Taking a chance that Ellie would be at her computer, even after ten on a Friday night, he texted the GGPD tech guru and wasn’t surprised to get a response within seconds. Ellie worked more overtime than Clarke did, rarely seeing her boyfriend. It worked for the couple, though, since Mick Hanes worked ungodly hours, as well.
Clarke sent Ellie the three names he’d collected that evening, asking Ellie to work her magic and vet all three women, getting back to him as quickly as she could. Within half an hour she’d responded. Two of the women, including Annabelle Belinski, didn’t show up anywhere but normal information databases.
The third—Brenda Nolton, a local woman—had a record for fraud.
Finally, he had something to go on, something that made sense—someone with a criminal record. A woman wanted for fraud could have easily been involved with a cheating, in-love-with-himself, thirtysomething fitness guru, and it would make sense that she’d involved him in some scheme or vice versa. The venture might have gone wrong and she could have come after him. When he’d refused to make things right, what if she’d killed him? In rage or to get rid of him—either way, it made sense. And now maybe Brenda was after whatever she needed to get herself right with the venture gone wrong.
It was a solid theory. Something he could hang his hat on. Clarke took the stairs two at a time, slowing at the top only long enough to see that Everleigh’s light was still on.
With his hand down low on the door, he rapped with the knuckles. He didn’t want to startle her. Or command entrance, either.
“Yeah?” she called.
“You decent? I just got some information you might want to hear...” He had hope to offer her and knew how badly she needed some.
The lock on her door sounded—surprising him. She’d felt a need to enforce her privacy?
He took a step back.
The door opened.
And there she stood, looking like a dream he’d always wanted to have, blond hair tousled, ample breasts unfettered, and the rest of her pretty much a long, lean straight line, curves hidden within a pair of flannel pajamas.
Mouth open, he’d forgotten what he’d come to tell her.
* * *
She’d opened her door with one thought in mind...finding out what he knew. And in doing so opened a window to a whole new world. One where she was a free woman, not in prison, certainly, but not tied to anyone for anything.
And he was...just the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen up close.
A world where she was in her pajamas, bra off, getting ready for bed, and they were alone together in his home for the night.
Her boyfriend, as far as all of her friends and family thought. Already approved and accepted.
She could see in the window. Could feel herself in there.
Could feel a bubble encompassing them.
Wanted to just let it happen.
And said, “What did you find out?”
Her body parts were aching for him, though. And a quick glance down—she’d been a married woman for a lot of years—showed her that at least one of his body parts was reactive, as well.
“Fritz was involved with a woman named Brenda Nolton. You know her?”
She shook her head. You’d think hearing about her husband screwing around on her, having a name put to a phantom person she’d known about, but he’d never admit to her face, would be like a cold shower in her bubble moment.
To the contrary. Her composure only made her want to get hot and bothered even more.
“She’s from Grave Gulch,” he said, as though knowing where the woman lived would somehow make Everleigh remember her. His gaze had locked onto hers and she couldn’t make herself look away.
“I’ve never heard of her.” Didn’t want to know how Fritz had met her. When he’d seen her. How often. She just didn’t care anymore. That life was gone. She just wanted to find out if Brenda was the one after her. She’d moved so far beyond Fritz Emerson that she was beginning to wonder how she’d stayed married to him for so long.
And to wonder if Clarke would kiss her again.
Would she kiss him back if he did?
And that was it? He’d come to tell her the name of... Wait...
“Is she the one who’s after me?” she asked. “You think she broke into my house?”
He didn’t so much shake his head as just duck it to the side a little. He didn’t look away from her, either. If eyes could draw a soul out of a person, his might be doing it to her. She wasn’t letting it go. But she wasn’t stopping him from trying, either...
And then he blinked. And said, “I don’t know yet, but she’s at the top of my list. She’s got a record for fraud,” he said, going on to share his speculation about Brenda and Fritz. It made sense. Good sense.
Relief was heady, mixing in with the desire coursing through her. “Could this really be it?” she asked. Could they have found the culprit?
“It’s a solid lead.”
That was so Clarke. He wouldn’t lie to her. Wouldn’t get her hopes up too high, either, without the proof right in front of him.
And then she had another thought and came back to earth a tad. “If all that’s true, where do I fit in? Why would she want me dead?”
“If he’d told her he was divorced, that he was going to marry her, or even getting divorced, and still hadn’t filed the papers...that could be how he double-crossed her. This is a woman who served time in prison. She might be hardened. Got pissed. Lunged at him. And now the thought of you being free, the woman who came between her and her future...or, more likely, fearing that you’ll find whatever it is that she’s looking for in Fritz’s office...”
“Unless she found it tonight. Maybe it’s already over...”
Could it be that simple? Could she really be free?
Clarke took a step forward, his gaze suddenly changing from dark and intense to concerned. “Don’t get too far ahead of yourself,” he said. “She’s still on the loose. And she has it in for you. If it’s even her. It’s not over yet.” The warning in his tone was very clear. “I just wanted you to know that we’ve finally got something we can take a look at. I wanted you to know there’s hope...”
His words almost made her cry. And she would have, if not for the heat she could feel emanating from him, engaging emotions that were far from sad. But his knowing she was hanging on to hope, rushing up to give her a shot of it... In nearly twenty years, Fritz had never done anything so kind for her.
He reached out a hand, brushed at the hair at her temple, just off her left eye. “Get some rest,” he said, half turning toward the direction of his room.
If his hand hadn’t been holding her head, she’d have nodded. Turned away. But he was cupping her head. His thumb lightly rubbing her temple.
Her lips were too dry. She had to run her tongue across them. He leaned in, glancing down at the movement, and she leaned, too. Just a little bit. He leaned a little more. She reached her mouth out, and he captured it. Touching gently for the first second.
And in the next, he was devouring her. Kissing hungrily. Wetly. Using his tongue in ways that sent spirals of tension to her nipples, her groin. And he wasn’t the only one being aggressive. Her lips seemed to be moving in ways she’d never moved them before. Sucking at his lips. Pressing against him. Showing him what she needed.
He groaned, took a step closer...and she backed up. Just as he dropped his hand away from her.
What in the hell were they doing?
Mouth still open, her emotions raw, she looked up at him. His eyes as intent as ever, he stared down into hers. “I have no explanation for that.” His tone was deeper, his breathing slightly ragged.
“None needed,” she told him, backing into her room and fumbling against the handle, closing the door between them.
And for the rest of the night, every time she woke up, all sh
e could see was the unnerved look in his eyes as he’d stood there, completely still, while she’d shut him out.
Chapter 13
Clarke slept, but not as much as he had the night before. And only after a very long cold shower. After the third time waking up with a hard-on, he got up, made himself some coffee and got to work. He couldn’t very well have someone go calling on Brenda Nolton at four in the morning, not without some evidence. He’d already sent an email to a colleague and fellow PI, a distant family member in Grand Rapids. Because all of the GGPD were so involved with everything going on locally, hunting a serial killer and a rogue CSI tech, he asked his relative to find out whatever he could on Annabelle Belinski, the only nonlocal woman on his list. First and foremost, if she’d been home over the past two days. Finding out if she had an alibi. Ellie was already checking on a warrant for Brenda Nolton’s cell phone and credit-card records. And he sent a message to Melissa, too, keeping her apprised of what he’d done and asking for someone to just check out the alibi of the third woman on the list he’d sent to Ellie.
And then he dived into the other aspect of the case that was bothering him—why Randall Bowe had singled out Everleigh. What did she have in common, if anything, with the other cases they knew for certain the forensic scientist had manipulated?
He didn’t think the current threat against Everleigh’s life had anything to do with Bowe’s interest in her case, but until he knew for sure, he wasn’t going to rest easy, either.
He had access to all of Bowe’s files and spent the next couple of hours poring over them—looking not at the evidence this time, but at the people wrongly convicted and now on trial. His first times through, he’d paid attention only to the evidence. To the proof that had been manipulated. Looking for some connection there. This time, he put all of that aside and just studied the people. Did a little techie work himself and looked up everything he could find on Drew Orr. Orr had been a former business associate of Melissa’s new fiancé, hotelier Antonio Ruiz, before Orr had confessed to murdering his cheating girlfriend. But somehow the GGPD hadn’t found enough evidence to convict Orr. Bowe had apparently made sure the evidence against him disappeared. That was before Orr came after Melissa, who’d had to shoot him to save her own life.
Then there was their new suspect, Len Davison. That man’s file noted that, according to friends, neighbors and his daughter, he’d been a loving husband of almost thirty years, bringing his wife flowers every single Friday night after work. And he’d seen his wife through her terminal illness from cancer the previous year. He’d seemed the epitome of a loyal, faithful man. But the evidence had been irrefutable, hairs found at the scene giving them DNA evidence that had proved the killer to be Davison. In spite of that, Tatiana Davison, the man’s daughter, had claimed Len was a loving spouse. A doting dad. And when the forensic evidence against him disappeared, he had to be set free.
Clarke looked at the victims of Bowe’s crimes, too. The first, a cheating girlfriend. The perp went free. The second, a man walking his dog. No known motive for the killing. But the perp, a loyal husband and father, went free. The third—Everleigh’s case. A cheating husband had claimed his wife had been the one stepping out on him, and evidence was fabricated to make the supposed cheating wife look guilty for a crime she didn’t commit. She’d been charged and had gone to prison to await a trial that would have been a slam dunk if not for a courageous grandmother who’d given up her own future to have her granddaughter’s innocence proved—something Bowe couldn’t possibly have foreseen.
So, was Bowe behind the attack on Everleigh? Was he furious that his work had been undone and she was free?
But why ransack her house?
Why risk getting caught, now that he knew he’d been found out, by coming back to town?
It didn’t make sense.
And didn’t answer who’d really killed Fritz Emerson. It was much more likely that person knew that something was in Fritz’s home, or suspected strongly that it was, and that Everleigh being free was putting her in the way of the perp getting it.
Besides, the forensic scientist wasn’t a killer. He was an avenger of some sort...
But what did he have to avenge?
Clarke knew Bowe...couldn’t think of anything that stood out in the man’s personal life. He was married. Had been for a long time...
Longtime marriages. Cheating spouses. It wasn’t about the crimes, for Bowe; it was about the people on trial. Could it be that infidelity was what drove the scientist?
Whether Clarke knew the motive or not, Bowe was already proved to have been the one to manipulate evidence in at least three cases.
He glanced at his watch. Six in the morning. With a softly muttered “to hell with it,” he picked up his phone and dialed his sister.
And after a few words with her, he waited while she dialed in Troy.
“We’ve got the motive,” Melissa said when Clarke had finished telling them what he’d figured out. That Randall Bowe fixed cases to make certain that allegedly cheating spouses paid. And those who’d been cheated on went free. Except he’d gotten it wrong with Everleigh—she’d been the victim, not Fritz.
He was defending marital fidelity and making those guilty of infidelity pay.
Bowe had set himself up not only as jury and judge, but as God. Clarke wanted to kick the man into the next country and beyond.
“We’ve had officers canvassing various areas for Davison’s daughter, Tatiana, in case she’s come back from Paris,” Troy offered.
Davison was gone. His daughter was gone. And Bowe was responsible for another killer being free.
“Get Stanton back over here and I’ll go see Bowe’s wife,” Clarke said. “I’ll see if she knows anything that could have triggered his obsession. And maybe get her to tell me something she won’t tell detectives.” It had worked for them in the past. And they needed Troy to stay on finding Bowe. And other GGPD manpower hunting for Len Davison. Those left were for him to put to use on the street for tracking down leads on Everleigh’s attacker.
“You can call Stanton,” Melissa told him.
“He’ll listen better to you.” He didn’t have time to argue with her and hung up as soon as he’d said the words.
He’d heard movement upstairs.
Everleigh was awake.
* * *
In black jeans, a purple sweater, her boots and purple drop earrings, Everleigh barreled down the stairs. As soon as she’d hung up the phone from her daily morning check on her grandmother, she’d showered in record time and was heading out. Gram wasn’t feeling well.
Clarke was up already—good. She hadn’t known. “I have to get to the prison,” she said. “To see Gram.”
“Visiting hours don’t start for another three hours.”
“Yeah. I just wanted you to know I’m going. If you can’t take me, fine. I’ll call a cab.” She could afford it. With Fritz’s money due to hit her account within the week, she’d be fine for a good long while.
Her energy level was off the charts. Prompted by nerves. Worry.
And that thing she had to talk to him about.
He was in jeans again, too. A lighter blue, faded pair. With a dark green pullover shirt. His light brown, slightly ruffled hair, the look in his eyes, just made the whole picture of him look far too good.
She needed breakfast.
And to confront what had happened the night before. Things were escalating so far out of control, she wasn’t sure how to live in her own skin.
“I’ll take you,” he said. “And was thinking... I have a stop to make, too. I’ve already arranged for my brother to come here, but it might be good if you came with me. If you’d like to help with the case a little bit.”
Wary, she wrapped her arms around her middle, needing coffee. Of course she wanted to help. Wanted to do anything she could do. But why was he acting as though no
thing had happened in the hallway upstairs? Did he think they could just pretend it hadn’t?
Could she do that? The idea wasn’t horrid, allowing, as it did, the opportunity to avoid the difficult and awkward conversation she’d envisioned when she’d come down.
“Where are you going?”
“To see Randall Bowe’s wife. I think I’ve found the connection between you and the other people who were recipients of his manipulation.” He told her about his theory of Bowe supporting those who’d been victims of infidelity and punishing those who’d seemingly committed adultery. “He just got it wrong with you, that’s all—since you were faithful and Fritz wasn’t. His wife may be able to give us some insight as to his obsession. The police questioned her when he first went missing, but she was too upset to give them much of anything. Troy is hunting Bowe and I offered to follow up on this end.”
“You want me to go with you to question the wife of the man who put me in prison?”
His gaze pointed, he didn’t back off at all. “I want you to have the opportunity to be involved, if you want to be.”
What type of man was Clarke? Seeming to be able to look inside her, see what she most needed, and then be willing to give it to her?
If she wasn’t standing there living and breathing it, she wouldn’t believe the past forty-eight hours had even happened. It had been easier to comprehend her butt in a prison cell than to wrap her mind around Clarke Colton.
“You know I want to be,” she answered him quietly. “Thank you.”
He nodded. Told her they’d leave at nine thirty, turned as though to head back to his office, and she said, “Gram’s sick.”
Swinging back immediately, he asked, “What’s wrong with her?”
Colton's Killer Pursuit Page 13