by Vella Day
He schooled his features. “How did he die?”
The young cop flipped opened his pad. “We can't be sure until the Medical Examiner takes a look, but apparently he was changing a ceiling fan and forgot to turn off the power.”
Electricity seemed to be the culprit again. “You going to treat this as a homicide?”
“Homicide around here?” He chuckled. “No.” The young cop sobered. “You think there was foul play? The guy was by himself.”
How could he possibly know that? Killers went into homes, murdered the victim, and then left. “Perhaps. How long has Mr. Marcadis lived here?” Jake had the details, but he needed to see if the local police had a clue.
The cop looked to his partner. “You know when, Vern?”
The older man hiked up his pants. “I talked to Dalia Wilson, the neighbor, and she said he only moved in two days ago. Guess he was fixing up the place. It needed it. Ole man Kranc never did give a damn about repairs.”
Jake debated telling them about the Caravello trial but decided the FBI needed to do the investigation, not two local cops who probably had never dealt with a homicide. “Mind if I have a look inside?”
The two men exchanged glances. “I don't know why the FBI would be interested, but go ahead.” Vern's jaw clenched.” Just don't touch any evidence.”
Jake hid his smile. “Promise.”
The house smelled of bleach. Given the torn drapes and stains on the carpet, maybe Mr. Marcadis was trying to make the place livable. What was Richard Thomason thinking asking a juror to move into this sty? He better not pull that trick on him in the future or there'd be hell to pay.
Jake studied the scene. A ladder was positioned under a ceiling-mounted junction box, and an old fan lay on the floor. Problem was, there was no new fan kit. Who took down an old fixture without buying a new one first, assuming he wanted to replace the thing?
The chalk outline of the body was off to the side of the ladder. As a kid, Jake often jumped off ladders to the side to see how far he could reach. The force of his foot pressing against the rung usually toppled it. From where the body was positioned, it looked like that's what had happened here, only the ladder was upright. If Marcadis was electrocuted and fell to the side, why hadn't his ladder fallen over, or at least moved? Something didn't add up.
Jake did a walk-through, looking for the new fixture but found none. Maybe Marcadis had been changing the fan for real and the killer threw the power switch to On. Once he was sure the victim was dead, he flipped the power Off. Regardless of the method, Phillip Marcadis was dead. It didn't much matter how.
Having satisfied his curiosity, he pushed open the screen door, stepped onto the porch, and glanced around. Middle class homes filled the middle class neighborhood.
“Find anything?” Vern said, as he climbed the three steps to the sagging wooden deck.
“No. I'd dust the power panel for prints.”
Vern puffed out his chest. “Planned to.”
“Great. Good luck.”
“For?”
“Figuring out how Marcadis died.”
“I thought you said—”
“I never said anything.”
Using the remote, Jake clicked open the car door, strode down the drive, and jumped in the driver's side.
As he twisted around to back up, he glanced to the backseat. Susan's eyes were closed. She looked as restful as one could be curled up in a tight ball on the seat. He pushed aside the temptation to take her in his arms and give comfort. The poor woman had been through enough, but she'd kill him if he didn't tell her about Phillip Marcadis' death.
He made sure his head wasn't facing the two cops when he spoke. “Let me go around the block before you get up, and I'll tell you what I know.”
“He's dead isn't he?” Her voice wavered.
Anger rolled up his throat. “I'm afraid so.”
Why was he one step behind this bastard?
“Are you going to call Mr. Thomason and tell him another one of his jurors is dead?”
“When I can find a secure line. Right now, I don't know who I can trust.”
“Are you thinking this is an inside job? That someone in the Bureau is killing these people?”
“I doubt directly.” He faced front and pulled away from the house. “You arrive at your townhouse, and within a day, the place burns down. Of the five remaining jurors, three are dead within a couple of days of each other. We've never had a leak before. Something is going on.”
“And you suspect Mr. Thomason?”
“Could be him. Could be my direct boss, Stanton Lowry, or any number of people. I just don't know what motive they'd have for leaking the addresses.”
“There's no one you can count on?”
“Tom Traynor.”
Stanton Lowry had come over from a different department two years ago. While his record was impeccable, he and Thomason became instant best buds.
“You going to call your friend Tom?”
“Yes. He'll inform the correct channels.”
“Is Caravello still in jail?”
He'd wondered the same thing. “I'll find out.”
Once he moved out of sight of the crime scene, he pulled over, and Susan scooted into the front seat.
Jake decided to call T-Squared before they got on the road.
“Joe's Bar and Grill.”
“Phillip Marcadis is dead.” No use beating around the bush.
“Jesus Christ. How did he die?”
Jake told him about the supposed electrocution.
“It had to be murder.”
“Could have been an accident, but I doubt it.”
“How could they found out where Marcadis was staying?”
“You find the answer to that question and we'll be one step closer to finding the killer.”
Tom must have placed a hand over the phone for a second as his voice came out muffled. “Sorry about that.”
“What about Caravello? Could he have had anything to do with Marcadis' death?” Jake asked. He held his voice flat. With Susan next to him, he didn't want give away his concern.
“Lawyers posted bail right away. He walked last night.”
“Shit.”
If Peter drove straight through the night, he could have made the twelve-hour drive to Lake City by morning.
**
Joseph Francisco looked at the incoming call and held a finger to his lips as his grandchildren raced around the room. “Poppy needs you two to be quiet. Your daddy's on the line.”
“Daddy!” the three-year old shrieked and hugged Joseph's leg. He ran his hand down her blond curls. God they were cute.
Samantha whipped around and raced toward her older brother. “I get the crayons.”
Joseph turned his attention back to the ringing phone. “Hey, Dom. He dead?”
“Hi, to you too. Yeah. Phillip Marcadis won't be on any jury no more.”
“Good.” Joseph cast a glance at Mario playing with his GI Joe figures. He could remember like it was yesterday when Dom played with those same plastic toys.
“You'll never guess who showed up at the crime scene,” his son said.
“Who?”
“That FBI guy, Jake Yarnell.”
A burst of excitement grabbed him. “No shit. What was he doing there?”
“Didn't exactly stop and introduce myself. Yarnell flashed his badge and the local cops acted like he was some god. Then he went into the house right after the paramedics took the body away.”
Sometimes he wondered who'd raised his son. “What were you doing waiting around a crime scene? Someone could have identified you.”
“Nah, I was careful.”
His bravado would be the end of him. “Was the girl with Jake?”
“Not that I could tell.”
“Where are you now?”
“I'm about twenty car lengths behind Yarnell.”
He'd expected the name of a town, but Dom's proximity to the girl said all was under control. “Good. Follo
w him. He'll lead you to her.”
**
Peter Caravello dragged his lips along Maria Francisco's neck, enjoying her smooth skin and delicious scent, ignoring his vibrating phone.
“Aren't you going to answer that?” she said, as she ran a hand down his belly to his crotch.
“With what you're doing? Not on your life.”
She sat back up. “I can't concentrate when someone wants to talk to you. It could be the lawyers saying they caught whoever is killing those jurors.”
“All right.” He tugged the phone from his pocket. His brow rose. “It's Jake.” He punched the talk button. “Yeah, buddy.” He ran a hand down Maria's arm.
“Where are you?”
Peter's defenses shot up. Jake's accusation came out harsh. “I'm home. Why?” Had Jake learned he'd been in jail?
“Another juror was killed about an hour ago.”
“Where?” He lifted her off his lap and motioned her away. He didn't need her distraction.
“Florida.”
Peter let out a laugh. “I've been here all morning.” He looked over at Maria and pasted on a smile. She didn't return his apparent happiness. She always could see through him.
“Can anyone vouch for your whereabouts?” Jake's tone had softened, but he acted as though maybe he still believed Peter might be guilty of something.
“Always the cop.”
“Answer my question. Please.”
The polite request got to him. “I've been with Maria since my release.” He motioned he wanted her by his side again now the alert had sounded. She'd have to go back to the hospital soon, and he didn't want to squander their time together.
“Maria, as in Maria Francisco?”
“The one and only, but don't say a word. No one knows we've hooked up.”
“Christ, her old man would have a shit fit if he found out.” Jake sounded like his old self.
“Don't I know it.”
“Oh, I get it now. You were with Maria the night Janet Starkey died, weren't you?”
Smart man. “Yes.”
“That's why you said you had no alibi. You didn't want anyone to know about you two.”
“Right.” He detected a lot of traffic noise. “Where are you? I thought your job was to protect the prosecuting attorney.”
“It is. She's with me. We're in North Florida.” Jake relayed the story of the fire and how it had nearly killed both of them.
“I'm sorry.” Maria returned to her rightful place on his lap and nuzzled his neck.
“Thanks. We got cut off the last time we talked. What did the Bureau have on you that they would arrest you and not James?”
His older brother was the most likely candidate. He had his fingers deep in Dad's counterfeiting practice.
“They found Janet Starkey's wallet at my house, though I don't know how they knew to look there. I had no idea it was there.” He held his breath, waiting for the recrimination.
“Who could have planted it there?”
Relief washed over him. Jake believed him. “You tell me.”
“James?”
“My brother might not be the most honest person in the world, but there's no way he'd set me up. He has no reason to see me go down.”
Maria tapped her watch indicating she had to go soon. He held up a finger.
“You might be right,” Jake said.
“Look I gotta go. Keep in touch.”
The moment he hung up, he wrapped her arms around her waist and leaned his lips close to her ear, her scent arousing him.
“Does he believe you?” she asked
“I think so.”
She leaned back and smiled. “Good. Now where were we?”
She kissed him hard, and he gathered her slim body closer.
Her cell rang and she stiffened. She slipped the phone form her pocket. “It's Dad. I have to answer it.”
He knew the routine. “Go ahead. We might as well get all the phone calls out of the way.”
She softened her lips and lingered on his mouth before leaning back. “Hi, Dad.” She brushed her bangs way from her face. “I can't come now. I'm at the hospital doing rounds.” Maria rolled her eyes as she stood again.
He missed her already. Peter mouthed the words I love you.
Maria blushed. Cute.
“Stacia is sick and I had to take her shift.” She paced in front of him. “Uh, oh. Code Blue. I have to go. Bye.” She disconnected and blew out a breath. “I hate lying to him.”
“You know the consequences if you don't.”
8
Susan didn't want to leave the motel bathroom. The shower had helped remove the day's grime, and it had also lessened the impact of the newest juror's death. Being cocooned in the tight tiled shower, with the door locked, had given her the sense of security she craved. She wanted to stay there all night.
A tap sounded on the bathroom door. “Susan, you have to come out sometime.”
Jake needed to shower, and it was probably way past ten p.m. “I'm coming.”
She gathered the clothes she'd neatly folded and left her makeup bag on the counter. Seeing his toothbrush and razor next to her things set off conflicting emotions. After her divorce, she'd sworn off men, but despite her early distrust of Jake, he'd uprooted a deep yearning inside her. Being attracted to him and sleeping next to him though were two different things.
She opened the door. Ohmigod. Jake didn't have a shirt on, and her throat turned dry. His bulging shoulder muscles and amazing abs screamed touch me—not what she needed right now.
A band of what looked like barbed wire ran the circumference of his bicep, along with some design poking above the barbs. The tattoo appeared old and distorted, and she wondered why he chose that image to mar his perfectly sculpted body. The last time he’d undressed, she’d been so busy looking at his body that she hadn’t noticed the tattoos.
She ripped her gaze away from the enticing view and strode past him, hoping he hadn't caught her staring and her mouth slightly dropping. The steam followed her out.
“You leave any hot water for me?” His voice held too much humor.
She turned and glanced up. His eyes were wide, but in an animated way. “What? You're not into cold showers?”
His gaze ran the length of her. “I might just need one now.”
If he hadn't stepped into the bathroom right then, he would have caught the intense heat racing up her face. Maybe she'd asked for that response, or maybe it was exactly what she wanted.
Sometimes Jake pissed her off with his too cocky attitude, but his tender side always wedged a notch in her heart. His strange relationship with Peter Caravello still made her uneasy, but she'd resigned herself that Jake Yarnell meant her no harm.
She willed her body to move once he turned on the shower. She wouldn't think of him naked and soapy. Nope. She wouldn't let his muscular, hard body cross her mind either. That just wasn't going to happen.
Her leg bumped the king-sized bed. It might be large enough for both of them, but there was no way she wanted to be that close, for hours on end, to such a hottie. Besides, she'd never sleep if she had to listen to him breathe and feel the indent of the bed as he rolled over. She’d be wide-awake wondering if he'd accidentally wrap an arm around her and pull her tight.
But how amazing would it be to run her fingers over his rippled abs or have his body pressed against hers?
Dear Lord. How long had it been since she'd lusted after a man? It had been more than the six months since she divorced Carlton. Her ex sure as hell hadn't inspired lust in a long time.
Stop it. Jake was her bodyguard, paid for by the United States government. FBI employees didn't have sex with witnesses, or touch them, or pull them tight against their hard chests.
She scanned the room once more. There wasn't even enough room for a cot, so they'd have to share the bed. At that thought, she shoved aside the thrill that snuck in her belly.
Guess she couldn't control everything in her life.
/> Poor Jake. Every time she rolled over, she might wake him, and God knows they both needed their sleep.
While he did his thing in the bathroom, she slipped under the covers. Her pajamas were flannel—unattractive and anything but alluring. Good. He'd want to keep his hands to himself.
She ran her fingers along the cool sheets. The clean, crisp cotton made her temporarily forget her dilemma. Fresh linens and a soft bed were better medicine than any pain drugs.
She clicked on the television for background noise and begged her body to relax. Only her mind wouldn't stop the fantasy of the naked man in the shower.
He must have stayed inside the bathroom for a long time, for when she awoke, the lights were off, the television was on mute, and Jake was in the chair by the desk. The picture's glow cast a soft shadow on him. Fully dressed, he was stretched out on the padded chair, much like the first time she'd seen him. He shifted to his other hip, a position that didn't look comfortable.
“Jake?”
He jumped up and looked right, and then left. His frantic movement almost looked comical until his gaze landed on her.
“Are you okay?”
His concern warmed her heart. “Yes. I just wanted to know if you'd rather sleep in the bed.”
He took a step forward, but then stopped. “You sure? That chair is rather uncomfortable.”
“I'm sure.”
He smiled. “My back thanks you.”
He took off his shoes before planting himself on top of the spread. What a gentleman. With his arms crossed, his face relaxed. She'd been about to say he could slip under the covers to get more comfortable, but she didn't want to push the boundaries—or test her resolve.
She clicked off the television. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Susan.” His voice came out as soft as melted chocolate, but she refused to read anything into his tone. He'd just woken up, or so she wanted to believe.
She rolled on her side, her back to him and listened to his deep breaths. He didn't squirm, didn't roll, didn't do much of anything, but she'd bet her twenty bucks he was thinking about her.
Her speeding mind refused to slow. She could tell he hadn't fallen asleep in the minute since he crawled to the bed. “I saw you had a tattoo.”
“You did, huh?”