Yeah, that ought to get him running to answer the door.
No sound came from inside.
I knocked again and then held my ear to the wood. I drew back and shook my head. “He’s not here.”
“Well then where the heck is he?”
“That’s a good question.” I hadn’t even prepared for the possibility that he wasn’t sitting around waiting for Paige to return. But then again, if it were me and I knew Paige was confronting a man who had ruined her best friend’s life, I never would have let her go alone in the first place.
-
Chapter 9
AT LEAST SAM HAD GOTTEN Ferris’s address from Paige before she’d left him that morning. He climbed into the back of a cab and told the driver where to take him. His phone still in hand, Sam redialed Paige and again was met with her voice mail.
He clicked off, as he’d already left two messages. The first had been weighted with anger while the second was more concerned. She’d left him at about eight o’clock that morning and it was nearing five in the afternoon. He’d been patient, assuming that she went somewhere to clear her head after seeing Ferris. But that didn’t explain why she wasn’t answering her phone, or why she’d been gone for so long. The detective in him told him something was wrong.
He debated calling the local sheriff’s office to see if any accidents had been reported but had decided against it. His gut was telling him she wasn’t in one, which only intensified the tingles of suspicion and paranoia that something worse had happened.
The GPS in his phone indicated that Ferris’s townhouse was around the next bend. He leaned forward, his forehead near touching the passenger-seat headrest, as if by doing so he’d reach his destination faster.
Police cruisers were in front of a townhouse, their lights spinning. Still about five units away, Sam counted down the numbers.
They had cordoned off Ferris’s house!
“Stop the car!” Sam barked.
He gripped the handle and cracked the door open, preparing to jump from the moving vehicle if need be.
“Hey, what are you do—” The vehicle came to an abrupt stop, thrusting Sam’s shoulder into the back of the front seat. He tossed a fifty to the cabbie before leaping out of the vehicle. He heard the taxi’s wheels squeal as the driver sped away.
Sam ran to a deputy who was standing in front of Ferris’s driveway. “What’s going on here?”
The officer tucked the clipboard he had been holding under an arm and lifted both hands. “Stop there. This is an active crime scene.”
Sam’s heart was thumping wildly. He reached for his badge, cursing with the realization that he didn’t have it on him, and he shouldn’t have had any reason to need it. Some vacation…
“I’m a detective with Grand Forks PD. What happened?”
“Grand Forks? I haven’t heard of it. I’m going to have to ask you to step back.”
“North Dakota. Listen…” Sam extended his hand toward the deputy, who stepped back out of reach. Sam held up a hand to convey he wasn’t a threat. “It’s my girlfriend. She was coming here earlier today. Is she—” He couldn’t bring himself to ask if she was okay. Paige might have only entered his life a couple of months ago, but women like her—independent, sexy, and intelligent—were hard to find. He knew this for a fact from all his failed attempts to find them.
The deputy’s gaze met Sam’s eyes but looked through him. “This is an open investigation.”
This is ridiculous.
“Paige!” Sam screamed.
“Sir, I’m going to have you forcibly removed if you don’t coop—”
Sam plowed past him. The deputy’s clipboard hit the pavement, but Sam didn’t slow down. He kept moving toward the house.
An officer—likely a detective based on his stance of authority and lack of a police-issued uniform—came out the front door.
“Stop right there!” Given both his tone and the edge to his eyes, he meant business. His hand hovered above his weapon, ready to draw it, looking for one good reason to.
Sam briefly surrendered again. “I’m Detective Barber.” No point bringing up his locale as it obviously didn’t matter. Valencia was a light-year from his jurisdiction.
“And I’m Santa Claus.” He looked around Sam to the deputy. “What the hell is this guy doing here?”
“I’m sorry, Grafton.” The deputy yanked on Sam’s shoulder, but Sam wasn’t going to budge until he found out what the hell was going on.
“I’m not going anywhere until someone talks to me.”
“Are you looking to be arrested?” A veiled threat if the underlying curiosity in Grafton’s eyes was any indication.
“My girlfriend… She came here earlier. Is she all right?”
Grafton remained silent, staring at Sam. Sam shrugged the deputy off his shoulder, and the man complied. “She came by to see him this morning, and I haven’t heard from her since. Is she all right?” He expelled a deep breath.
“It depends. Who’s your girlfriend?”
God. Does that mean a woman was hurt—or worse—in this house?
“Paige Dawson,” Sam rushed out. “Now answer my damn question! Is she okay? What happened? Please tell me she is okay.” His clear emotion may as well have met with a brick wall for how much it seemed to affect the detective. But there was a glint in the man’s eyes that told him Paige was just fine. “What is it?”
“Why don’t you come with me? Name’s Detective Grafton, by the way.”
Got that already.
“Please, tell me what’s going on,” Sam said, softer this time.
“Well, Miss Dawson is a murder suspect.”
“A…what?” Had he heard that correctly? “That’s impossible. And ridiculous. She’s an FBI agent.”
Grafton shrugged. “FBI or not, she’s looking guilty for the murder of Ferris Hall.”
He was going to be sick. “You’re going to have to enlighten me.”
“Actually, I don’t.” He paused a few beats. “But I will. Your girlfriend was found inside the house, ransacking the place. We caught her rummaging through his kitchen drawers.”
There was no reason for the detective to lie, and rage curdled throughout Sam. She had promised to stay outside. He’d have to curb his anger right now, though, and he did his best not to let it show, peacocking his stance. There was no way Paige would have killed Ferris Hall. Was there?
He hated that even an infinitesimal bit of doubt crept in. But he knew how angry she was about what he had done to her friend. Still…murder? Was that why she had wanted to come alone, to leave him out of it?
“I see it on your face, Detective… You’re wondering if she might have done this.”
What is this guy? A fucking mind reader?
Sam met Grafton’s gaze. “I have no doubt she’s innocent.”
“Huh.” Grafton smirked. “Either way, you’re coming with me.”
“Happily. I’d love to clear up your clusterfuck.”
-
Chapter 10
IT FELT LIKE PAIGE WAS in the room with Jack for an hour or more before the door opened, and Grafton entered with Mendez trailing him.
“Time’s up,” Grafton announced. “You’ve had enough time to confer.”
Jack stood behind Paige. She wished she could open her eyes and have all this be behind her. But no such luck. This was reality.
Grafton tossed a file folder on the table and remained standing. Mendez hung back by the perimeter of the room once more, observing the senior detective.
“Special Agent Harper.”
Grafton extended a hand toward Jack, who just crossed his arms.
“You will be releasing Miss Dawson. She is innocent,” Jack said.
“And you know this how exactly?
” Grafton asked, raising his brows. “Were you by her side last night between ten and midnight?”
“Miss Dawson is a respected FBI agent. She’s worked with me for seventeen years, and in the time I’ve known her, she’s acted only in accordance with the law.”
Grafton angled his head, his gaze on Paige. “I’m surprised this is who you chose for counsel. The personal connection could hurt you.”
She glanced at Jack, and he placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Huh.” Grafton pulled out a chair and took a seat. “Ferris Hall, the deceased”—Grafton plucked crime scene photos from the file, placing them on the table facing her—“raped your friend. Is that why you are in California?”
She had known it was only a matter of time before the past came up, but it still came as a sucker punch to the gut. Her stomach and her chest tightened. There was no more questioning just how much they knew. Probably everything. “I’m here because—”
Jack took his hand from her, stepped to her side, and interjected. “Her reason for coming here is not relevant.”
“I believe it is.” Grafton locked his gaze on hers, and her heart was beating so rapidly she prayed it wouldn’t fail her. But then again, if it did, she’d be free of this mess.
“Can you place Paige Dawson in Ferris Hall’s motel room?” Jack asked.
“Oh, we’ll get there, don’t worry. First, let’s get to know each other.”
“I’d rather not,” Jack stated sourly. “Does the Santa Clarita PD make a habit of holding federal agents on bogus charges without evidence? Heck, we could extend that: do you normally place people under arrest before you have the facts?”
“Oh, Miss Dawson isn’t under arrest, although, she could be for unlawful entry. We’re more interested in her as the primary suspect in a murder investigation.”
Jack held up a hand. “Please don’t bore us with a replay of your allegation.”
Grafton’s cheeks flushed as if he had received a literal slap across the face.
“You have no solid evidence that she killed Ferris Hall,” Jack went on. “None.”
“We will have all we need once forensics come back.”
“You sound quite confident for a man who bases his claim on nothing. I request that all the evidence in this case be copied to me as her counsel.”
“Certainly.” He snapped his fingers, and Mendez stepped forward with another folder and dropped it on the table in front of Jack.
“When is the autopsy?” Jack asked.
“Tomorrow morning at eight,” Grafton replied. “But it’s not regular procedure for legal counsel to attend—”
“As an FBI supervisory agent, I will be there along with two members of my team.”
Grafton scoffed. “Have I missed something? Is the FBI taking over this investigation? You have no reason to bring other agents into this.” He tossed a glance to Paige before returning his gaze to Jack. “You will come alone.”
Paige could feel the rage emanating from Jack. He was used to telling others how it would be, not the other way around. But he had to tread somewhat delicately or she’d be the one who would end up paying for his hardheadedness.
“As for having nothing, she was found in the home of a murdered man. So does the FBI make a habit of unlawfully entering homes?” He raised an eyebrow, clearly mocking Jack’s earlier question of the Santa Clarita PD. “We know she wasn’t there on official business.” Grafton drew his gaze from Jack to Paige.
She took a deep breath, trying to do so as inconspicuously as possible. She had a horrible feeling…
“We took a look at the GPS in your rental, Miss Dawson, as you know. But do you know what else we found?”
“Just get to the point,” Jack stated dryly.
“You arrived at Ferris’s address last night at ten oh five. Can you explain that?”
It took all her strength not to turn to Jack in sheer panic. She knew that Grafton mentioned the GPS showing Ferris’s address from last night, but never thought about how it would show her arrival time.
“Well, let me answer for you,” Grafton continued. “See, we have a witness who saw Miss Dawson at Ferris’s patio door this morning. She asked what Miss Dawson was doing there, and do you know what she said?”
Jack glanced sideways at her and there was a pulse tapping in his cheek. He didn’t want any surprises. He wanted the full truth. While the thought of the woman had crossed her mind, how could Paige have known she would come forward? She condemned her foolishness in thinking otherwise. She reached for Natasha’s necklace, but she dropped her hand before making contact.
“She said, and I quote…” Grafton lifted a sheet from the file and read aloud. “I asked her what she was doing, and she said she was with Ferris the night before and left her purse in the house.”
Seconds passed in silence, and rendering Jack speechless wasn’t an easy thing to do.
“Miss Dawson,” Grafton said, raising his voice, “was with Ferris the night before.” He waited for that to sink in.
God, she should have been honest. Or at least have stretched the truth to say she was investigating him for a crime. Anything else but the lie she’d told.
“To make it clear, if it’s not already—” Grafton dragged a pointed finger from Paige to Jack “—the night before, last night, was when Ferris was murdered. Miss Dawson told a third party that she was with Ferris at that time. And you know that the GPS reading in the car showed she reached her destination at ten oh five.”
She almost wanted him to follow through on the warrant for the tracking device that the rental company would have placed on the car. He would see that her travels took her to the motel, but it would also show she wasn’t there long enough to kill him and that she kept moving. But the detective would probably find another way to twist things.
Grafton curled his lips. “Neither of you have anything to say to that? Huh. Interesting.” He turned to Mendez. “Would you like to share what else we do have so far?”
Mendez gave a smirk. He was obviously pleased that Grafton was passing the conversation over to him. “Miss Dawson, is it true that you had originally booked a flight and a resort for this week in Cancun, Mexico?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“And is it true that you canceled that reservation?”
“Yes.” She’d keep her responses short and simple without room for misinterpretation.
“Then you booked tickets to Valencia. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Why? Really, that’s your question?” Jack mocked the detective. “Miss Dawson changed her mind. She wanted to come to California for her vacation instead. That hardly means anything.”
“My point is, Agent, that Miss Dawson decided to come here because she found out this was where Ferris Hall lived. We all know what he did to her friend, giving her motive. She tracked him down—opportunity and means. We’ll get it all stitched up.” Mendez reached into his pocket and pulled out Paige’s cell phone in a plastic bag.
Shit! This was really happening. She should have removed all “evidence” of Nadia’s involvement from her phone. But in her defense, how could she have ever guessed she’d wind up suspected of Ferris Hall’s murder?
Jack turned to her, but she couldn’t bring herself to look him at him.
“There is correspondence on here between Paige Dawson and a woman named Nadia Webber. I’d ask if you know who she is, Agent Harper, but I know you do.”
Paige dared to look at Jack now, and it was his turn to avoid her gaze. Nonetheless, betrayal was in the set of his jaw.
She had to say something.
“There is something I need to confess—”
Grafton smiled. “You confess?”
She glared at him. “I con
fess only to coming out here to see Ferris Hall.”
“Just to see him? You had twenty years of anger built up inside of you. No one can blame you for wanting to get some sort of payback,” Mendez said. “Actually, your friend, she’s dead now, isn’t she?”
Tears filled her eyes, and she fought the urge to cry. She hated herself for showing the vulnerability. “I didn’t kill him.”
Jack faced her. “You need to be quiet. Now.”
“Jack, I haven’t done anything wrong.”
His cheeks reddened, and his eyes were blazing. He started to pace, rubbing his chin.
She straightened in her chair, facing the two detectives again. “I showed up at his house—”
“His? Please be specific, for the record,” Grafton directed.
Surely, she was making things worse in her head than they would be if she just told the truth. If these detectives heard her side of the story, they’d relate and understand. It would tide her over until the forensics exonerated her.
“I showed up at Ferris Hall’s house,” she restated. “I knocked on the front door. No one answered, so I went to the back door.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Dawson, but I’m not following your reasoning. No answer at the front means you go around back? That you enter his house?” Grafton quirked an eyebrow.
“I told you this before. Are you going to listen if I continue now?”
Grafton waved her along.
“His door was already open.” She paused, as if expecting to be interrupted as she had the last time she’d said this. No one spoke, so she went on. “It was open, and at first, I wasn’t sure whether I should go in or not.”
“But you obviously did. That is where we found you,” Mendez pointed out.
She ignored his chiding. “There wasn’t an obvious sign of a struggle,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Yet you entered anyway. Why?” Mendez asked.
Paige turned around. Based on the energy in the room, and the fact Mendez’s jaw snapped shut, he wasn’t supposed to address that part yet.
[Brandon Fisher FBI 05.0] Violated Page 6