Dangerous (The Complete Erotic Romance Novel) (66 page)

He couldn’t imagine who he had pissed off so much, but there probably was a list of candidates. He thought he was fair, but he was hard, and there were those who didn’t like to lose. Reid won, which meant that someone else usually lost.

And Kendra could pay the price.

His gut tightened at that thought, and he felt cold. He was used to responsibility but also to having the power to influence events. He didn’t have that now. The strange thing was Moynihan hadn’t seemed to know anything about Forster’s relationship with Alana, even though Reid knew his driver had had plenty of time to get to the station and talk to the police. Had Forster decided not to give a DNA sample after all?

The ridiculous thing was by referring to something he was sure the detective already knew, Reid had very neatly given himself a murder motive.

He’d never been so frustrated in his life. He knew if he thought too much about his powerlessness and the threat to Kendra, he might lose it completely. The only resource he had in the cell was his intellect.

Maybe he could solve the crime while he was here.

It was a long shot, but the killer had to have left some clues. There were things that didn’t make sense and maybe they pointed to more information. Where had Alana been that she’d been naked and wearing the collar, the one she’d refused to put on? The police had combed the house after her disappearance and found nothing suspect. Reid had to believe she’d gone somewhere.

Had Forster taken her somewhere?

Had she taken Forster somewhere?

Or had she been intimate with someone else, someone other than Forster? Had she met her lover somewhere, before everything had gone wrong?

How many lovers had his wife had?

Reid had the dizzying sense nothing was as he had believed it to be. Worse, he had no control over the situation. He couldn’t protect Kendra. He couldn’t even influence anyone around him to do as he desired. He had no phone and no further right to make a call, no visitors, and no ability to make anything happen.

The situation pushed Reid toward losing his composure. He hated feeling that everything hung by a thread.

A very thin thread.

Never mind that someone else was prepared to snip that thread.

He couldn’t understand what anyone found appealing about letting others make their choices or determine their circumstances. To have no control at all was his worst nightmare.

No, his worse nightmare was much darker.

Reid knew Kendra wouldn’t follow his command to keep herself safe. She wasn’t that submissive. He shoved his hands through his hair and paced more quickly. He understood Kendra well enough to know she wouldn’t be able to stand by and leave any chance of him being condemned, not if she thought she could save him.

He didn’t doubt that whoever was responsible for Alana’s death understood Kendra as well as he did—and would lure her into danger.

Reid nearly went insane wondering what the bastard had planned.

The worst part was he was pretty sure he knew, and that made him feel sick all over again.

* * *

“You don’t suppose they arrested Forster?” Louise asked worriedly, sparing a glance to the clock. The snow was falling thickly outside and the ravine was dark. She shivered and folded her sweater over herself.

“For what?” her husband asked. “Indiscretion isn’t a crime.”

“Then where is he?”

“I’m more concerned about Miss Jones.”

“She called and you know it. What a thoughtful woman. I expect her along at any moment. But where can Forster be?”

Henry gave her a look. “You’ll forgive me for not being too concerned.”

Louise pursed her lips, a sign she wasn’t going to let this go easily. “You don’t think he walked all the way downtown, do you? Mr. Stirling wouldn’t have minded if he used the car one last time.”

Henry lifted his brows, not at all certain of that.

Louise shrugged. “Well, he could have taken a cab back, even if he walked to the police station.”

“Maybe he’s not coming back.”

“And foregoing his outstanding wages? You’re a better judge of human nature than that, Henry.” She got up and put the kettle on again, her unease affecting him, too.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll go and see if he took one of the cars,” Henry offered. “I should check that the garage is locked anyway.”

Louise spared a glance at the control panel of the security system. “You know it is.”

“I like to check. Those gadgets can be fooled.”

Henry Jackson left the comfort of the kitchen and went through the house, checking the locks on all the doors and windows. He shivered at the chill when he opened the door to the garage. Both cars were there, the limo and the sedan Mr. Stirling seldom used. His favored sports car was in the driveway outside. The garage doors for the cars were secured, and Henry checked the opposite door out of force of habit.

Locked. Of course.

It was strange Forster wasn’t back yet, but maybe the police had more questions for him. Maybe they were backed up on this Sunday night. Jackson wasn’t going to worry about it. He turned to go back to the house, and that was when he saw the bloody crowbar on the floor of the garage.

He knew better than to touch it, but he turned on another light and had a good look. It was definitely covered in blood, and the blood was still wet. There were red drops trailing to the door he’d just checked, and he eyed the door with horror. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was out there.

It was a matter best left to the police. He hurried back into the house and called them.

* * *

The stranger listened to the struggles of the appliance repair man who had spent several days bound in the back of his own truck. The man was probably dehydrated and certainly hungry. The stranger didn’t doubt that he’d soiled himself, because he sure smelled. But he was alive and that was good enough.

“One last stop,” he informed the man cheerfully and that man fell silent.

He parked the van at the side of the road and smiled at the steep curve of the road ahead. There wasn’t room to turn around here, and the road would be icy. The stranger knew there was a steep drop. It was entirely possible the traumatized man in the back would miscalculate of his own accord, but the stranger didn’t like to take chances.

The road was deserted in both directions.

He got out of the van and popped the hood. He used the man’s own tools to cut the brake line, watching with satisfaction as the brake fluid began to drain on to the road below. He started the engine again, then went around the back of the van.

The appliance repair man was bound with electrical tape, his wrists together behind his back and his ankles sealed together. He was blindfolded and gagged, with two lengths of cloth wrapped around his head and secured with tape. He couldn’t have seen much, but he was never going to tell anyone about his weekend.

“You’re going to wait five minutes,” the stranger informed his captive. “Count to a thousand. Or maybe count to two thousand, just to be sure I’m not close enough to be pissed off. Then you’re going to calmly drive home, and never tell anyone what happened. Promise?”

The man nodded vigorously, the smell of his nervous perspiration and soiled self enough to make the stranger gag. He shed the uniform he’d found in the back of the van, knowing his plan would ensure there were no clues on it to lead back to him. He used a utility knife to cut the tape on the man’s wrists, then left the knife close by.

“Start counting,” he ordered and the man nodded. He grunted as he counted

He slammed the door and strode away. He leapt into the cover of the forest and scrubbed his face and hands with fresh snow, making sure he wiped his boots clean. He made quick time through the forest, knowing where the path was and where it led. He smiled moments later when the sound of the van’s engine grew.

And he laughed when the first crash echoed through the forest. He heard the van tumble down the steep hill, breaking trees as it went, then narrowed his eyes as its explosion turned the night sky orange.

All that was left was the grand prize: Kendra Jones.

And one last bit of preparation for her final scene.

* * *

It was morning when the police team found Forster’s body in the ravine behind the house. The snow had stopped falling, but left a thick blanket of white over everything. The team had rappeled down the slope, seeking the source of the blood, and found Forster’s battered corpse at the bottom.

“So?” Moynihan asked the medical examiner, when the body was in his vehicle.

“Looks like a crime of passion all right. If you’ll pardon my French, someone beat the shit out of him.” He lifted the cloth to show Moynihan the victim’s face.

“Never going to seduce another woman, even if he had lived.”

“It was the fall that finished him. Broke his neck and possibly his spine, too. If he wasn’t dead then, a night in the snow would have done it.”

“Any idea of the time?”

“Yesterday afternoon, maybe around four.”

“Right around the time we were here. The Jacksons said he was coming to give us a DNA sample, that Mrs. Stirling’s baby might have been his.”

“Never arrived?”

Moynihan shook his head.

The medical examiner nodded. “He’d probably leave through the garage, especially if he was taking a car. Someone must have surprised him there.”

“You sure?”

“Doesn’t even look like he defended himself. Look at his hands.”

“Caught by surprise, or unable to strike his employer?” Moynihan murmured, then shrugged.

“I’ll know more in the next day or so.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

The crowbar was bagged and tagged. Moynihan would have bet his last buck it was devoid of fingerprints. He had the interior of the garage dusted, as well as both sides of the door Forster had passed through, either under his own power or not.

He opened the door and eyed the distance to the neighboring house, the gap now knee deep in snow. There wasn’t a fence, but with the snow it was impossible to tell whether the land dipped even lower there. The back door of the other house was visible, and there was a small patio there.

He summoned the detective who had been doing surveillance on Stirling. “Go next door and see if the neighbors saw anything. It’s a long shot, but you never know. There is a window facing this way.”

“Not a chance. They’re away.”

“Are you sure?”

“Oh yeah. They packed up suitcases and drove away on Thursday. Really obvious about it.” The detective shook his head. “Some people have too much confidence in the goodness of the world, especially them.”

“How so?”

“The only person who’s been there is the appliance repair guy.”

“A repair guy? While they’re away?”

“Yesterday afternoon.” The detective shrugged. “My wife’s sister gets all their home repairs done while they’re on vacation. She had the living room painted last time they went to Cuba. Steph thinks it’s a great idea and always wants to do it. I told her it’s fucking nuts, the best possible way to come home to a ransacked house.”

“They left Thursday,” Moynihan said. “And he came Sunday?”

“Same guy who was here last week. Maybe they got a referral from Stirling.”

“Or maybe he’s not fixing appliances after all.”

“You have a suspicious mind.”

“It’s my job.”

“But why look for more work, Moynihan? You’ve got a suspect nicely put away. So, he did this before you got here and busted him for his wife’s death. The guy was doing his wife.”

“You got plates on the appliance guy’s van?” Moynihan asked. “Find him. Just close up the loose end.”

“Scared of Stirling’s lawyer?”

“I just want to be sure. It won’t take an hour to talk to the guy.”

Moynihan’s cell phone rang and he answered it, hoping it wasn’t another call. He could really use some sleep. Or another coffee. The order from his supervisor woke him up better than a strongest brew.

“What’s up?”

“We’ve got another one. There’s a van in a ravine in a small town on the other side of the suburbs. Outside of our jurisdiction, but they’ve asked for our help in getting to the scene.”

“A body?” asked the medical examiner who had come closer to listen.

“At least one. Burned from the explosion at impact.”

The medical examiner winced and Moynihan checked the text message that had just come in. “It’s apparently an appliance repair van,” he said, and the other detective’s head snapped up. Moynihan displayed the text message to him. “What was that license plate again?”

The detective’s eyes widened. “It was a bad night for driving.”

“I don’t like it,” Moynihan said, and that was the understatement of the year. He had a persistent feeling Stirling was one step ahead of him, even though the man was locked away in jail.

And Moynihan liked that even less.

* * *

Jackson didn’t want Kendra to leave the house, but she had to go to Esperanza.