Compulsion (Max Revere Novels Book 2)

by Brennan, Allison

  “With the right questions.”

  “What cop?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Who’s been helping you? You couldn’t have been at that crime scene if you didn’t have someone on the inside.”

  “I’m not revealing my source, Richard.”

  “You think I can’t find out? There had to be at least a half-dozen cops and investigators out there. All I have to do is ask one, and they’ll tell me. I’m not going to get him in trouble—I need a cop with knowledge of the case to be in the interrogation room with Bachman.”

  He was right, on both counts.

  “It’s a her. Sally O’Hara. Detective out of Queens.”

  “O’Hara,” he mumbled. Recognition lit his eyes. He stared at her, surprised. “That O’Hara.”

  “She’s a good cop, Rich. Don’t burn her.”

  “That’s not me, Max. You should know that.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “No, no, no,” Ben said as they drove back to the studio. He was beginning to sound like a broken record.

  “The jury isn’t going to come back until Monday, Richard is pursuing the lead on the partner, and I need a break. I’m going to San Francisco.”

  “I need you here!”

  “Riley’s here. David’s here. You have a dozen staff members who’ll come in at a moment’s notice.”

  “You just came back from San Francisco.”

  “Six weeks ago. And I’ve been working twenty-four-seven ever since.” She hadn’t told him she’d snuck away for an overnight two weeks ago, and it was probably best not to mention it now.

  “You never complained about the hours before.”

  “And I’m not complaining about it now. Maybe I just want a weekend of sex.”

  “It’s that detective, isn’t it.”

  “So?”

  “You have boyfriends all over the country. You don’t have to fly three thousand miles away just to get laid.”

  Ben was making her angry. She didn’t appreciate her love life being used against her. “That’s low.”

  “I need you here.”

  “I need to get my head clear. I’ll be back Sunday night.”

  “You’re driving me to a heart attack.”

  “Stop being so damn melodramatic. I’ll be working. I’ll write on the plane. I’ll write from Nick’s bed. I’ll write from the pool if I have to.”

  “But you won’t be here. And what about the Oregon trip? You made a commitment to cover those kidnappings, and you don’t have as much time because of this trial, plus—”

  “Don’t tell me everything I have to do. I’ll do it, do it right, and do it on time. I want to see Nick, and I’m going.” Maybe she was being stubborn. Maybe she was being selfish. But it was only for a weekend. There was something niggling at her brain, an itch she couldn’t scratch, and her insomnia was worse than usual. If she could just clear her head maybe she could figure out what was bothering her.

  “You’d better answer your phone if I call.”

  “Anytime, day or night.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “It’s going to be fine.”

  Ben grunted and refused to look her in the eye.

  Their driver stopped outside the studio. “You coming up?” Max said.

  “No. I’m going to get drunk and be miserable because you’re leaving in the middle of a trial.”

  “You’re such a baby.”

  “Sunday night. I’m holding you to that.”

  She blew him a kiss and went into the building. The night guard nodded a greeting. “Good evening, Ms. Revere.”

  “Hi, Toby.” She used her card key to get through the security gate and into the elevator, which was locked at night.

  It was late, and she was tired, but she finished up the series of articles that would run on the Web site about the trial. Then she called Riley, filled her in on everything that had happened, and instructed her to handle any editing issues that came up on Friday.

  “You’re letting me touch your articles?”

  “Lightly. You have a good eye, so when the copy editor sends them back and the fact-checker is done, you give them the final once-over.”

  “Thanks for trusting me.”

  “You did a good job this week. Even David is less grumpy.”

  “Why doesn’t he like me, Max? I’m really trying—God, I sound like a whiny brat.”

  Max laughed. “Maybe you’re trying too hard. Part of it’s my fault. My previous assistants didn’t do any legwork. They stayed in the office and handled correspondence and technical issues. Answered my e-mail. Talked to people if necessary. But you have a different skill set, and Ben agreed to move things around so you could be in the field more. So far you haven’t disappointed me, though you could respond to my public e-mails faster.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To see a guy in California.”

  “Work?”

  “Play. Be good, Riley. We did well. If the D.A. handles this right, Bachman will flip on his partner.”

  “You should be here for that.”

  “I will be. It’s only a three-day weekend. Besides, I’m not a cop.” As her ex-boyfriend Marco told her repeatedly. “I find the evidence when the police don’t have the time or resources; get the scoop; expose injustice; and they get to arrest a bad guy. It works. But tomorrow, stick close to the studio. We ruffled a few feathers up at Greenhaven, and I don’t want you getting the heat.”

  “Did C. J. find Anna Hudson?”

  C. J. had sent her an e-mail before he’d left the studio with a status report. It wasn’t promising. “Not yet. It seems she doesn’t want to be found.”

  “Odd?”

  Max didn’t respond. She wasn’t sure. C. J. was good at his job, and if he couldn’t find her it made Max think she was hiding. But it might not have anything to do with Adam Bachman.

  Or it might have everything to do with him.

  Max said good-bye, hung up, and checked the time. It was only seven in California so she called Nick.

  “Santini.”

  “It’s Max.”

  “Did the verdict come in?”

  “No, but it won’t happen until Monday. I booked a flight for tomorrow.”

  “In the middle of the trial?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You sound like Ben.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong.” She paused. “The D.A. is considering my theory of a partner in crime, but there’s a whole bunch of little things nagging me and I need a break.”

  “What partner theory?” Nick asked sharply.

  Max bit the inside of her cheek. She hadn’t meant to let that slip to Nick, at least not until they were face-to-face.

  “It’s a theory I’ve been developing for a while.”

  “You didn’t tell me.”

  “David has been keeping a watchful eye on me, don’t worry.”

  “With you, I can’t help it.”

  She was getting uncomfortable with his tone. It wasn’t the angry overprotective rant that she often received from Marco. Nick’s genuine concern was far more subtle, but hit her harder with its tinge of emotion. Unlike Marco, she couldn’t tell Nick he was an egotistical prick and slam down the phone.

  “I’m being careful, sweetheart,” she said lightly. “I promise.”

  “Maybe it’s a good thing you’re coming out here for the weekend.”

  “Maybe it is,” she said with a smile. “I thought if I bring all my notes and theories, your gorgeous eyes and brilliant brain might see something I missed.”

  “It sounds like we’ll be having breakfast and dinner in bed.”

  “Even if I didn’t bring work with me, I’d expect that.”

  He laughed, genuine and full of good humor. Nick wasn’t a demonstrative person, and she enjoyed getting the piece of him that was. She didn’t know where this relationship was headed—they lived three thousand miles apart—but for now, it worked. In fact, it probably worked becaus
e they were three thousand miles apart.

  “I’ll be at SFO at two twenty tomorrow afternoon. I’m forwarding you the confirmation.”

  “I’ll pick you up.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I want to. Besides don’t they charge you ten times the going rate for car rentals?”

  “That hurts.”

  “It sounds like we don’t have a lot of time. Let me spend all of it with you.”

  “I’m not going to argue.”

  “That’s a first.”

  She smiled and hung up. Nick was … special. She wasn’t going to think too much about their new relationship because as far as relationships went, they’d always taken a backseat to her career.

  Career. It wasn’t a career, it was a vocation. She couldn’t not do what she did. She couldn’t stay home and raise a family; she couldn’t take a nine-to-five job. She didn’t want to. She had two nephews she adored, she considered David’s daughter Emma the little sister she’d never had, and she loved her career. She needed it. She could write, she could investigate, and she had instincts that were as good—or better—than any cop out there.

  That’s why Nick was good for her. He was divorced, had a son with his ex-wife, so there was no pressure for commitment or family. He’d been there, done that, and she was content with living three thousand miles away as they explored what it meant to be … whatever it was that they were.

  She called David. “I’m confirmed for San Francisco.”

  “Is Nick picking you up?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Just making sure you don’t need me with you.”

  “You’re not my chauffeur,” she grumbled.

  He grunted a laugh. “I’ll get you to the airport, then you’re Nick’s responsibility.”

  “That sounds insulting. Are you still in Queens?”

  “Yes—but I can leave and pick you up. Otherwise, your car service will be out front at eleven thirty.”

  “Stay with Sally. She needs a friend.”

  “She told me about Jane. You’ve been a good friend to her.”

  She shifted uncomfortably. The O’Hara family had been through so much, she wished she could have done more. But some things couldn’t be fixed with money or love. “It’s just part of the job.”

  “No, it’s not. She’s been drinking, I’m going to make sure she gets home safely. What time do you want to be picked up?”

  “Nine? Flight leaves at eleven out of LaGuardia. I’m not checking luggage.”

  “I’ll be there at quarter to. You cut things too close.”

  “Thanks, David.” She hung up and started organizing assignments so she could feel better about leaving.

  Shortly after eleven, Sally sent her a message that she’d talked to the Palazzolo family. Max called J. J. on his home phone. He answered on the first ring.

  “Detective O’Hara said she called you about your parents’ car,” she said.

  “Yes.” His voice was raw. “She also said if it weren’t for you, they may never have found it. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “I wish there had been a happier ending.”

  “You never said they were alive, Maxine. But now, they can come home. We can lay them to rest.” His voice cracked.

  “It’s late,” she said, the emotions of the evening catching up to her. “I’ll talk to you in a few days, see if there’s anything else I can do.”

  “And, Maxine, if there is anything my family can ever do for you, call.”

  * * *

  It was nearly thirty minutes later when she made it down to the lobby. She saw the black Town Car idling outside. “’Night, Toby.”

  “Take it easy, Ms. Revere.” He buzzed her out of the main doors. The night was beautiful, neither warm nor cold. It was a night like this she would have enjoyed walking the three miles to her Greenwich Street apartment. But it was after eleven thirty and having David in her life had made her more security conscious.

  The driver got out. Like all the drivers for her preferred car service, he wore a suit and cap. This guy was new. “Hi, I’m Maxine Revere. Do you need my address?”

  “No, ma’am, it’s in the log.” He opened the door for her. She slid in and leaned back. She was definitely too tired to walk home.

  He closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side.

  Normally, she’d make small talk—she liked talking to the drivers. They knew so much about the city that she found their insight and observations interesting. But all she could think about was sliding open the doors on her deck and slipping into her hot tub with a glass of wine and some cheese and crackers. Or maybe another martini—the two she had earlier had been tasty.

  She leaned back and closed her eyes.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Friday morning, David parked in the loading zone in front of Max’s apartment building because it was faster than circling the block and parking in the underground garage. He’d tried calling her ten minutes ago when he picked up the car. That she didn’t answer wasn’t unusual—especially since this trip to California was last minute—but she hadn’t sent him a message that she was coming down. He got out of the car and approached the doorman, Jorge.

  “Do you need something from Ms. Revere’s apartment?”

  “Ms. Revere,” David replied.

  Jorge frowned. “She’s not in.”

  David clicked his car to lock and went inside. Jorge was an old-time doorman. Max had lived in this building for nine years; Jorge had been here for thirty. He knew everything about everyone. If he said Max wasn’t home, she wasn’t home.

  “Is everything okay, Mr. Kane?”

  “I’m checking her apartment,” he said and punched the button for the elevator.

  “Can I call anyone?”

  “Call Henry and see when she came in last night.”

  “She didn’t, and she didn’t pick up her mail. But I’ll double-check,” he added quickly when he caught David’s eye.

  David didn’t like elevators. He wasn’t a fan of small, enclosed spaces, but Max lived on the top floor of a ten-story co-op on Greenwich Street in TriBeCa. Sometimes, he would walk it. Not today.

  Jorge worked from six in the morning until three thirty in the afternoon; Henry worked three thirty until one in the morning. Weekends were covered by a service from seven until seven at night. The lobby was locked and unattended for the remaining hours, but the security system was state of the art. David made sure the co-op board upgraded it when he started working for Max nearly two years ago. Max wasn’t the only at-risk resident.

  David immediately checked her door for signs of a break-in. Clean. He unlocked the door with his key and it opened, meaning she wasn’t home or had forgotten to engage the secondary security deadbolt—which was, unfortunately, her MO. No luggage by the door, no sound of running water from her shower, no sign that she’d been home at all.

  He checked the apartment, including closets and under beds. There was no sign of Max. Her favorite overnight bag was in her closet.

  David knew Max almost better than she knew herself. He didn’t need to make calls to know that something had happened to her. If she had a change in plans or went off on an investigative tangent—which she often did—she would have called him or sent him a message. They’d had too many bumps in the road when he first started working for her, and he required her to inform him of her whereabouts. Always. It had been hard for her initially—Max didn’t like answering to anyone. But she had a strong self-preservation instinct, and trusted David.

  He went through the motions because when he talked to the police, he needed to give them good information. He didn’t want them chasing their asses for facts David could easily, and quickly, verify.

  He logged on to her computer to check her flight status while he called Ben Lawson. There was a slim chance she had changed flights.

  But she would have told him.

  If she had changed her plans and not told him, he’d quit.


  “It’s Kane. When was the last time you spoke to Max?”

  “What?”

  “Max. Time.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Answer my question.”

  “Last night when I dropped her off at the studio.” Ben sounded confused. “She’s going on a trip, the most important case she’s worked on this year, and she just left for the weekend. Didn’t you drive her to the airport? Staff is going to be working all weekend in preparation for the presumed verdict on Monday, and—”

  “What time did she leave the studio?” David repeated.

  Ben hesitated. “Should I be worried?”

  “I don’t know.” He wanted to say yes. But sometimes Max was so focused on her job that she neglected to keep in touch.

  He didn’t feel this was one of those times. Especially since she had a flight. Especially when they had the conversation about what she would need to do to make him quit. She might forget to call in, but she always answered her phone.

  “Hold on. I’ll check the log.”

  David scanned her e-mails. She hadn’t been online since last night.

  Ben got back on the phone a minute later. “She left at eleven thirty-five. A car from her service picked her up.”

  “I scheduled it,” David said. “Ben, have someone check ERs. I’ll call you back when I know more.”

  Max’s flight schedule popped up on her computer. She was still booked on the 11:00 A.M. direct flight to SFO.

  It was possible, however unlikely, that she’d left on an earlier flight. Maybe forgot to tell him.

  David opened her e-mail and scanned the inbox for any alternate flight confirmations. Nothing except for the 11:00 A.M. United flight. No messages had been marked as read after she left the office last night. The last message was at 11:32 P.M., it was from Nick in response to her itinerary and it read that he’d pick her up at the airport as they’d discussed. She hadn’t responded. Not only had she not replied to Nick, she hadn’t read the message.