Colton's Killer Pursuit

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  “I think the deal is there waiting,” Clarke said softly. “I think any attorney could get it for her. She just needs to ask for it.”

  He’d already talked to whomever he needed to talk to. He’d already done her the favor.

  Before she’d slept with him.

  Did he have to be so darn...everything? Kind. Protective. Honest. Sexy. Fabulous in bed. The man was going to steal her heart whether it was good for her or not.

  But she wouldn’t let him keep it.

  Unlike Fritz, Clarke had been honest with her about what he did and didn’t want.

  He’d told her from the beginning of their acquaintance that he was a man who didn’t want monogamous commitment.

  One time down the relationship road with a man who wasn’t interested in lifelong fidelity was enough for her.

  Chapter 18

  Clarke finished checking the bottoms of all the furniture. He’d seen them used to stash drugs, mostly, but hidden space was hidden space. Especially pieces like the small leather couch in Fritz’s study—the kind with lining stapled across the bottom, hiding the under workings of wood and screws. He was careful about removing staples; he wasn’t out to ruin what had become Everleigh’s property, but he carefully checked the full underside of the couch.

  And found nothing.

  Until he righted the heavy piece of furniture, dislodging a cushion in the process, and an empty condom wrapper fell to the floor. His first instinct was to snap it up and out of sight before Everleigh noticed. Which was ridiculous. They were there with the express purpose of finding the identity of any of Fritz’s unknown mistresses. Evidence that he’d had sex on a couch in a room she didn’t frequent should be good news, from an investigative standpoint. If any of the man’s lovers had been there...it made his theory stronger.

  And Everleigh was standing close, helping him right the couch. She’d seen the wrapper fall just as he had.

  When she bent to pick it up, he cried out a quick “Don’t!” And then added, “We’ll want it tested for fingerprints.”

  She nodded. Stepped around the wrapper to right the cushion.

  “It could be from the day he was killed,” Clarke continued because he couldn’t just leave her alone with whatever thoughts might be torturing her. Maybe he couldn’t make things better for her, but she didn’t have to endure them all alone.

  “Could be they had sex, something went wrong, and she grabbed the paperweight in a fit of passion...”

  “It always sat right there on that table,” she said, nodding toward the end table right next to him. Not two feet from the condom wrapper.

  “You said the other day that, while Fritz had seen an attorney and talked to you about divorce, he hadn’t actually filed yet. That he’d been complaining about the paperwork involved...”

  “Yeah, and maybe one of his girlfriends wasn’t happy about the fact that he wasn’t getting the divorce he’d said he would.”

  They were looking at each other fully for the first time since they’d made love. Thinking together. More energized, he didn’t look away. “So, what if she thought there were divorce papers here? What if she figured she could present them to a court, and without you here to argue otherwise, she could have you removed as his heir, because if the divorce had gone through, you would no longer get everything?”

  “It makes sense, I guess.” She was frowning, but more like she was deep in thought, rather than feeling doubtful. “If she didn’t know a lot about the law. His will is the defining document and that hasn’t been changed. I’m sure it would have been in the divorce, as part of the agreement, but it hadn’t been yet. Nothing had changed. Other than him moving out.”

  “And still coming home every day to work,” Clarke added. “We’ve seen his apartment...”

  “It was more like a generic hotel room.” She finished his thought.

  “He was sleeping elsewhere, but he hadn’t really left home.” They were on to something. He knew it. Asked her for a small food storage bag and used the inside of it as a shield for his fingers as he grabbed the condom wrapper and zipped it up.

  “Maybe he told her that the papers included new will instructions,” she said.

  “Or maybe she’s looking for the will, to destroy it.”

  He’d moved away from her. He’d had to. Something was happening between them again and he wasn’t going to let them fall back into that place where they did things that could lead to a future between them.

  He removed pictures from the wall, systematically, one at a time, looking at the backs of them for anything that might be attached there, tapped on the walls behind them, checking for hollow parts that could designate access to hidden storage, while Everleigh started going through every tablet of paper, every business card, everything on Fritz’s desk and in his drawers.

  Maybe the lover had found things that would have revealed her identity, maybe she’d removed them, but that didn’t mean the perp hadn’t missed something. She’d have no way of knowing what random note Fritz might have made of an upcoming get-together or hotel reservation. What business card he might have pocketed and then kept.

  They worked silently again. But more in unison than before, rather than the adversaries they’d seemed to be since they’d come back in contact that morning. She’d given him no sign that she wanted more than they’d agreed was between them. She appeared solely focused on the work in front of her.

  That peeved him some, too, which made absolutely no sense. He’d never, ever, ever cared if a woman moved on. Which was part of the reason he knew for certain that he wasn’t meant to be in a permanent relationship. He was always just one step away from the next brief time of sharing that would come.

  No strings attached. Because after that first rush, the weeks or months of the love-getting-to-know-you-and-how-great-is-this time, expectations and then failed expectations leading to disappointments would follow. And that was what he avoided at all costs now. It used to be that he avoided being tied down.

  He’d spent too many years living with the disappointments of the family he was already attached to. He’d seemingly been the only one to inherit his mother’s artistic gene—unable to stay within the lines, to follow all the rules, because he’d seen life as a creative adventure more than a rigid plan. He was who he was, and he wasn’t siccing that on anyone who wasn’t already bound to him by biology.

  He’d searched all wall hangings, behind them, above and below them, between them...and nothing. It was getting to the point where he might have to accept that either the killer had found what she was looking for—unless it was the used condom wrapper—or it hadn’t been there to begin with. Pushing aside a credenza that Everleigh had already been through twice, he was surprised to notice how easily the heavy piece slid. And noticed the wheels at the bottom, attached to the inner part of the piece, embedded so that, hidden behind the legs, they didn’t show.

  Heart pounding, he tapped the wall behind it, but saw the slight line in the paneling that told him he’d finally found something of interest. There might not be anything there but a broken piece of paneling, a bad fix job, concealed behind a piece of furniture, but...

  “You know of any damage to this wall?” he asked from halfway behind the credenza.

  “No.” Everleigh left the last of the cupboards and came over, watching as he tapped along the wall. Middle first, then top. Nothing.

  The line had been right in the middle, right on a stud.

  So, nothing again?

  Kneeling, he checked the wall toward the floor and...

  “What was that?” Everleigh came closer, squeezing in behind the credenza enough to see what he’d touched. “It sounded different.”

  “It’s hollow behind here.” He was already running his fingers over the paneling, looking for something out of place, an indentation or raised piece, anything to push or grasp, when he
leaned against the wall with his hand as he shifted weight to move down a bit. Clarke practically fell as a spring engaged and the piece of paneling he’d been leaning against sprang open.

  “Oh, my God!” Leaning over his shoulder, Everleigh watched as he removed the piece of paneling, revealing a small safe nestled in between two-by-fours.

  “That definitely was not there when we bought this house,” she said.

  “You didn’t know it was here?” He was working. He had to confirm.

  “Of course I didn’t.” He could feel her breath on the back of his neck, wanted to wrap his arms around her like a shield and run with her until she was far away from the room. The house. The life she’d been living with a man she hadn’t really known at all.

  Instead, he stood, moved the credenza out of the way so that both of them had plenty of room in front of the hole in the wall, and knelt back down to the safe. “It’s a combination lock, not keyed,” he said. “You got any ideas what numbers he’d have chosen?”

  She listed his birthday. Hers. The lotto numbers he always played. Nothing, nothing and nothing. He asked her for passwords he might have used that had numbers in them. Tried house and gym addresses.

  “Try our anniversary,” Everleigh said, standing in front of the safe, but off to the left of him. She gave him the numbers. He scrolled, turned back and scrolled the opposite direction, and then forward again. Freezing when he heard the click.

  “That’s it,” he said, surprised. Why his anniversary? Unless, on some level, the marriage had meant something to Fritz after all. Considering that Everleigh had been the guy’s wife, it made sense that the union would matter. Even if he was a cheat. Clarke pulled on the black knob to open the safe. And pulled out a sheaf of papers. Standing, he moved to the desk with them, Everleigh right beside him, and they pored over them together. Copies of the wills Everleigh had mentioned. A deed to the building downtown. His birth certificate. And some life-insurance papers...

  “Wait...” Her tone had changed, grown sharper than he’d ever heard it. His gaze flew to her face and he saw the color leaving hers. The way her cheeks sucked in with tension as she gasped. And words stumbled out of her. “This is the insurance he uses... This looks like...the policy, but...this sheet on top...the beneficiary page...it’s not me...”

  She sounded...lost. Completely confused.

  And...frightened?

  Reading over her shoulder, he saw the beneficiary name.

  Larissa Mead? “Isn’t that your friend from the bar?” he asked, all senses on alert as he realized that they’d found what they’d been looking for.

  * * *

  She couldn’t believe it. She was reading the document that would make Larissa the beneficiary of Fritz’s life insurance and couldn’t believe it.

  Larissa?

  That woman had just offered to have Everleigh stay with her. What, so she could murder her in her sleep?

  Larissa was her friend. One of the few people she’d still trusted...

  God, what a fool she’d been. Fritz and Larissa?

  And he’d had the gall to accuse her of flirting with customers at the bar?

  Fritz and Larissa? Had the two of them laughed together at how easily she’d been duped?

  And Clarke...what must he be thinking...

  “It’s not signed,” he said from just beyond her shoulder. If she’d leaned back, she’d have been touching him, body to body.

  For a second there, she almost did it. Just let herself fall back into him. For a second there, she didn’t think she had the energy to fight anymore.

  To take any more.

  But...what? She glanced at the signature line. He was right; Fritz hadn’t signed it. And when she looked more closely... “It’s not even the right policy number,” she said.

  “He never signed it. He never sent it in. He had it locked in his safe. This is what she was looking for. You’re due to get your money on Tuesday. Fritz must have told her about this. She’d either thought the papers were signed or she’d forged them. She needed you dead in case she didn’t find the papers in time...”

  Larissa? She’d stood with her just two nights before in her own mother’s house. Spilling her heart out. Accepting her compassion. All those months she’d worked with her, thinking Larissa had her back. When she’d been screwing her husband behind it...

  “Why would she warn me to leave town?” Everleigh asked, because she had to try to process, because something needed to be said.

  But before Clarke answered her, she heard a click, felt Clarke stiffen sharply behind her as his hand jerked to the gun at his waist.

  But it was too late.

  Larissa had beat him to the punch.

  “Reach for the gun and she’s dead.”

  All in black, she was standing at the entrance to the den, a gun held steady in front of her, pointed straight at Everleigh’s chest.

  * * *

  “Why do I want you to leave town?” her former friend said, her tone eerily calm as she took a menacing step into the room.

  Clarke calculated distance and movement time to the second. The time it would take a bullet to reach from the door to Everleigh’s body. The time it would take him to shove her out of the way and take the bullet himself.

  Too close to call.

  “I gave you a chance to live,” she said. “After I saw you...all you had to do was leave. Start a new life. Never come back. It’s not like you had anything left here. You made that clear. All you had to do was leave.” Her voice rose and Clarke moved the few inches he thought he could get away with, putting him that much closer to getting himself in front of the bullet.

  “But no, you couldn’t even do that right, could you?” Larissa screeched. “You’re pathetic, you know that?”

  He gritted his teeth. Engaging with her, taking her on, might be what every fiber of his being was urging him to do, but it would make the situation worse. Her eyes glazed with inhuman hatred.

  “I’ve got a key, you know,” she hissed, taking another step forward, shortening the bullet’s trajectory. He’d have to shove Everleigh, grab his gun and shoot, all within less than a second. Behind the desk, out of the sick woman’s sight, he pressed his hand against the back of Everleigh’s thigh. Reminding her she wasn’t alone. That he was there.

  Warning her to be ready for whatever he might do.

  “I broke in a window to make it look good once, but I’ve been able to waltz in and out of here anytime I wanted...”

  Good, keep her talking. Gave him time to get his fingers up to the butt of his gun. To get an elbow a little closer in front of Everleigh.

  “Why?” Everleigh asked, as though she’d read his mind. He believed her bewilderment. Her pain.

  Larissa seemed to as well, and to revel in it. “We were in love,” she shouted, a wicked smile on her face.

  “When did that happen?”

  “Months ago. He came to see you one night, but you were in the back, helping clean up a keg mess, and we got to talking.”

  “So our friendship was nothing but a sham? You’ve been betraying me all along?”

  “Not at first, but after I met Fritz... You know how he was...so captivating... You have to put him first...”

  “You could have told me. If I’d known, any of it, I wouldn’t have stood in your way.”

  “He wanted to keep our relationship hidden until the divorce was final, because of his parents, so they’d like me. I told him that was fine as long as he proved his love to me by making me the beneficiary of his life insurance. If you’d just left town, I’d have had time to find the papers, to turn them in, and have the money moved to my account...” She faltered for a second, a sign of weakness that gave Clarke hope, as though there was something human left inside her.

  “I meant, why did you kill him if you loved him?” Everleigh said, her
tone flat, as though the two women were having an emotional discussion over a cup of tea. Or she was knowingly giving Clarke time to keep her alive.

  “Because he had sex with me right there on that couch.” She waved the gun slightly toward the sofa, and Clarke used the second to position himself more than halfway in front of Everleigh. “And then...” Larissa moved, too, advancing, and stepping to the right so that the top half of Everleigh’s body was within her range again. “Then he tried to dump me!” Her voice rose, in volume and decibel. “Said he was going to try to get back with you! His family wasn’t happy about him leaving you. In spite of everything, they really liked you...”

  “It wouldn’t have happened, me getting back together with him.” Everleigh’s tone was quiet. Controlled. Even...soothing. As though she’d talked down maniacs pointing guns at her before. “He cheated on me. I was done.”

  “That’s what you say now...but then...ha!” She advanced another step, spewing spittle. “It was ironic, really, poetic justice when you were arrested for the murder. And then...sweet, little you...you get out. When I saw you in the grocery-store parking lot, I was so pissed I’d have shot you then if I’d had a gun. If he hadn’t been there to save your ass, I’d have killed you then and there. Instead, I met up with a friend and got me a gun. I’ve gone through this house, getting rid of anything that could possibly lead the police to me, and now, thanks to you two, I’ll have my beneficiary papers, too.”

  “They aren’t even signed.”

  “Fritz might not have signed them, but you really think a little thing like forgery is going to stop me now?”

  “That form is as worthless as Fritz was.” Everleigh’s tone was surprisingly calm, compassionate even, as she delivered the news. “It has a bogus account number. He did you wrong, just like he did me and probably a dozen or more other women. But you don’t need to make this worse,” she said. “You really think you’re going to kill me and the brother of the police chief and get away with it?” Everleigh asked. “Think about it, Larissa. You know it’s not going to happen that way...”