Dangerous Illusions (Code of Honor Book #1)

by Irene Hannon

  They needed to keep pushing.

  “Why don’t you describe him for us?”

  “I’m not good with descriptions. In my job I look at figures, not faces.”

  “Try.”

  He wiped a hand down his face. “He’s about my height. Dark hair, a little on the long side. Green eyes. He looked to be in pretty good condition.”

  “Any distinguishing marks—scars, tattoos, that kind of thing?”

  “Not that I noticed.”

  That was about as generic a description as you could get.

  Colin stifled an annoyed sigh. “Let’s shift gears for a minute. I’m curious about why you gave up a prestigious, fast-track career in international banking to practice small-time accounting.”

  Parker’s features hardened. “You’ve been digging into my work history?”

  “We leave few stones unturned in an investigation.”

  “Why I changed my career plans is a long and personal story that has no bearing on this woman’s disappearance. Look . . . do I need to call a lawyer?”

  “That’s an option.” But not one Colin wanted him to choose until they had more information. “At the moment, we’re just asking some casual questions. You’re not under any obligation to answer them—but we would appreciate your cooperation. A woman is missing.”

  “Right.” Some of the tension in Parker’s features eased. “I want to help if I can. But Craig would be the one to question.”

  “Did you ask why he needed a place to stay?”

  “Yes. He didn’t offer much. I got the impression he was trying to put some distance between himself and a sticky situation.”

  “So you welcomed a virtual stranger who you suspected might have issues into your home. Wasn’t that risky?” Mac rejoined the conversation.

  “He was a college buddy.” Matt shrugged. “I didn’t see how giving him a place to sleep for a few nights was a big deal. I didn’t think he was involved in an illegal activity that would put me at risk.”

  “What was your relationship with Lawrence Adams?” Colin picked up the questioning.

  At the non sequitur, Parker did a double take. “That’s ancient history.”

  “It’s also a simple question. He’s listed as your loving father in his death notice—but the last names don’t match.”

  Parker leaned forward, rested his forearms on his thighs, and clasped his hands together. A dozen mute seconds passed before he responded. “He was my foster father—but he treated me like a real son. His death was a terrible blow.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” Colin tried for a compassionate tone, but Parker’s grief wasn’t ringing true. While his words were appropriate, his perfunctory inflection conveyed no sadness. “Our research indicates his business was in dire financial straits in the months preceding his death.”

  The other man assessed him. “You’ve done your homework.”

  “It’s our job. Can you tell us what went wrong?”

  “Yes—but I’d prefer not to. It was . . . messy.”

  “Were Adams’s money woes the reason you abandoned your career and went home? To help out?”

  “The short answer is yes. After he died, I didn’t have the heart for the relentless pace or heavy travel of international finance anymore. And there was nothing left for me in Boston. I decided a fresh start in the Midwest would better suit me going forward.”

  So far, Parker had nimbly dodged every question, or come up with a glib answer.

  Time to throw him another curve.

  “I think we’re about done here . . .” Colin slanted a look at Mac, who dipped his chin. “But I do have one last question. Why did you look in the CSU bag in Trish Bailey’s foyer the day you brought some charitable material for her to review . . . and why did you move that material from the chair to the bag while she was in the kitchen?”

  The man’s expression went blank. “What?”

  Colin repeated his question.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “She saw you do it.”

  Parker exhaled. Unclenched his fingers. “She’s been under so much stress these past two years . . . I worry about her. For the past few weeks she’s been making mistakes, forgetting things . . .” He shook his head. “All I can tell you is that whatever she thought she saw isn’t reality. I do remember straightening the bag as I walked to the front door, but that was it.”

  This guy was a champion dodge-ball player.

  “Okay. Thanks for your time.” Mac stood, retrieved a card, and held it out. “We’ll be back in touch if we have any additional questions—and if you hear from Elliott again, we’d appreciate a call.”

  “Of course.” The man pocketed the card.

  Colin rose, added his thanks, and followed Mac out the door.

  Only after he put the car in gear and they were driving down the gravel road did he speak. “Either Parker is innocent, or that was a very smooth performance.”

  “I vote for the latter.” Mac slipped on a pair of dark shades. “My gut tells me he was making a lot of that up on the fly as we tossed out questions.”

  “The factual parts are easy to verify. His relationship with Elliott, and what happened on the night in question, are going to be tougher to crack.”

  “What did you think of his response to your question about the CSU bag?”

  “That he’s lying. Trish has been under a lot of strain, and she is carrying an enormous load of grief, but her faculties are sharp. Besides, it’s too coincidental that all of her so-called mental lapses have occurred in situations involving Parker.”

  “So where do we go from here?”

  “I think you should continue to search for Elliott while I fact-check what Parker told us.”

  “I’m on board with that, since I think Elliott’s got the answers I need about Natalie’s disappearance.”

  “Good luck tracking him down.”

  Mac snorted. “Given that he eluded the Russian Mafia, I’ll need it.”

  “Now that his credit card has been used, they may find him for you.”

  “If they do, I may never know it.”

  True. If the Mafia got to Elliott first, there might not be much left to find once they were finished.

  “Do you think we should have mentioned to Parker that his friend was involved with organized crime?”

  “We threw enough at him for one day—and I’m not sure what that would have accomplished. I’m more of a tell-them-only-what-they-need-to-know kind of guy.”

  “Okay. Let’s go our separate ways once we get back and text each other if we find anything relevant.” Colin swung out onto the main road, accelerating once he hit the paved surface.

  “Works for me.”

  Mac pulled out his cell to scroll through messages, giving Colin a chance to run their meeting with Parker through his mind again. They’d taken the man by surprise with both their visit and their questions, no doubt about it. He’d played it as cool as he could, but based on a few subtle cues, they’d thrown him off balance. That, in itself, was a positive outcome.

  People who were flustered often got nervous.

  And a nervous person was more liable to make a mistake that could help them unravel the tangled knots of a case that kept getting more and more complicated.

  Craig slammed down the lid of the laptop on the deck, startling a nearby robin into panicked flight.

  What a mess.

  All because he’d gone out looking for a night or two of much-deserved fun.

  Now the police were nosing around.

  He snatched up the laptop and stalked inside, shoving the sliding door shut behind him. Why had he believed Natalie’s claim that she hadn’t told anyone about their liaison? A woman who’d drug her date for the evening to get his ID was devious—and high risk.

  Now what?

  He ditched the laptop on the counter and went in search of the Scotch. After emptying the inch Natalie had left him into a glass, he took a long swall
ow, letting the alcohol burn down his throat as he transitioned to analytical mode.

  He’d listened to every word the cops had said to Matt, his mind evaluating at warp speed. As far as he could see, there were no holes in the story he’d told them. Acting dumb had been the logical way to play this. It was credible—and if Trish hadn’t witnessed that little maneuver in her foyer, the two detectives probably would have bought it and focused on finding Craig Elliott.

  A lost cause that would have left them spinning their wheels.

  Craig Elliott had dropped off the radar four months ago, never to reappear. They would find no trace of him since February. Their investigation would go nowhere.

  Plus, given Natalie’s estrangement from her family, there wouldn’t be any relatives pushing for closure. The police would give her disappearance some initial attention, but with the caseload detectives carried these days, it would drop down the priority list fast if no new leads surfaced.

  And they wouldn’t. He’d touched nothing directly in Natalie’s place other than her—and the glasses he’d used, which he’d washed. If they looked hard enough, there was a remote chance they might find a hair for DNA matching—but if that happened, he had another ace up his sleeve. While it wasn’t a card he wanted to play, it was always helpful to have options.

  He took a sip of his Scotch, his nerves quieting. There was nothing to worry about. If, by some remote chance, the situation started to go south, he had excellent new documents waiting in the bedroom for the person he’d become after he’d diverted sufficient foundation money to his offshore account and was ready to exchange this backwater dump for more lavish digs in a sunny tropical locale. He’d had plenty of time since moving in here to arrange for those. If he had to use them sooner than expected, he would.

  But most likely that wouldn’t be necessary. This glitch would blow over soon enough. The search for Natalie would grow cold, and the detectives would put it on the back burner to deal with newer cases.

  He tipped the glass against his lips and finished off the Scotch.

  Matt had done well this afternoon. Despite everything the cops had thrown at him, he’d kept his head, stayed the course, and done an excellent job deflecting suspicion.

  Exhaling, he set his empty glass near the sink, wandered over to the window that offered a view into the woods, and rotated the kinks out of his shoulders.

  He was safe.

  If the cops came back, Craig Elliott would disappear again—and the only other people who had an interest in the man were far away in Miami. Dmitri and his crew had no idea where he’d gone. Matt’s home in the middle of a forest might not be much to look at, but it had given him great cover.

  And he’d continue to use it until he was ready to walk away a rich man . . . leaving no regrets behind.

  18

  “Is this the last one?” Colin tapped a corrugated box filled with holiday decorations and miscellaneous art supplies.

  “Yes.” Trish pushed a strand of hair back from her damp forehead and surveyed her classroom, cleaned and prepped for the summer session at record speed—thanks to her handsome helper. “Everything else is loaded in the car.”

  “Good. I’m ready for another cold drink.”

  “Me too. Sorry it’s so warm in here. They keep the air set high when classes aren’t in session.” She started toward the small cooler she’d brought. “I have more soda.”

  “I was thinking colder—like a Frappuccino.”

  She halted. “Sold.”

  One corner of his mouth quirked up. “That wasn’t hard.”

  “I’m hot.”

  He gave her a quick sweep, the banked fire in his eyes raising the air temperature another few degrees. “No arguments there.”

  She planted her hands on her hips as a tingle rippled through her. “Are you flirting?”

  “No. Just stating the facts.”

  “Smooth line.”

  “It’s not a line if it’s the truth.”

  Hmm. Maybe he was finally loosening up. Since picking her up at nine o’clock sharp, he’d been pensive and quiet. All her attempts to engage him in conversation had fallen flat.

  “I was beginning to worry about you.” She slung her tote bag over her shoulder and dug out the keys for the classroom. “You haven’t said much this morning.”

  “Sorry. I’m a little preoccupied. Plus, it was a long and busy week. I got pulled into a double murder and a missing person case.”

  Whoa.

  That was a perspective restorer.

  “And I thought my job was tough.”

  “It is. I couldn’t do what you do with these kids every day.” He hoisted the box. “I apologize for the lack of conversation. I’ve been thinking about Parker. My colleague and I had a talk with him yesterday.”

  “You waited until now to tell me that?”

  “I’ve been in processing mode—but I’ll fill you in while we drink our Frappuccinos. I’d like to get your take on what he had to say.”

  “Any hints?”

  “No. Let’s ditch this sweat box and head for cooler climates.”

  “I’m with you. I’ll let the janitor know we’re leaving.”

  Five minutes later they were in his car zipping west, the air conditioning cranked up to full blast. But he focused on chitchat until they settled into a quiet corner of the busy Starbucks near her house, Frappuccinos in hand.

  “The perfect cure for heat exhaustion.” Trish took a refreshing sip, then leaned toward him. “Okay, I’ve been more than patient. Tell me what happened with Matt.”

  Colin sipped his own drink before he spoke. “You remember I asked you whether Parker had ever mentioned a Craig Elliott, who we were investigating in connection with another case?”

  “Yes.”

  “Turns out he does know him. Get ready for some surprising twists.”

  As he relayed Elliott’s connection with Matt, she listened with growing disbelief. When he got to the part about the Russian Mafia, her jaw dropped.

  “Are you certain we’re talking about the same Matt Parker?”

  “Bear in mind he denies having anything to do with the missing woman . . . or the lifestyle suggested by the tale her coworker told. And as far as we know, he isn’t aware of Elliott’s connection to the Mafia.”

  She sank back in her chair and slowly exhaled. “You know, every time I think my life can’t get any weirder, a new wrinkle blindsides me. But this one is . . . wow.”

  “I agree. What’s your take on Parker’s response to our questions?”

  “That he’s telling the truth. I know he’s been acting kind of strange lately, but I can’t believe the man I see at church every Sunday would be doing any of the things you describe. This Elliott must be the one who visited the bar and picked up the missing woman, like Matt said. What do you think?”

  “I try to keep an open mind during an investigation.”

  “Not fair. I gave you my opinion.”

  “You’re not being paid to remain impartial until all the facts are uncovered.”

  “Hmph.”

  “On a different subject—I told Parker you saw what he did in the foyer with that charitable material.”

  Her pulse picked up. “What did he say?”

  “That you imagined it.”

  “What?” She stared at him.

  “He didn’t use those words, but that’s the gist. He also reminded me again how stressed you’ve been.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Anger bubbled up inside her, warming her cheeks. “I know what I saw!”

  “Why would he lie?”

  Checkmate.

  Stomach knotting, she studied him. Did Colin believe Matt’s story rather than hers?

  “Does that mean you’re keeping an open mind about my mental competence too?” Despite her attempt to maintain a conversational tone, the words came out stiff.

  He leaned closer and covered her clenched fingers with his hand. “No. I’ve seen plenty of evidence that you’
re intelligent, intuitive, and mentally sharp. I think Parker’s lying about what happened in your foyer. That’s why I spent last night and the early hours of this morning digging deeper into his background and trying to verify the other information he gave me.”

  “Did you find anything worthwhile?”

  “The Jack Adler disappearance is legit, and he did attend the same college as Parker at the same time. I also have a call in to the Boston branch of the Massachusetts Department of Children and Families to see if the foster kid story is true.”

  “Did Matt offer you any details about the financial mess at his foster father’s company?”

  “No. And those are tough to find. Private companies don’t have to make their data public. But I’ve left messages for a few construction industry people mentioned in the articles you found, and I’m hoping to get the name of someone who worked there and who might be able to offer more information than Parker provided.”

  “You have been busy.”

  “I want to get to the bottom of this.”

  “No more than I do.” She took another sip of her Frappuccino, eyeing the man across from her. Should she tell him about the doubts that had been plaguing her during her recent restless nights when sleep had been elusive? Would he think they were crazy—or credible?

  Only one way to find out—and she needed to share the disturbing notion with someone.

  She cleared her throat and gripped the cool drink with both hands. “You know . . . in light of everything that’s been happening, I’ve been toying with a theory that’s kind of off the wall.”

  “Off the wall is par for this case. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “Well . . .” She took a steadying breath and plunged in. “You know how Matt’s been pushing me to appoint him as a trustee for the foundation? I started wondering if maybe . . .”

  She stopped as a fresh set of qualms assailed her. Was it wrong to cast more aspersions on a man who’d served the foundation so well, to darken the cloud of suspicion already hovering over him?

  “Hey.” Colin touched her hand. “It’s not disloyal to play with theories in view of what’s been going on over the past six weeks. And if it puts your mind at ease, nothing you can say could make me distrust Parker any more than I already do. He’s been a red alert on my radar screen for a while.”