Dangerously in Love

by Kimbrough, Michele

  ***

  Hill believed everything his mother used to say to him—she had an answer for everything. The sky was blue because it was God’s favorite color. The grass was green so that the flowers would know where to grow. His hair was white because he was born wise. Yes, she had an answer for everything. And right now, he’d have given anything to have her answer to the currently burning question in his heart—why was love always just out of his reach? He didn’t intend to fall in love with Samantha, but he did. And for three years, he had struggled to keep her in his life. But with her high morals and expectations, he could never get it right. Then, there was Caitlin. She didn’t want much except for him to commit murder so she could continue being rich. Actually, he wondered if she had been using him—or vice versa. Or maybe it was a little of both. He knocked back the whiskey.

  Speak of the devil, Hill thought as he looked at the illuminated screen of his phone. Caitlin. He debated not answering. But hell, with the afternoon he was having, why not? He’d already brushed her off once today, and she still persisted. Maybe he could have one last hurrah with her. Oh, but it was Saturday. It wasn’t possible. He tapped the phone.

  “Hill, come over.”

  “It’s Saturday. Isn’t your husband in town?”

  “He was called away . . . a last minute thing. I need you. Will you come?”

  “When?”

  “Rosemary leaves at eight,” she began.

  “She lives there, so I don’t understand.”

  “She’s leaving for vacation. Javier takes her to the airport at eight, so nine would be best.”

  ***

  Gabe dropped Hill off at the sprawling mansion. He showed up on Caitlin’s doorstep tipsy but guarded. He wasn’t sure why she had summoned him to the house. Since Adam wasn’t there, he assumed she either wanted to make amends or she needed him to do something. Either way, the larger part of him just wanted to be in her company—especially after the bomb Samantha had dropped on him. He knew he needed to move on from Samantha. She had certainly moved on with her life with a new husband and a baby on the way.

  “So what’s going on?”

  “I saw my attorney today.”

  Hill’s ears perked up. But he turned toward the window to hide his enthusiasm. “Why?”

  “I told you I would divorce Adam. I love you, Hill, and I don’t want to lose you,” she said, caressing his back. She moved closer and wrapped her arms around his waist, clasping her hands together at his tight abdomen. Hill rested his hands on hers. “I told Adam I’ve filed for divorce. He stormed out of here, angry. I’m not sure where he went. He said he would contest it, though. I knew he would.”

  “You’re not sure where he went? And you invited me over?”

  “I meant, I’m not sure where he went, but he left on the plane.”

  Hill turned around, pushing her hair behind her ears. “I’m sure your attorney knows what needs to be done, so if Adam contests it, it’ll take a little longer, but it will be done. You’ve made my night, Cate, which was quite shitty up until this moment.”

  “I’m so glad you’re happy. I’m happy, too. I just couldn’t lose you. You mean too much to me.” She stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him. “Would you like a drink?”

  “Yes. Whatever you’re having.”

  She stood behind the bar and made a martini for each of them. She stabbed a few olives onto a toothpick and dropped it in one of the drinks. Hill walked toward the bar. She quickly placed their drinks atop the bar counter, holding hers in her hand. “I don’t like olives,” she explained.

  “You’re allowed,” he said with a smile, wondering why she was suddenly acting anxious.

  “Oh, I just remembered . . . would you help me move a chest into my room?”

  “Yeah. Where is it?” he asked as he took a sip of his drink. “Mmm. Pretty good for a martini.”

  “I’m known for my martinis,” she said. “Follow me. I’ll show you where the chest is.”

  Hill followed her down a long corridor to a rather large storage closet. When she opened the door, a pungent scent wafted out at them.

  “I think you have a dead rat—or something bigger—in here.”

  “You have a good nose. There was. A raccoon. Javier got rid of it.”

  “You really need something to kill the odor.”

  She pointed to a bamboo chest. It was more like a trunk than a chest, but it was large. “That’s the chest,” she said.

  Hill grabbed it by the handles on each side and attempted to lift it. It was far heavier than he expected. “Geez, what do you have in here?”

  “Books, papers . . . just stuff. Mementos.”

  Hill managed to get the chest upstairs. It took a lot of effort, and he was tempted to empty some of its contents to make it easier to lug. But Caitlin insisted that she’d have to look for the key. Hill could have easily unlocked it without the key. Nonetheless, he managed to get the trunk upstairs and into her room. He plopped down at the foot of her bed, feeling a little lightheaded. He thought he was in better shape, but lugging that chest seemed to have knocked the wind out of him.

  Caitlin offered to bring him his drink from downstairs. He agreed. He just wanted to catch his breath. He went into the adjoining bathroom and splashed cold water on his face, hoping it would refresh him. It helped a little.

  Caitlin returned with their drinks, making a toast “to us.” She watched Hill take a big gulp of his drink. “Here, let me help you get comfortable.” She untied his shoes, slipping them off. Then his socks. “Let me set that drink down for you.” She took the martini and placed it atop the chest he had just moved into the room. “Why don’t you lie down? You don’t look so well.”

  “You’re right. I do feel a little queasy.”

  She pulled the covers back and helped him get situated on Adam’s side of the bed. “I’ll join you.” She took off her clothes and climbed into the bed beside him until he passed out completely.

  ***

  Perry and Agent Reeves weren’t able to secure an arrest warrant for Adam, but they were able to get a search warrant. Reeves was upset that his most cooperative CI had been brutally murdered. She’d been beaten, her throat slit, and she was shot in the head. Overkill.

  Perry was more concerned about how her location might have been disclosed. He had moved her to one of their safe houses. He figured it had to be an inside job. Nonetheless, they both knew Adam Church was somehow responsible for her murder. They were sure he had found the surveillance devices.

  “How did he find her?” Reeves asked, trying to figure out how this happened.

  “That’s what I’m worried about. But we’re the only ones who knew where she was. Unless Adam had someone watching her place—that would explain it. They might’ve followed us to the safe house.”

  “But how could he have found out so quickly? Look at the timeline. Why would he have someone watching her if he didn’t have any reason to? By the time he had an opportunity to discover the bugs, she was already at the safe house.”

  “She might’ve called someone and inadvertently given away her location. That’s the only thing that makes sense. But who? Come on, get the team together. Let’s go do this,” Perry suggested.

  “Wilson’s on his way here with the search warrant.”

  28

  Perry and Reeves arrived at the Church mansion with a search warrant and a few cops from the Chicago Police Department—the SBI had formed a task force with the Chicago Police Department. Perry rang the doorbell. When no one answered, he signaled for the CPD to go around to the back. He rang again. When there was no answer the second time, he looked for a spare key in the usual predictable places. When he didn’t find one, Reeves twisted the knob. It was unlocked, and they entered.

  Inside, they spread out. Perry shouted, “Mr. Church, this is Agent Chadwich with the SBI. We have a warrant to search your home, structures, and vehicles.” He didn’t hear a sound except for the slight rustle of his team moving abo
ut. Perry and Detective Wilson ascended the stairs, peering into the rooms as they proceeded down the hallway.

  When they reached the Church’s bedroom, Perry encountered Hill standing over Adam with a gun in his hand, his eyes glazed over.

  Detective Wilson shouted, “Drop the gun! Drop the gun!”

  Perry had drawn his gun as well. “Put the gun down slowly, Hill.”

  Hill, appearing dazed and confused, asked, “Perry, man, what the hell is going on?”

  “I was about to ask you the same thing—but first, I need you to put down the gun.”

  “Gun? What gun?” Hill extended his hand, and Detective Wilson unlocked the safety on his own gun and cocked it. Hill looked at his hand and realized he was brandishing a gun. Not sure how he got it, he set it down on the floor then raised his hands above his head. “What the hell’s going on?”

  Hill’s head was throbbing, his sight a little blurry. Then he saw Adam, lying lifelessly in a pool of blood.

  Perry stepped over the bodyguards’ and Adam’s bodies and handcuffed Hill. “What the hell are you doing here?” Perry whispered.

  Detective Wilson checked the pulse of the woman lying on the bed. “She’s dead. Looks like she was shot in the head and chest.”

  “What?” Hill said. He turned to look, but Perry hurriedly escorted him out of the room. Hill only got a glimpse of the body on the bed. “What happened to Cate?”

  “You killed her, man. Both of them. But why?” Perry asked.

  “I didn’t kill them.”

  “Don’t say anything else, man. Get yourself an attorney.”

  “Call Sam, will you?”

  Perry nodded as he eased Hill into the back of his car.

  29

  Hill sat in the room for hours, staring at the mirrored window which separated him from the observers on the other side. His half-lit cigar rested on the ashtray as he fidgeted with the lighter in his hand, first flicking the flame then closing the lid and repeating the process. Smoking wasn’t allowed, but no one stopped him. After all, he’d been in this room for several hours without food or water. The least he could do was have a smoke.

  After another thirty minutes passed, the third interrogator entered the room. This time, a woman. A redhead with glassy blue eyes. She approached the table, casually dropping a notepad and file folder on it as if she resented having to be in the same room with him. She dragged the heavy, steel-framed chair from under the table and crossed her legs when she sat down, sighing and opening the file folder all at the same time. She unbuttoned her sleeves and rolled each of them to above her elbows, ready to get down to business.

  Without looking at him, she began, “I’m Detective Balfour. I know Detectives Wilson and O’Neal have already questioned you, but I would like to go over everything with you one more time.”

  He nodded while she flipped through papers in the deceptively thick file folder. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small recorder, turned it on, and set it in the center of the table. She didn’t really need it. There were two cameras at varying angles recording everything said and done in that room. The mirrored glass? Nobody was behind it. As a matter of fact, the room on the other side was now a file storage room.

  “Please state your name for the record,” she said as she jotted something onto her notepad.

  “Hilton Parker,” he said, still flicking his lighter. “Most people call me Hill, and that’s what I prefer.”

  “Okay, Hill,” she said, finally making eye contact with him. “It says here,” she said, pointing to a piece of paper in the file folder and holding it up so that Hill could read along, “that you were a contractor at the Church residence.”

  “Yes, that’s right.” Hill set the lighter down on the table without breaking eye contact.

  “You were found in the decedents’ bedroom standing over the body of Adam Church wielding a gun?”

  “That’s right, except for the ‘wielding’ part.”

  “How’d it happen then?”

  She watched carefully as he squirmed in his seat, once again fidgeting with his lighter and nervously clearing his throat before answering. She wasn’t an intimidating woman. Her voice was fairly soft, and her demeanor amiable. But this was the third time he’d been asked the same questions. The first time, he had been interrogated by Detective Wilson, a burly older man with a lousy deportment. The second interrogator was a younger man, military type—disciplined, purposeful, clean-cut, fact-driven. Now he sat in front of a woman who seemed to know how to use her femininity to her advantage, when to dole it out and when to reel it in. Hill was no fool. He recognized their tactics. Nonetheless, he was uncomfortable and uncertain of what lay ahead.

  “Cate had. . .” He paused and shook his head slightly then corrected himself, “She had asked me to come over.” He hesitated again, considering whether he should elaborate. He noticed Detective Balfour writing notes with one hand and gently caressing her leg with the other. She remained silent as if waiting for him to continue. Hill picked up his cigar and began to light it.

  “Would you mind not lighting that?” she requested.

  Hill put the cigar down and placed his lighter next to the ashtray.

  “Thank you,” she said with a slight smile. She cleared her throat then dove into her next question. “Why would she ask you to come over, particularly at such a late hour?”

  That was a question that, under other circumstances, he’d have been happy to answer—even brag about. But now, he knew it would be used against him. He suspected that his answer would provide a motive for them to build a case against him. The way she posed the question, he knew exactly what she was going for, and he was determined not to take the bait.

  “I’ve answered all of these questions before, and I’m not answering another question without my attorney present,” he said, folding his arms across his chest.

  “Okay.” She put down her pen and began stacking all of her papers together in a pile. She closed her file folder and set her notepad on top. “Why don’t you do yourself a favor and just confess. Stop wasting everybody’s time.”

  Hill ignored her and just stared at the mirrored glass.

  “Do you know what’s interesting?” Detective Balfour waited for Hill to respond, but he didn’t. He just looked at her. “We heard from Caitlin’s attorney. She was very upset. She said Caitlin was frightened of you. Why?”

  This interrogation was maddening. Hill didn’t believe her and he wasn’t about to dignify that accusation with a response. Besides, he knew the interrogators tended to lie in order to get a reaction or glean more information. He wasn’t buying into it and remained quiet.

  She went on, “We found your phone in the Church’s bed. Someone called your phone repeatedly between nine-thirty and eleven. Guess what tower your calls hit? One in the area of the Church mansion. That means you had been there at least an hour and a half. What happened, Hill?”

  “I said I’m not answering anymore questions without my attorney,” Hill reiterated.

  “Just one more question, then I’m done.” Detective Balfour looked Hill squarely in his eyes, leaning in closely as she reached for the tape recorder, and asked, “So was it before or after you raped and murdered Caitlin Church that you killed Adam Church?”

  Hill pounded his fist on the table, stood up, and dove toward Detective Balfour, but she moved swiftly out of his reach. “I did not kill Adam! And I didn’t rape and murder Cate,” he shouted as he wiped the spittle from his mouth. His forehead perspired, and his respiration increased. He stumbled back into his chair, pounded his fist on the table again. “I loved her,” he said in a near whisper.

  “So you say.”

  Perry walked into the interview room. Detective Balfour leaned toward the table to grab the recorder she’d dropped when Hill had lunged for her. She turned off the recorder, briefly observing Hill.

  “Yes, I do say so. And did it ever occur to you that I might have been framed?”

  “Fram
ed? Who would want to frame you?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe one of Adam’s associates. His cronies or even a rival. You know his ilk. You tell me.”

  “Why would anyone want to frame you?”

  “I don’t know. All I know is I didn’t kill them.”

  “So you say.”

  “Yes, I say so . . . again.”

  Perry tapped the detective on her shoulder and motioned for her, in a friendly manner, to step out of the room. She nodded.

  Hill wiped the nervous perspiration from his forehead, not acknowledging Detective Balfour’s presence as she remained in the room, examining his behavior. After several seconds had passed, he heard her heels clicking against the tile floor as she moved towards the door. She looked back at him once more as he nervously lit his cigar, then walked out the door.

  Perry pulled up a chair, sat across from him, and said, “Samantha’s on her way.” He turned off the cameras and handed Hill the cell phone. “She wants you to call her.”

  Hill took the phone and called her.

  “Hill, what happened? Perry told me a little.”

  “I don’t know. I think I was drugged and framed.”

  “By who?”

  “I don’t know. Somebody who wanted Caitlin and Adam dead.”

  “Why were you there?”

  “Did you quit your job yet? I mean, are you still an assistant state’s attorney?”

  “I gave my notice, but yes, I’m still there wrapping up my cases. If you want me to represent you, I’ll talk to the SA about leaving immediately.”

  “I need you, Sam. I need you to represent me. I couldn’t ask for a better lawyer. But I don’t want to be responsible for you quitting your job. I can call Ken Logan. I’m sure my dad could convince him to represent me.”

  “I told you that Bill and I had already discussed my quitting. So I’ll talk to the SA. Let me do this for you, Hill. I want to help you.”