Prime Suspect

by Maggie Price

  Greg arched an idle brow. “Nice.”

  “A.J. and Kenneth’s mother owned a needlepoint shop. She designed these, sewed every stitch.” Emily handed the star to A.J., then selected another from the box. She smiled at Greg, dangling an angel on a golden cord from her fingertips. “Want to do the honors?”

  “Thanks, but A.J. looks like she’s got things under control.”

  Her hands were shaking, A.J. realized as she hung the angel on a branch. There was no reason for her nervousness, she told herself. No justification for the tight feeling in her stomach. She accepted a cloud white snowflake ornament from her aunt, keenly aware of Greg’s watchful gaze.

  She hung three more snowflakes, rolling her shoulders in an attempt to ease the tension that had settled there. Nothing’s wrong, she told herself. Nothing.

  Greg leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. “Tired?” he asked.

  A.J. met his inquiring gaze as she took the reindeer ornament her aunt offered. “The task force. We’ve been working round the clock.”

  “I dropped by the station last night to see you before my shift started. The conference room was locked up tight.”

  “Lieutenant Ryan thought we needed a break—”

  “So I came by your house after I answered a call in your neighborhood. I didn’t stop, figured my timing was off.”

  Her fingers faltered against the tree’s soft branches. He’d just told her he had seen Michael’s Bronco parked in her driveway, maybe was aware it had been there all night. She turned, saw her aunt stifling a knowing smile as she dug earnestly through tissue paper.

  “It probably wouldn’t have been a good time,” A.J. agreed, meeting Greg’s intense gaze while the knots in her muscles eased. So this was the reason for the edge she’d sensed in Greg—his knowledge that she and Michael were lovers.

  “What in the world..?” Emily squinted down at the snowman in her hands. “Oh, dear, poor Frosty is about to fall apart.”

  Greg gave the ornament a cursory glance. “Can’t you just sew it?”

  “Me?” Emily asked, giving him a mock look of horror. “You should see what happened to the sock I tried to darn once. I’m afraid my niece takes after me in that department.” Emily shook her head. “A.J., we’ll have to find someone to repair this.”

  “I will—”

  “Goodness, there’s something hard...” Emily looked up as the door swung open, her narrowed gaze going past A.J. “Oh, Lord, not you.”

  “Afraid so.” The nurse’s starched uniform rustled as she headed across the room, her crepe soles squeaking against the floor. “Sorry, folks. Visiting hours are over.” She left the small tray she’d carried in on the roll-away table beside the tree. “Time for your nightly dose, Ms. Duncan.”

  Emily flipped a blue-veined hand the woman’s way. “Can’t you see we’re having a party?”

  “That I can,” the nurse said as she leaned and gathered the box of ornaments off her patient’s lap. “It’s about to end.”

  Emily harrumphed. “This is Christmas Eve—”

  “This is a hospital.” The woman’s stern expression softened. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sure you are,” Emily said, scowling as the nurse closed the lid of the box and handed it to A.J.

  A.J.’s fingers felt stiff as knife blades against the cardboard. Snowman. Why hadn’t she thought of the ornament?

  Even with its stuffing, there was room inside for a small microcassette tape. It made sense Ken would hide the tape so ingeniously, yet in an ornament he knew she’d handle.

  She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and bit down, trying to keep herself from trembling. Last week, she’d conducted a hasty search of the barrels and trunks that overflowed across the attic floor, but the thick layer of dust that covered the boxes containing the Christmas decorations had convinced her they hadn’t been handled in the past year. But Ken had done that purposely, she now realized, had made sure no searcher’s eye would be drawn to the boxes....

  “You can finish the tree tomorrow,” Greg said, pulling the box of ornaments from her hands. He settled it on the chair he’d just risen from, then snagged the IV pole as the nurse helped Emily out of the recliner.

  “Right. Tomorrow.” A.J. stood motionless, watching the nurse smooth the sheet over her aunt’s fragile, bony body. Her gaze slid sideways to the cardboard box. God, why hadn’t she noticed the snowman this morning when she was with Michael? Why hadn’t she realized?

  She jumped when Greg slid her coat onto her shoulders. “You’re as tense as strung wire,” he said quietly. “Why don’t we go somewhere, have a drink?”

  “I...have to get back to the task force.”

  He stepped around her, blocking her view of the box. “Some other time?”

  She searched his face, looking for some reaction. His eyes stared back at her, unreadable. She forced a smile. “Sure, some other time.”

  The nurse picked up a syringe from her tray, went to the IV stand.

  A.J. gripped her aunt’s pale hand, dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll be back in the morning. Sleep tight.”

  Emily glanced at the syringe then patted her hand. “I doubt that’ll be a problem.”

  Spine stiff, A.J. preceded Greg into the hallway, the usual hospital mix of disinfectant and soap hardly registering in her brain. Her mind was back in that room, on that box.

  “What level did you park on?” she asked as they entered the elevator, packed with visitors who’d been shooed away when visiting hours ended.

  “Five.”

  She nodded, pushed the button for that floor. “I’m on three. You don’t need to walk me to my car.”

  Greg leaned and pushed the button for her level. “I may not need to, but I’m going to.”

  “Dammit,” Michael muttered as he hung up the phone. He’d tried to call A.J. for the past fifteen minutes, ever since McMillan walked out the door. “Must have turned the power off on the cell phone.”

  None of the task force members crowded into the conference room paid him any attention. They were too busy celebrating Robert Thornton’s capture.

  Elbows propped on the table, Michael rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. He couldn’t remember ever having been this mentally exhausted, so physically tired. His mouth curved into a sardonic arch. He couldn’t exactly blame his lack of sleep the previous night on the task force. On a gorgeous dark-eyed member of the task force, yes, but not on the job itself.

  He got up from the conference table, then walked around the room to stretch his cramped leg muscles. Several detectives shook his hand; one thumped him on the back. They were wrapping things up, faxing last-minute information on Thornton to the Phoenix PD before shutting down.

  Michael stopped at the wall of windows. As he stared out into the darkness, his mind conjured up the vision of A.J. lying in his arms, her face flushed with desire, her eyes glittering with need for him. It hit him then. He wasn’t just falling in love with her. He had fallen. Hard. He wanted her in his life tonight, tomorrow. Forever.

  He continued to stare out into the cold December night. The edges of his mouth lifted as he pictured A.J. standing before him in only his shirt, which barely covered her delectable body, her eyes sparkling with laughter, while stars, Santa Clauses, a snowman, and numerous snowflakes dangled from her fingertips. Desire for her heated his blood as he entertained the prospect of hanging a few ornaments himself, and not on any tree...

  His mind hesitated, took a step back. His smile slowly faded as the image of the ornament in the shape of a snowman leapt into his mind. Snowman! If Ken had hidden an incriminating cassette tape anywhere, what better spot than that innocuous ornament that he knew beyond a doubt A.J. would handle?

  Michael rushed back to the table, shoved aside a stack of computer printouts and file folders before he finally unearthed a phone book. He stabbed in the hospital’s main number and asked for Emily Duncan’s room. Because visiting hours had ended, the call w
ent to the nurse’s station.

  “Miss Duncan and her companion left about five minutes ago,” a woman’s voice explained.

  “Her companion?” Michael asked.

  “The blond-haired police officer who visits often—I’m not sure of his name.”

  Michael hung up. Lawson. Nothing’s wrong, he told himself. Lawson made a habit of visiting Emily Duncan. There was nothing out of the ordinary about that.

  Michael clenched his jaw. If things were so ordinary, why the hell was every nerve in his body screaming for him to find A.J.?

  Pulse thrumming, he grabbed his coat and headed to his car.

  A.J. walked by Greg’s side, their footsteps hollow echoes against the concrete floor of the parking garage. They traversed rows lit by bright overhead lights, finally stopping when her red Miata came into view. Her keys jiggled as he took them from her gloved hand, then opened the driver-side door.

  “Thanks.” She held out her hand for the keys.

  He hesitated, looking down at her in silence until she bit back the urge to grab the keys, shove him away and run back into the hospital, into her aunt’s room. “Greg, I have to go.”

  He put a finger beneath her chin, raised her gaze to his. “I guess there’s no sense in asking if you know what you’re doing where Ryan’s concerned?”

  “No sense.”

  “Didn’t think so.” He turned his head, looked back at the elevator. “I might drop by here tomorrow and see your aunt.”

  “She’ll be happy to see you.”

  He leaned, placed a kiss on her cheek. “If you need anything...”

  “I’ll call.”

  “Right.” He shrugged, handed her the keys, watched her slide into the seat.

  A.J. turned on the engine, the headlights, and sat motionless, watching him retrace his steps toward the elevator. The instant he was out of sight, she switched off the engine, shoved open the door and took off at a mad run.

  Bypassing the elevator, she pulled open a door, her footsteps clanging down the metal staircase. Only when she reached the hospital’s now dim hallway did she slow her steps. Holding her breath, she passed the seemingly deserted nurse’s station, praying her luck would hold and she’d avoid detection by her aunt’s starch-spined nurse. The idea of using the cell phone to call Michael flashed through her mind. She frowned when she realized that in her haste to get back in the building, she’d left her purse in her car.

  It didn’t matter, she told herself. It would only take a few seconds—a minute at tops—to walk in her aunt’s room and snatch the snowman ornament out of the box. She’d be back in her car in less than five minutes. If Ken’s tape was inside that ornament, she’d call Michael from the car.

  The tape had to be there, she thought. It made such perfect sense now.

  Inside her aunt’s room, the light that glowed above the door threw weak shadows in every direction. A.J. paused, heard the heavy sound of her aunt’s sedative-induced sleep.

  The lid on the box lifted noiselessly beneath her hands. The yarn that formed the snowman’s plump form looked stark white beneath the wash of dim light. A.J. reached in, grabbed the ornament and squeezed. Her pulse pounded as her fingers pressed down on the outline of the small cassette tape.

  She felt a rush of blood to her head, a sudden disorientation. A door she thought sealed had opened, an answer to a puzzle had suddenly emerged. Ken’s tape! God, she couldn’t breathe.

  “You and I had the same thought.”

  Her breath sucked in on a gasp as she whirled. Her leg knocked against the chair; the box of ornaments teetered over, sending snowflakes and reindeer pooling at her feet.

  “Hand it over, A.J.” The dim light shadowed Greg’s features, added an almost unearthly sheen to his blond hair.

  She clenched the ornament in her fist. “Hand what over?”

  “The tape.”

  “Tape?”

  A hardness settled in his eyes as he reached into his jacket, pulled out a blue steel automatic.

  The room seemed to shift. She stared into the dark barrel while Michael’s warning echoed in her mind.

  “If I don’t have that tape in my hand in the next five seconds, your aunt gets a 9mm slug through her brain.”

  “God, no...” A.J. tore her gaze from the gun, looked at the bed. Her aunt’s narrow hand, looking as fragile as porcelain, extended from the sleeve of a felt nightgown.

  “Give me the tape.”

  “Don’t hurt her.” A.J.’s eyes searched his face wildly for a moment. “Please...”

  “The tape!”

  She felt faint and weak, on the verge of hysteria. She clenched her jaw, calling upon her reserve of inner strength and fought down the panic that had her body trembling.

  “Don’t hurt her.” She held out the ornament, her hand shaking so badly that Greg’s mouth curved upward.

  He jerked the snowman from her grasp, held it against the muscled planes of his stomach as he burrowed his fingers through the seams. Cotton stuffing fell to the floor, followed by the needlepoint casing. The cassette tape looked small and insignificant in his palm.

  “Now, you and I are going to walk out of here, slow and nice, like we’re best friends.” He shoved the cassette into the pocket of his coat. “You even blink to draw attention, I’ll come back here and blow a hole through your aunt.”

  Fear made the back of A.J.’s throat burn. Standing before him, staring into the automatic’s dark barrel, she felt cold and desperately helpless. Her mind whirled, her thought processes skittering to a sickening conclusion. He would kill her. There was no way out of this for him unless he killed her.

  “How..?” Her trembling whisper hung on the air.

  “How did I know you were on to me? The night of the dance you asked me about Snowman.”

  She squeezed her eyes tight for a brief moment. “I asked because his name...came up in the Westfall investigation.”

  “You asked because Ken told you about him.”

  “No—”

  “Satisfy my curiosity. What did Ken tell you?”

  She didn’t answer, just sliced her gaze past his shoulder to the door while her body continued its quiet trembling. If only a nurse would come in, give the few seconds of diversion she’d need to grab the chair behind her and smash it into Greg’s gun hand.

  His gaze followed hers. “Don’t try it, sweetheart,” he said, keeping his voice at whisper level. “You won’t get far.”

  He was right. Without something to distract him, A.J. knew a run for the door would be suicide. Maybe if she played for time, someone would come, someone would help....

  “Ken didn’t tell you much,” Greg mused. “Otherwise, you’d never have allowed me around you and your aunt.” His eyes sharpened. “But Ryan knows.”

  “He doesn’t—”

  “Maybe no one ever told you, A.J., but you can’t lie worth a damn. You took Ryan with you to visit Ken’s ex. Mary’s name was on the tape recorder Ken used to make this tape,” he said, patting his coat pocket. “You hadn’t spoken to Mary in a year, and suddenly you and Ryan go see her. I doubt you chatted about the weather.”

  A.J. struggled through a haze of fear for the explanation of how Greg had found out about her and Michael’s meeting with Mary. Nothing came.

  “Mary doesn’t know anything,” she blurted. “Michael doesn’t know—”

  “Michael knows plenty,” Greg countered. “He found the printout and bank statements in Ken’s locker. That was enough for him to haul your ass into Internal Affairs—”

  “You stole that printout from my office, planted it in Ken’s locker.”

  Greg took a step forward, touched the automatic’s barrel to the soft cartilage at the base of her throat. “Prove it.”

  “You bastard, you murdered my brother—”

  Her words died out when he shoved the barrel against her windpipe. “I wasn’t the shooter. I figured we could control Ken by involving you. That was the reason for the anonymous call. It wor
ked—you went running to Ken.”

  “If it worked, why did you kill—” She winced when the barrel jabbed into her throat.

  “I told you, I didn’t kill him.” The Beretta looked black against his white knuckles. “My partner did.”

  “Ken was your partner,” A.J. hissed through her teeth.

  Greg gave her a cold, flat stare. “Ken was a fool. We started riding together right after he got demoted. He was bitter—had a hell of a lot of animosity toward the department. When your aunt got sick, he went nuts trying to figure out how to get enough money to help her.” Greg shrugged. “I offered to deal him in on an operation that’d supply all the money he needed.”

  “He turned you down,” A.J. said, her heart hammering against her ribs. A measure of satisfaction crept through her fear at the acknowledgment she saw in Greg’s eyes. “And because he was honest, your partner killed him.”

  “Now you’ve got it. My partner set up the fake burglary at the warehouse.” Greg lifted his free hand, fingered the scar on his forehead. “I didn’t like getting clubbed with a pipe, but it was convincing. I was out cold in that alley when the black-and-white found me.” He gave the door a quick, assessing glance, then looked back at her. “My partner searched Ken, found the recorder in his handcuff case. I had no idea how long Ken had been carrying it. All I knew was that I had to find out if he’d gotten me on tape when I tried to deal him in on the operation.”

  “Snowman’s operation. Drugs,” A.J. added, giving him a look as cold as steel.

  “The streets are thick with the stuff,” Greg said with derision. “Why the hell should the scum be the only ones making money off it?”

  “I’m sure you fit in.”

  His mouth curved in an arrogant smile as his hand whipped out, seized her wrist. “Okay, sweetheart, you got your dig in. Now it’s time you and I take a ride.”

  His touch had her flesh crawling with ice-edged terror. “Leave,” she said, her voice quavering. “Walk away. I won’t say a thing.”

  “I’ll say you won’t. Because dead people don’t talk.”

  The primitive instinct to survive clamored over fear and disgust. Using all the strength she could muster, she rammed her knee upward toward his groin.