A Score to Settle (12 page)

Surely she’d been able to tell by his demeanor that things hadn’t gone well. “No, I’m afraid it was a spectacular failure.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No, you’re not.”

She looked at him sharply. “Excuse me? Of course I’m sorry. Why would I want you to fail?”

“Maybe so you can prove you were right and I was wrong? That I shouldn’t have left the estate, especially without you, because I wasn’t ready.”

He yanked off his jacket and handed it to her out of habit.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“I had a…. a panic attack.” Might as well call a spade a spade. “I never saw my client because I couldn’t walk into the prison.”

“Oh, Daniel. I’m sorry.”

“I’ve put the whole case in jeopardy.”

“I’m sure you’re exaggerating. Have you had lunch? Claude has been working on something
très mystérieuse
this morning, and it smells divine.”

“I had a sandwich on the plane.” He couldn’t remember much about the lunch. His mind was too full of kissing Jamie.

“Then why don’t I schedule a massage this afternoon.”

It was tempting to let Jillian take over. But Jillian’s overfunctioning had been his crutch for too long. If today had taught him one lesson, it was that he needed to take back control of his life.

“I have work to do.”

“Work. That reminds me—someone called from Project Justice. Lab results or something—she said it was important.”

“
Someone
called? You didn’t happen to catch a name?” What was wrong with Jillian? Normally she could quote verbatim from memory any message she’d taken for him.

“I wrote it down. It’s on your desk.”

It could be a call from one of his people, just giving him a progress report on another case. Jamie had sent everything to PrakTech Labs. They would report any results directly to her. But Beth McClelland, head of the Project Justice lab, had a mole at PrakTech who would report directly to her.

Why hadn’t Jillian immediately forwarded the information to his phone? He could have returned the call during the drive. Unless she was trying to shield him from unhappy news?

Now that he knew, or at least suspected, that Jillian had feelings for him, he questioned her motives in everything. All the more reason to transfer her away from the estate.

As Daniel passed through the kitchen, he caught the scent of Claude’s creations—onion and garlic and delicate spices he couldn’t even identify floated lightly in the air. Claude was in full regalia today, with apron and tall hat, a dishcloth draped over each shoulder.

“What are you up to?” Daniel asked.

“Trying new recipes for the Christmas party. Jillian says we are having it here. My reputation is at stake. I have to wow your guests.”

Daniel didn’t want to burst Claude’s bubble, but his Project Justice parties were only a bunch of ex-cops and lawyers. He could serve most of them day-old burritos and Mountain Dew and they’d be happy.

“I’m sure whatever you serve, everyone will be impressed,” Daniel said, because Claude’s ego needed stroking on a regular basis. When they’d worked together at their restaurant, Le Bistro, nothing made him happier than when a diner made the special effort to personally compliment him on the dishes he prepared. When they’d gotten a good write-up in
Food
magazine, he’d been nearly apoplectic with joy.

It had to be a little bit different working in a private home. Though Claude was compensated well, this was a much more private life. Maybe Daniel could ask Griffin Benedict, his newest agent and a former journalist, to write up a story about the office party—with special emphasis on the food—and submit it to the local society rag. The magazine had asked numerous times to do a feature story on him or his home—anything—and he’d always declined.

Both Claude and Jillian would get a kick out of that.

“Smells great. Carry on.”

Claude, his hands busy separating thin sheets of phyllo dough, nodded, and Daniel headed straight down to his office, Jillian following him with a rundown of his afternoon schedule.

She had, indeed, left a sticky note on his desk. Very old-school of her. He had a complex schedule software program that she normally used to coordinate phone calls and messages.

He shook his head.

“Jillian,” Daniel said, “call Raleigh and make an appointment with her. Set aside at least an hour. Tell her I’m handing over the Christopher Gables case to her.”

“You are? Really? Why?”

“Just do it, okay?” She knew why. He’d just told her a few minutes ago. His reaction to being near a prison had jeopardized the case, and Jillian knew as well as anyone how important these wrongly imprisoned men and women were to him.

Did she want him to go over it again? So she could comfort him?

The message was indeed from Beth.

He donned his Bluetooth earpiece, then clicked the link on his computer that would put in a call directly to the lab.

“Beth. What’s up?”

“We’ve got a match.”

His blood pounded inside his ears. “Between the two crime scenes? Andreas Musto and Frank Sissom?” he clarified, just to be sure.

“Yes. An unidentified body-fluid sample found on Musto’s shirt matched an unidentified saliva sample found on Sissom’s apron.”

Daniel came out of his chair. “But no matches in the database?”

“Those results aren’t in yet.”

“Okay. Thanks, Beth.”

Still, this was huge. The two cases were definitely connected.

Christopher Gables had been a twenty-one-year-old college senior at Kansas State University at the time of Andreas’s murder. He had no conceivable connection to that case.

Finally, they had a viable suspect for both murders. As yet unidentified, but that would come.

If there was a match, Daniel would finally have the name of the man who had brutally murdered his friend and framed Daniel. They could present their evidence to the Harris County sheriff’s department and pressure them to reopen the case.

But Daniel had much swifter justice in mind.

The next thing he did, as soon as he disconnected from talking with Beth, was to dial Jamie’s number.

Of all the people in the world, she was the one he wanted to share the news with.

“Daniel?”

“Jamie. Could you come over right away?”

“I just got home.”

“This is important. I have news. I can call Celeste, have her turn around—”

“Good God, no, that woman is a menace to drivers everywhere. I can take my own car.”

He didn’t understand the reason for the sharpness he heard in her voice, but just now he didn’t care. He would straighten everything out when she got here.

He hadn’t ruined the case after all. They now had a strong piece of physical evidence that would reopen both cases.

He picked up the framed portrait of his parents, the only nonfunctional object he allowed on his desk. “Dad, we’re on our way. I’m going to find the animal who derailed my life. And I’m going to personally see that justice is done this time.”

His office door opened a crack and Jillian poked her head in. “Oh. I thought you were on the phone.”

Daniel set the picture down. “What is it?”

“Raleigh is in court, and she’ll be there all day. Soonest she can get you in is probably tomorrow.”

“That’s okay, never mind.” He wasn’t going to let go of this case, not now. Not when victory was so close. If he handed it over to Raleigh, he would have no more reason to see Jamie.

And he wanted reasons—lots of reasons—to see her.

He might have miscalculated, summoning her as if she had no choice in the matter. Old habits were hard to break. But he had to stop thinking of Jamie as someone he could manipulate or use for his own purposes.

“Jamie is on her way over,” he told Jillian. “Send her into the library when she arrives.”

“You just spent all morning with her.”

“Yeah, so…?”

“Doesn’t she have a job?”

“She has the day off. Jillian, I know you don’t like her, but I don’t appreciate your questioning me every time I schedule an appointment with her. She is a crucial part of the puzzle with the case I’m working on.”

“Mmm. Sorry.”

“How are the plans for the holiday party coming along?” he asked, hoping to distract her from her negative thoughts.

She smiled. “Fabulous. The decorations are arriving today, everything except the ice sculptures. By Friday, this place is going to look like a winter wonderland. We’re going to have a snow machine and sleigh rides.”

Ice sculptures? Sleigh rides? Oh, God help him. Well, maybe his people would like the novelty. They all worked so hard. One evening of fantasy might be appreciated.

By the time Jamie arrived, Daniel was waiting in the library. Anxious to be out of the suit and tie—which still, in his mind, smelled like prison—he’d changed into a pair of worn jeans and a sweater. He’d built a fire—the temperature outside was down in the fifties, cold enough to justify a warm blaze, he figured—and Claude had sent a plate full of appetizers for him to sample and approve for the party.

Not that he really cared; they would all be good. But the party had become a big deal to his staff, so he would humor them.

He tossed a stuffed mushroom to Tucker, who was watching intently but was too well trained to beg.

When the door opened and Jillian ushered Jamie in, he shot out of his chair.

She really had just gotten home when he called, apparently, because she hadn’t even changed out of her suit. He felt a little underdressed.

“Do you need anything, Daniel?” Jillian asked sweetly.

“No, thanks. In fact, take the rest of the day off.” Her hovering had become a bit tiresome.

“Thank you.” She didn’t sound grateful at all.

“Daniel, what’s this about?” Jamie asked when they were alone. “I don’t like games.”

He frowned. “I didn’t mean for it to be a game. But it’s good news. Too good for the phone.”

“What?”

“The lab found a DNA match between the two murders. They’re definitely linked.”

For a moment, she stood there looking stunned. “So we’re back to the serial-killer idea?” she asked dubiously.

“All I know is, the two cases are definitely linked, and by more than the coincidence of metal shavings. Gables was a college kid halfway across the country at the time of the first murder, and I can prove it. He was sitting for a final exam in a Shakespeare class. He has no possible connection. Someone else committed both crimes.”

“Holy crap.”

This wasn’t the reaction he’d hoped for. “I thought you’d be happy.”

“Happy that the client I prosecuted and put on death row is innocent?” She collapsed into the sofa and idly petted Tucker, who looked worried. The dog was amazingly attuned to the feelings of people around him.

“You’ve known this was a possibility for a long time. You said you wanted answers.”

“I did want answers. I thought they’d be different. I wanted proof that I did the right thing.”

Daniel realized he hadn’t thought this through. He’d been so focused on the outcome
he
wanted, he’d forgotten the implications for Jamie.

He sat down beside her on the sofa. “Listen, Jamie. You’ve done an enormously courageous thing. Yes, you prosecuted the wrong man. But that’s because someone framed Christopher. Someone planted evidence. You can’t be blamed—”

“Of course I can be blamed. You don’t think Chubb will make me the sacrificial lamb? I’ll lose my job. By the time he’s done with me, I won’t be able to get work as a prosecutor anywhere in the country.”

“Let’s look at the bigger picture. We are going to right a cruel injustice. We’re going to save a man’s life. And we are perilously close to finding the actual murderer in two high-profile, now-unsolved cases.”

“How do you figure that?”

“We’ve got his DNA. If we have to get samples from every person in the country, we’ll find a match. You don’t think Chubb would like that? If you brought him a person who’d almost gotten away with two brutal murders?”

“Daniel, you’re forgetting. I won’t be a part of that. Once we show that Christopher didn’t kill anyone, my role in this is over.”

“No. I won’t accept that.”

She sat up straighter and looked at him, suddenly steely-eyed. “Yes, Daniel, you will have to accept that. There are some things in this world that your money can’t buy, and I’m one of them.”

“Did I say anything about money?”

“It’s implied. You’re so used to getting your way, and everyone in our life is so eager to please you that you forget other people have free will.”

“Let me rephrase, then. I don’t accept that you don’t
want
to keep going. To find the man who took two lives and ruined two others… That doesn’t excite you?”