Perhaps Sonny hadn’t killed him after all. But who had? James, after she dropped him off at Stephen’s? Stephen, before he called to report the old man’s death? Or Ben, sometime between the orgasms he gave her last night and the awesome sex they’d had this morning?

  Flushing at the memory, she shook her head in frustration. She couldn’t vouch for Stephen’s moral character, or blame James for wanting to knock his father off, but she knew in her heart that Ben wasn’t a murderer.

  Arlen, on the other hand, had Lisette Bruebaker in his fishing net and Olivia Fortune’s bracelet on top of his dresser. He’d left at least one man dead in Florida. He also had a murky past that included abused women, tortured children, and a misplaced wife.

  Crossing her arms over her chest, Sonny frowned down at the cement slab she was standing on. In one corner, using a boy’s irreverent scrawl, James had etched his name and a date.

  She counted back the years to Gabrielle Matthews’ disappearance.

  “No,” she said, feeling her stomach turn over once again. “Oh, no.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Ben was taken into the interrogation room against his will, handcuffed and belligerent, barely cooperating with walking. A uniformed officer removed his cuffs and he sat down across from Special Agent Grant, rubbing his wrists. “I did not agree to an interview.”

  “I’ll be doing most of the talking,” Grant said with a shrug. He was about ten years older than Ben, but no less intimidating for it. Steely-eyed and svelte, he radiated strength and authority.

  Ben hated him with a passion. “I want my lawyer.”

  Ignoring him, Grant pushed a few autopsy photos across the surface of the table.

  Ben refused to look.

  “She was such was a beautiful girl, before. Stayed over at your house a lot, I heard.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I have three daughters myself. Some of those slumber parties can get pretty wild.”

  Ben maintained his silence, knowing exactly where this was heading.

  “Did Lisette and your daughter have pillow fights, Mr. Fortune? Did they tickle each other, play truth or dare, call boys on the phone? Did they sleep in their panties, side by side in the same bed?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Carly’s a lovely young woman,” Grant said, switching tactics. “Takes after her mother, doesn’t she?”

  Ben’s spine stiffened. “My daughter is here?”

  “In interrogation room four, with my associate Special Agent Mitchell.”

  Ben studied Grant’s face avidly, marking spots where he’d like to land a few blows. “What do you want?”

  “I want you to answer a few questions.”

  Ben glanced down at the autopsy photos, against his will. And saw nothing he ever wanted to see again. “Let me talk to Carly,” he said, swallowing his bile.

  “As soon as we’re finished here,” Grant replied.

  Ben weighed his options. He felt confident that he could answer their questions without incriminating himself. Carly, on the other hand…

  “Fine,” he said, agreeing to the interview. “But if I find out one of your no-neck goons talked to my daughter without my permission, or harmed a single hair on her head, I will bring a
lawsuit down on you faster than you can blink.”

  Grant raised his hands, claiming innocence. “Of course, Mr. Fortune. We’re doing everything according to procedure.”

  Ben laughed harshly, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah? Did your special agent fuck me according to procedure, or was she allowed to improvise?” Seeing anger flare in Grant’s gray eyes, Ben leaned forward, enjoying a feeling of power he knew would be fleeting. “Because if she was just following instructions, I salute your training.” He made an okay sign with his thumb and forefinger. “She was Class A. Top-notch.”

  A muscle in his jaw ticked, but Grant didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he brought an evidence bag out from a drawer under the surface of the table. When Ben saw what lay inside, his entire body went numb.

  “Where did you get that?” he asked. His voice sounded strange, far away.

  “Do you recognize it?”

  Ben couldn’t think of any reason to lie. “It was my wife’s. She never took it off.”

  “Where did you last see it?”

  “On her wrist,” he said, seized by a memory of Olivia raising her hand to her hair and laughing, the bracelet twinkling in the sun. “The morning she died.”

  Grant stared back at him in silence.

  “Lisette had that?” he asked, feeling an absurd twist of anger. “I thought someone in the coroner’s office lost it. I filed a report.”

  “Tell me about your relationship with Lisette.”

  Ben wanted to take the bracelet out of the bag and cup it in his hands, to close his palm around the tiny metal disk and sink into the past. Instead, he had to deal with Grant, who was holding the last remnant of his wife hostage and asking stupid questions about Lisette.

  Lisette, who was gone forever, like Olivia.

  “You bastard,” he said without heat. “I didn’t have a relationship with Lisette.”

  “She was in your bed.”

  “Not by my invitation,” he murmured, no longer concerned with implicating himself. He was too disillusioned to care.

  “Did Carly know?”

  Ben snapped to attention. “Did Carly know what?”

  “That Lisette had been in your room, in your bed? What would she have thought about her friend snuggling up to Daddy…wearing Mommy’s bracelet?”

  He felt the blood drain from his face. On some level, he knew that Grant was trying to manipulate him into saying too much, but his insinuation that Carly had a motivation for murdering Lisette shook him to the core. Ben would do anything to protect his daughter. Anything.

  “I heard she’s been experiencing some emotional turmoil lately,” Grant continued, smooth as silk. “Throwing herself into a rip current. Experimenting with drugs.”

  Under the table, Ben clenched his hand into a fist.

  “Special Agent Vasquez told me all about her new boyfriend. He seems like such a positive influence. The uniformed officer we sent to pick them up said he found Carly on her knees in front of him at the movie theater.”

  Ben amended his initial impression of Grant. The man wasn’t trying to goad him into talking; he was trying to goad him into fighting. “You lie,” he growled, seconds from exploding across the table.

  When a quick, efficient knock sounded at the door, they both turned to look.

  Nathan poked his head in. His dark hair was attractively windblown, his eyes smoldering with intensity. “What’d I miss?”

  Carly didn’t have a chance to get her panties back from James before the police officer escorted her from the theater, claiming there had been a family emergency.

  Over her shoulder, she pleaded with James to follow them, but she wasn’t sure he had. When he saw the man in uniform, he’d practically climbed the curtains in his haste to get away. He seemed surprised to discover the policeman was there for her, not him.

  Now she was in a room with another cop, a hunky FBI agent named Mitchell. He wanted to know about all the kinky stuff Lisette had been into. Carly didn’t care if he had awesome biceps, she wasn’t saying shit.

  “I want to call my dad,” she said, affecting a bored tone. “You can’t keep me here without his consent.”

  “You aren’t being charged with anything, Carly,” Mitchell said amiably. “It’s perfectly legal for us to ask you a few questions. Lisette’s parents would thank you for cooperating.”

  Carly rolled her eyes. “Look, I don’t know where she is, okay? I haven’t seen her in a week.”

  “Did she say where she was going when you talked to her last? Tell you she was meeting someone? A boyfriend, maybe?”

  She counted off her responses on her fingertips. “No, no, and I don’t know. She didn’t really have boyfriends, she had targets.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “Targets?”

  “That’s what she called them. Boys she liked. She’d zero in on one, screw him for a while, and move on.”

  “Like a game? Did you play, too?”

  She shot him a disgusted look. “No.”

  “She was your best friend, right?”

  “Yeah. Was. Past tense.”

  “Why is that?”

  Carly tugged on the frayed hem of her short skirt, uncomfortably aware that she was wearing nothing beneath it. She’d only meant to tease James, not go all Britney Spears in public. “I got tired of her sleazy ways, I guess.”

  “Did she target the wrong guy? Your boyfriend, maybe?”

  She gave him a cold smile. “No.”

  “Your dad?”

  Carly felt her face freeze.

  “How long have they been sleeping together?”

  She tossed her long hair over her shoulder. “They aren’t sleeping together, asshole. I want to call my uncle Nathan. He’s a lawyer.”

  Mitchell leaned forward. “Carly, do you remember a bracelet your mother used to wear? It said, ‘To Olivia. Love, Ben. Forever.’”

  She shook her head, but her eyes filled up with telltale tears.

  “We found Lisette this morning.”

  “Is she okay?” she whispered, dreading the answer.

  “No. She’s dead.”

  Her heart sank. “What happened to her?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

  She moistened her lips, her throat so dry she wasn’t sure she could get the words out. “Did she have my mom’s bracelet?”

  Mitchell posed a question of his own. “Did your father give it to her?”

  Her protective instinct took over. “He wouldn’t have given her the time of day,” she returned hotly. “If she had it, it’s because she found it somehow, or stole it from his room that night-”

  “She was in his room? The night she disappeared?”

  Carly clamped her mouth shut. Wrapping her arms around her middle, she stared down at the surface of the table until her vision blurred.

  “Did your father and Lisette have an argument, Carly? Did you hear any strange noises? Sounds of a struggle?”

  She blinked away the tears, refusing to speak.

  “What about your mom and dad? Did they argue a lot?”

  Her jaw clenched and her voice went hard: “I’d rather die than say anything bad about my dad. He would never hurt my mom. Never.” She glared at him from across the table, taking in a ragged breath. “I want to talk to my uncle. I know you can’t keep me here. You can’t make me say another word.”

  James waited for Carly in the lobby at the police station, drumming his fingertips against his jeans-clad thigh, too intimidated to ask anyone where she was.

  As Arlen would say, he was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Any minute, he expected a uniform to slap on the cuffs, arresting him for having his girlfriend in a compromising position in a public place.

  Or any number of other, unreported transgressions.

  James had witnessed a thousand illegal activities at Stephen’s house, and he was no lily-white innocent himself. He’d been stealing a pint of whisky for Arlen from the booze aisle at Ne
ptune Grocery every Saturday night for the past five years. It was more than luck that he’d never been caught. It was a freaking miracle.

  He started sweating. Hell, they probably had a poster with his face on it around here somewhere. They were definitely looking for the anonymous tipster who left a message about Lisette. What if Summer had already turned him in?

  Surreptitiously, he rose to his feet, holding on to the armrest of the chair for balance. Putting one foot in front of the other, he counted the steps to the door, his ears ringing in anticipation of someone saying, Hey you! Get back here.

  He was only inches from freedom when he heard a voice behind him. “James!”

  It was Carly. He froze, weighing his options. Bolting outside was pretty tempting. But playing it cool in front of Carly outranked all.

  He turned to see her beautiful, troubled face. A beefy cop had his hand clamped around her upper arm. Uh-oh.

  She struggled against the unwanted restraint. “This is my boyfriend. Get off me.”

  The cop squinted at James, sizing him up and probably finding him lacking. James gulped under the examination.

  The officer nodded and released her. “Ma’am,” he said in a polite voice, and ambled away.

  Carly looked around the lobby uneasily. She seemed as nervous around the law as he was, if such a thing were possible. “I have to talk to you outside,” she said, grabbing his arm and leading him away.

  “Thank God,” he replied, hurrying along beside her.

  Outside in the parking lot, she stopped him, her face pale, eyes wide with panic. “They think my dad killed Lisette.”

  His stomach dropped. “What?”

  “Lisette’s been missing since last Friday, when she stayed over at my house. Now she’s dead and my dad is in deep shit.”

  James thought of all the secrets he’d been keeping. Some had been building his entire life. Others had piled up more recently. Arlen’s abuse of women and children. Lisette’s body. Stephen’s drugs. Summer’s job. Seven minutes in heaven. A lifetime in hell.

  “Fuck,” he said, sitting down on the curb, putting his face in his hands. “Fuck,” he repeated, knowing what he had to do.