by Regan Black
She ignored him, addressing Officer Jeffries. “I didn’t touch anything other than the light switch and my door.”
“Good.” Jeffries used her radio to request a team to process the scene for evidence.
“Is there a neighbor you can stay with while we clear the home?” Simmons asked Pippa.
She shook her head, her lips a firm line. “I’ll wait right here.”
At Jeffries’s pained expression, Emmanuel insisted they step out into the hallway.
Daniel pulled his gun and followed Simmons and Jeffries. It was unlikely the intruder was lingering even if they had been in the condo when Pippa walked in. Still, they needed to find the point of entry. Normally, he’d knock on doors, but he didn’t want to leave her alone. And he sure didn’t want her to join him in that endeavor.
“I know Griffin sent you,” she said in icy tones. “He overstepped.”
“He’s just—”
She cut him off with a sharp look from those green eyes. “It might be best if I work with the other officers.”
Before he could comment, the officers called an all clear, and she darted inside. He never expected everyone to like him, but her clear distaste was grating on his nerves. If this was about Wentworth, he’d only been doing his job. Like it or not, the case had been straightforward, and they’d left no stone unturned.
“Over here,” Daniel called out. “We have a print.”
They followed his voice to the back door of the condo.
“Whoever it was came in right here.” He pointed to a boot print far too big for Pippa. “A man, most likely. Used a key. Judging by the scratches, I’m guessing it gave them some trouble. Or they were nervous. Simmons is looking for a trail or anything that might identify the perp,” Daniel continued. He returned his gun to the holster on his hip and pulled out his phone. “I’ll try to get ahold of any surveillance in the area.”
Emmanuel’s mind wandered, and he was distracted by her small foot tucked into a stylish black shoe with a low heel. In the charcoal slacks and soft blouse, she dressed like a lawyer with a superb sense of style. He supposed it was a type of armor, like his badge, but the shadows deepening under her eyes concerned him that she couldn’t hang on to the facade much longer.
“All right,” Pippa prompted. “What next?”
“Is anything obvious missing?”
Pippa scanned the room. “Nothing obvious, no.”
“I’m going to speak with your neighbors,” Jeffries stated. “Detective Iglesias will take over and stay while the technicians do their thing. When they’re done, you can take a closer look. We’ll be as efficient as possible,” she promised.
Although he appreciated having an official reason to stick around, he could tell Pippa wasn’t happy about it.
Emmanuel cleared his throat. She shot him a look that could have melted concrete block, confirming her low opinion of how things were working out. Crouching for a closer look at the lock, he asked, “Who has access here?”
“It’s the service hallway.” She spoke with deliberate emphasis on each syllable. “Anyone with trash going out or large deliveries coming in would be back here. If a concern is outside of building maintenance, most service men and women use this access too.”
“Who has keys to your door?”
She closed her eyes for a moment, clearly struggling to hold on to that rigid composure. “There are only two keys. The maintenance staff has one, and I have the other. They send me text messages in the building app to schedule appointments or to let me know when they need to come inside.”
Standing, he scowled at the footprint and took a picture. “After you.” He gestured for her to lead the way back into the condo.
“Will the CSI team need to go through my entire place?”
“Wouldn’t hurt,” he said. “Is there somewhere you can wait or even stay over tonight?”
She set her coat and briefcase on the peninsula countertop in the kitchen. “I’m not leaving.”
Emmanuel recognized that arguing was futile at the moment. He walked away from her to gather his thoughts and take pictures of the scene with his cell phone. The candid shots gave him perspective to use as they worked a case.
She trailed after him this time, documenting the damages herself until Jeffries and Simmons returned to finalize their report. Emmanuel just listened, considering what he would ask about when they were alone.
And they would be alone, because he wasn’t going anywhere tonight. Griffin would kill him if he left her here by herself. Frankly, as he walked through the scene, Emmanuel’s concerns multiplied.
The crime scene unit arrived and went straight to work. While they gathered any available evidence, Emmanuel called one of his cousins to change the lock on the back door. He wasn’t sure if Pippa was relieved or frustrated that her sister Sadie, a CSI with the department, wasn’t on duty. It would have been a conflict of interest, anyway. For that matter, where were the rest of her siblings? He’d been told time and again the family was close.
If this had happened to one of his sisters, he’d be here in the thick of it, officially or not.
He was about to call Griffin with an update when Daniel returned. He could tell by his partner’s face they hadn’t had any luck finding tracks or a witness.
“Whoever did this didn’t leave a trail,” Daniel said. “Ready to call it a night? We have two cold burgers waiting for us downstairs.”
Emmanuel ignored his rumbling stomach. “Can you catch a ride with Simmons and Jeffries?” he asked quietly.
Daniel’s eyebrows shot up toward his hairline. “Seriously? That’s fast work. I got the impression she didn’t like you much.”
“She doesn’t like me at all,” Emmanuel said. As Wentworth’s new attorney, she probably thought she had good reason. “Regardless, I’m sticking around until the place is secure.”
“She’s staying here?” At Emmanuel’s nod, Daniel whistled softly. “Stubborn and cute is a bad combination.”
Just as he’d thought, the teasing had begun. “Shut up, Gomez. It’s not like that.” Besides, cute didn’t fit Pippa at all. Sophisticated. Smart. Lovely. And a tendency to make cutting remarks, at least when she interacted with him.
Daniel grinned, unrepentant. “Good luck. I’ll get the paperwork rolling.”
“Great. See you in the morning.”
He closed the front door behind his partner and prepared for a series of awkward conversations. Griffin would be hot about the trouble here but grateful Emmanuel planned to stay over and keep things under control. Pippa would likely be equally furious that he’d called her brother without discussing it with her. And he was pretty sure she’d post a strong argument against his plan to sleep on her couch.
He looked at the couch, with its torn-up cushions, and decided he’d sleep better on her floor. Smiling to himself, he thought she might agree with that idea.
Chapter 3
Progress, the man thought as he continued his disposal of anything that could tie him to Philippa Colton’s sleek condo. No wonder the Wentworth bitch hired her to try to flip the unanimous decision of a good jury. They were two of a kind.
How did the daughter of a top DA wind up defending arrogant killers? Good thing Graham Colton hadn’t lived long enough to see this. Her father would’ve been heartbroken.
He hadn’t meant to do more than search for her case notes and leave her that message to scare her off. But he’d unloaded a few frustrations in the midst of his search.
The call from the guard out at the prison had come at the perfect time, helping him focus on the first priority: sidelining the misguided lawyer.
Unless there’d been trouble on the highway, she should’ve found the mess he’d made by now, but he kept the radio off. That way he wouldn’t have to worry about being surprised when they talked about this at the station.
&
nbsp; And they’d talk. There was always plenty of gossip when the upper crust of society was involved.
Overall, he was pleased with how today’s effort would shake out. By the time the cops got to looking, all of the evidence of his visit would be destroyed or disposed of in areas no one would connect to him or her.
The gloves he’d worn to keep from staining his hands with paint were stuffed in his pocket, inside out, until he could drop them in a public restroom well away from the scene. He’d wiped down the can of spray paint, too, tossing that into a big garbage can behind a community theater several miles from her fancy address. The service coveralls were generic enough and already deep in the collection box for a local charity group. Although he was in his own car, he wasn’t worried about being spotted or identified. He had friends all over Grand Rapids, in law enforcement and in various communities. He had the friends that came along with years of public service.
He’d worked his butt off to build his stellar reputation. Sure, there had been a misstep here and there, but no serious blemishes on his record. Nothing actionable. He’d keep it that way. No lawyer with uppity artwork and impossible idealism would trash his reputation.
After nearly three decades of solving crimes, he knew how to commit most of them. More important, he knew how to avoid getting caught.
When he’d heard that Wentworth had some eager new lawyer trying to overturn her conviction, he’d experienced a blinding panic. But that had been a clean case from start to finish. Anna Wentworth wasn’t 100 percent guilty of killing Hicks, but she sure as hell wasn’t innocent. Behind bars was the best place for her. Everyone involved knew it. Hell, everyone who’d ever met her knew it.
He hadn’t expected anyone to raise much of a ruckus. Standard appeals, nothing more. Wentworth had money, but few friends. Throughout the case, it felt like everyone in Grand Rapids wanted to share their story of the woman’s rude behavior. No one had any doubt she’d been hiding murderous tendencies behind her charitable fundraising and flashy jewelry.
If only the woman’s daughter had shut her trap, things might’ve blown over after the verdict. If only. Unfortunately, the daughter had hired Philippa Colton, vowing that the real killer would be found, true justice served.
What the hell did she think he and the rest of the cops in this city did all day, eat doughnuts?
He and his fellow GRPD officers weren’t bumbling hacks. He wore a sergeant’s stripes and had received commendations for various actions in the line of duty. Neither he nor anyone in the department deserved the glare of media scrutiny they were under now.
Hiding an annoyance that edged toward anger, he’d been cautious, careful not to overreact and draw unwanted attention. No one was happy with the wrongful conviction rhetoric, and he kept his trap shut, letting the chatter flow around him.
Waiting, watching, he mentally lined up his moves to prepare for the worst if the new lawyer convinced a judge to reopen the case. An appeal was one thing, with all the legal posturing and arguments. What the new lawyer proposed was entirely different.
The Wentworth conviction was rock-solid from the detectives arriving on the scene to the testimony given in court. He smiled now, just thinking back to Detective Iglesias on the stand. That man had the kind of face people trusted, along with a steady gaze and pleasant voice. The jury had been hooked, leaning forward in their seats, hanging on his every word.
It had been perfect. Done. It should’ve stayed that way too.
A niggle of resentment crept over his skin, raising goose bumps the length of his arms. Thanks to a daughter’s refusal to accept her mother’s true nature, it wasn’t done.
That fresh-faced lawyer had come for the evidence box. Par for the course and nothing too worrisome. He knew what was in there. She’d spent a few hours poring over a case they’d worked by the numbers for weeks. They hadn’t taken any shortcuts, hadn’t skipped a single step. Hell, they’d been working to convict one of the most notorious people in the city.
Still, the lawyer made her notes, took pictures of what they’d found and gathered at the scene. Hindsight was always perfect, an impossible standard. He’d seen eager, bleeding hearts who believed a convict’s sob story turn a case inside out on the basis of a misplaced comma in a report. The second-guessing from people who didn’t have a clue how real police work was done was one of the worst aspects of his career.
As if all that time in a classroom and libraries full of court rulings was somehow better than real-life, on-the-street experience. No way would the world improve by legally manipulating the system to get one snobby socialite out of prison.
Colton certainly wasn’t winning any friends in the GRPD, or the city at large, but she wouldn’t quit. A couple of witnesses attached to the original case had told him she’d reached out, asked questions.
She’d forced his hand. If Pippa Colton wouldn’t stop, he wouldn’t either.
Damn idealists.
He had to move with care. The media was all over her. He’d thought the negative press would be enough, yet she persisted as if she was the key to righting some tragic wrong.
With a little planning and a couple of phone calls, he’d set things in motion. Having so many friends in and around law enforcement came in handy, giving him a heads-up about Colton visiting her client in prison. They’d happily agreed to make that visit problematic.
His next stop was to pick up a case of beer for the pal who’d kept Colton out there, stringing her along that she might actually get into the conference room. After making the purchase, chatting up the clerk behind the counter, he loaded the beer into his trunk, sliding it between two plain cardboard boxes.
The entire Wentworth case was right there. Stealing the paperwork from the cage without getting caught had been a stressful nightmare, despite the rush of making sure Colton would be out of luck if she came back for another look. He’d taken the case files out of her reach, but now he was stuck. He needed the right disposal solution for the contents of those boxes. He considered planting the entire mess in her office, but that was too obvious, and everyone coming and going made the timing complicated.
Getting rid of a can of spray paint was easy. Hell, breaking into her condo had been a cake walk. Wearing a ball cap, keeping his head down, and walking with a group made it easy to avoid the security cameras that were mostly useless. Would’ve been nice to find something though. He’d searched as long as he dared and hadn’t found the first page of all those notes she’d taken on the case. He hadn’t expected her to haul it all to the meeting.
For tonight, the nasty message and damage would have to suffice. He could take things up another notch if the home invasion didn’t make her reconsider her attempt to set Wentworth free.
With one last look at the boxes, he closed the trunk and headed out to deliver the beer and shoot the breeze with an old friend. He’d figure out something; he always did.
* * *
Pippa was hungry and well beyond weary. She hadn’t had the wine or the shower she’d been counting on, but she still had plenty of unwanted company. And plenty of cleanup to tackle as soon as everyone cleared out.
Detective Iglesias wandered back to the kitchen after another chat with the technicians processing her home. “You’d probably be happier elsewhere. Can I drive you someplace?”
“No, thank you.” It took all her willpower to keep her gaze away from her wine rack. But that left her looking at either the mess or the detective. Both views rattled her for different reasons. The mess reminded her someone harbored enough hatred for her—or her work—to invade her home. Iglesias...well, with that confident swagger and trim beard, he was far too sexy for her comfort. She saw through his friendly, supportive demeanor. He was not her friend.
She supposed hiding in her bedroom until this was over was unacceptable behavior, especially in front of him.
Bedroom. Detective Iglesias. Her pulse
kicked. Best to never think about those two topics at the same time again.
“Can you tell me a little bit about your active cases?” he asked.
As if he didn’t know what this had to be about.
He tapped his pen to the small notebook in his hand, waiting. It was such an old-school motion, and yet somehow it captivated her. He intrigued her on a level that had nothing to do with crime scene procedure. She had to get him out of here, quickly.
“I’d rather give a statement to your partner,” she said.
“He isn’t here. He went back to the station to start on the reports.”
Would nothing go right today? “You should probably join him,” she said. “There’s no need to stay. If you have more questions, just call.”
“But I’m here now.” He aimed that pen at her office. “Looks to me like whoever did this searched your office. So again, tell me about your cases. Please.”
The man was insufferable. She’d had a dreadful day, spent hours on the road, made zero progress on her most important case, and now she had to deal with the man who had almost singlehandedly put Anna behind bars.
Her gaze cycled from wine rack to ransacked home to detective. “I’m sure you feel some obligation or whatever to my brother,” she stated. “It isn’t necessary.” She’d told Griffin she didn’t need a babysitter. And yet here he was.
“Even if I agreed with you, I’m not leaving just yet.” He smiled.
On another man, that smile would warm her right up, maybe tempt her to kiss the deep creases bracketing his lips. “I think we both know that this incident has everything to do with my representing Anna Wentworth,” she said at last. “That message doesn’t fit my other cases.” She turned her back on all of it, on him, too, going to the refrigerator to pour water from the pitcher she kept chilled.