Framed: A Psychological Thriller (Boston's Crimes of Passion Book 2) (17 page)

She looked as if a protest lay on her lips, but she said nothing. Pivoting on her heels, she walked out.

* * * *

A shudder ripped through Riley with Detective Brophy’s words. Her knees nearly gave way, but she refused to give the detective the satisfaction of seeing her melt down. She walked straight down the corridor to PACU.

Tears threatened Riley’s eyes as the night flashed back. Olivia screaming at her…grabbing her arm, swinging Riley around and in her next breath, her beautiful cousin fell to the ground.

All Riley wanted was to get away from Olivia. Why…why had Olivia followed her?

It should have been her…
Oh, God…it should have been her.

Consciously, Riley recognized Olivia had been shot. Consciously, she realized she would be next. But she froze. Then, she was knocked down as the shot fired…wrapped in strong, protective arms.

Kincaid had saved her and almost died.

Riley made her way through the automatic double doors into the hospital unit. The room was quiet except for the noise of the heart monitor and quiet footsteps of the nurses.

Everything around her seemed to melt away the moment her eyes met the man lying beneath a sterile white sheet. He smiled at her.

Her stomach lurched. This was going to be harder than she ever imagined.

Moving to the side of the bed, he reached out for her with his free hand. She gripped it and squeezed it tight.

His hair disheveled against the pillow; dark beard stubble shaded his jaw. His left arm had been secured in place across his chest. His smile broadened.

“I told you I would be fine.”

Words choked in her throat. At a loss for what to say, silent tears fell as she caressed his face. He grasped hold of her hand and kissed it.

“Mother confessed she gave you a hard time. Please ignore her. She didn’t mean any of what I imagined she said.”

Riley shook her head. She wanted to say that his mother meant every word. Riley didn’t blame her. She couldn’t argue with his mother. She had almost got Kincaid killed.

It wasn’t how she would have wanted to meet his family. 
Hi, I’m the girl who almost got your son killed.
If she was his girlfriend…

Swallowing hard, she finally managed, “Your mother was understandably upset. I don’t hold anything against her.” She breathed out, attempting to regain hold of her welling emotions.
Damn these tears.
“I think I met your entire family. Your father. Miss Sally…Ethan…your mother.”

“Dad told me. I wanted to ease you into meeting 
my
 family.”

“They were fine…worried about you…we all were.”

He grimaced. “It’s not me everyone should be worried about…it’s you. Have you any news?”

She shook her head, deciding not to tell him about the protection detail. “None. Detectives are here asking questions, but if they have a suspect, they haven’t told me.”

“I’ll talk to Cruz. She’ll know where they are at in their investigation, but tell me, Riley, are you okay?”

Nodding, she forced a smile. “Fine…” She caught her breath. “I wouldn’t have been if…not for you…Josh…I don’t know what I would have done if…if…”

“Don’t. Don’t go there.” He tried to sit up. Immediately, evident pain flashed over his face. He lay back down. “Stay here with me. I’ll arrange…”

She pressed her lips tightly together. Finally, she had hold of her emotions. She shook her head. “No, there’s no need. I’m going to take care of it. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“What are you talking about, Riley? There’s a madman out there trying to kill you.” His voice filled with worry and aggravation. “What foolhardy plan do you have?”

She lowered her eyes. Memories inundated her of their time together, brief though it was. One touch, one kiss, was all it took and she was his.

There was no one to blame for her heartbreak. She should have never allowed it to happen. Now the time for the inevitable had come.

Quick and to the point. Quick.
She looked back up. “All of this is my fault.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Three innocent people have died. I have to find out if anything I’ve done facilitated all of this. I can’t do it from here…I can’t allow anyone else to die…especially you.”

“Riley, what did you do…what are you doing?”

“Saying good-bye,” she said simply. Leaning down, she gently kissed his lips. “When it’s over, I promise you will have your story.”

He gripped her arm. “No, don’t do this. I will help you find what you’re looking for. Your father. You don’t believe he committed suicide. Right?”

“It’s much more than that.” She forced a smile. “It’s better this way.”

Pulling her down to him, he said in a low, firm voice, “Don’t play martyr because you love me.”

Her heart jolted. She never dreamed he would remember her whispering those words before he was wheeled into surgery. He was unconscious…or so she thought.
I’ve fallen hard for you, Josh Kincaid. You can’t leave me now. Not now.

She had no response.

“I will come out of this bed if you attempt to walk out that door, Riley Ashcroft,” he threatened. “Damn it, woman! Someone is trying to kill you!”

“I can take care of myself. I’ve done it since I was fourteen.” She motioned to the nurse. “Mr. Kincaid is trying to get up. I’m afraid he will hurt himself.”

“Damn it! Don’t touch me!” Kincaid swatted at the nurse, who hit a button on the wall behind the bed.

Riley straightened herself up, watching another nurse and orderly swarm beside the bed. She continued to walk purposefully to the back of the unit and through a single door marked Exit.

She rushed down the stairs and didn’t stop until she came to the first floor. As she entered into a busy hallway, she was confused momentarily. Doctors, nurses, medical personnel, along with visitors, raced by. Mass General was huge, but Riley quickly regained her bearings.

With one turn to the right and two to the left, she was out the door. Glancing around, she saw no one and turned back to the street. Dennis was there.

Quickly, she slid into the passenger door. “Thank you. Did you have any problems?”

“Only Chloe. She just got up when I was leaving. She doesn’t know and I don’t have a clue how to tell her. I left her with Cora. We’re going to tell her together, the three of us: Walter, Cora, and myself.”

“I don’t know what to say, Dennis. Sorry isn’t enough.”

He shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault. You don’t even know if it had anything to do with you. Let the police handle it.”

She was too tired to argue, emotionally exhausted. “Were you able to find everything?”

“I think so. I packed a bag. Even got in touch with your friend. She said not to worry about Bailey. She would take care of her.” He put the car in drive. “Dad will meet you at the airport. He’s making all the arrangements now. Mom and he won’t come up until after you get settled.”

“Thank you.” She sat back.

Soon, she would be home. She wouldn’t be playing by their rules any longer. It would be a whole new game.

Brophy walked into Lincoln and Sullivan late Wednesday evening, determined to see Ellis Dean. Tired, drained, and frustrated, he had no warrant, no method of forcing a confrontation—only his resolve.

He couldn’t find a connection with any of the Ashcrofts to a sharpshooter. From the beginning of this mess, he had been thwarted on every move by the team of lawyers from this place.

In the growing group of people of interest, there weren’t any links of anyone with a knowledge of firearms. No sharpshooter from the army or law enforcement. Which led the detectives to one logical conclusion—someone hired a killer.

Detective Logan had gone over the financial reports from each of the family members and immediate employees. They were looking for anything that would point to a payoff. Point them anywhere with a solid lead.

“We need a forensic accountant,” Logan said. “I can’t make heads or tails out of these records. How can you tell if it’s a payoff when they pay three thousand dollars for a pair of shoes?”

Three thousand for a pair of shoes. Seven thousand for a damn Löwchen dog. Ten thousand taken out for pocket change over the long holiday.

How in the world were they supposed to see a red flag?

The FBI seemed to be looking at an organized crime connection. Brophy wasn’t as certain they were looking for the same thing. His talk with Dunn hadn’t convinced him that Walter Ashcroft was behind the murders.

Brophy was still convinced that Helen Barlow’s death was a crime of passion. The killer had expressed rage and anger in one moment; efficiency in his next.

Walter Ashcroft didn’t seem that complicated. Arrogant. Conceited. Nor did he seem that intelligent. Brophy was coming to the conclusion that if Walter Ashcroft was behind the killings, there would be more of a trail to follow.

The man wouldn’t have been able to help it.

Unless someone was behind him, manipulating his every move.

Was Walter Ashcroft merely a puppet on a string? But would he have done something so foolish as cause the death of his daughter? If he had known what was to happen, wouldn’t he have ensured that all his family was safe?

But someone was pulling strings. Brophy had to figure out who and why. He believed that Ellis Dean held the key.

For years, the man had shielded the family from prying eyes. Had he helped cover up their sins as well?

Brophy got out on the twenty-fifth floor and walked up to the receptionist desk. The office had a museum-like quality: polished floors, leather furniture, and impressive art.

“I would like to see Mr. Ellis Dean.”

“I’m sorry, but Mr. Dean is unavailable.” The pretty, young girl behind the desk smiled. “If you like, I can make an appointment.”

“I don’t need an appointment.” He pulled out his badge. “Now, be a good girl and let Mr. Dean know Detective John Brophy is here.”

Undaunted, she raised her hand slightly. “A moment, please.”

The wait wasn’t long. A tall, distinguished man in an expensive suit walked in and greeted him, but it wasn’t Ellis Dean. He was an older gentleman, silver-haired, with gray eyes.

The man shook Brophy’s hand with an open and pleasant demeanor. “Detective Brophy, I’m Henry Rosenberg. Partner here at Lincoln and Sullivan. What can I help you with today?”

“I have some questions for Ellis Dean.”

“You and everyone else today,” Rosenberg said. “Why don’t we talk in my office?”

Brophy followed him into a large corner office. On any other day, he might have enjoyed the large, open layout with a breathtaking view of the Boston skyline.

Rosenberg pointed to a chair. Rounding his desk, he sat. “Here, have a seat. Did Haley offer you some coffee, tea, or water?”

“Not necessary. I won’t be long. I’m looking for some answers. I was hoping Mr. Dean could help.”

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know. Ellis hasn’t been here in days. I told the FBI as much when they were here earlier.”

“FBI?”

“They executed a search warrant. Took most of what was in his office.”

Damn!
Brophy took a breath. “Do you know if they have him?”

The lawyer shook his head. “I don’t think so. I know they haven’t arrested him yet.”

“Arrest Ellis Dean? On what charge?” Brophy asked, a little more than confused.

“Charges. Extortion, fraud…money laundering were just a few,” Rosenberg answered, but didn’t elaborate.

“In connection with a client of his? Walter Ashcroft?”

“I’m afraid I’ve said too much already.” Rosenberg shook his head sorrowfully. “I can tell you Lincoln and Sullivan has terminated Mr. Dean’s employment as the Ashcrofts have terminated their association with our firm.”

Brophy stared hard at the man. “Was this situation connected to Walter Ashcroft?”

Rosenberg came to his feet and gave a slight shrug. “It is my understanding that there is a warrant for the arrest of Mr. Ashcroft. He is set to surrender himself in the morning.”

“Thank you for your time.” Brophy stood.

Walking to the door, he paused at a picture hanging on the wall. A group of men dressed in camouflage stood around a dead elk. Rosenberg held the buck’s antlers. Staring back at him in the group was Ellis Dean.

Tapping on the photograph, Brophy turned back to the man. “You’re a big game hunter?”

“No.” Rosenberg shook his head. “Ellis is, though. His favorite pastime. He arranged the hunt for the partners. A ranch in Colorado. To be honest, I was a little surprised to find myself enjoying the hunt. I killed my first bull elk. A twelve point.”

“Do you mind if I borrow it?” Without waiting for permission, Brophy took the picture off the wall. “One more thing: I will need the name and number to this place.”

For the first time in days, he felt his heart race with anticipation. He had his lead.

* * * *

His lead had disappeared. Ellis Dean was nowhere to be seen.

An APB had been issued, not for connections to the murders, but for collaborating with Walter Ashcroft, who stood accused of a multitude of federal charges.

Fraud and money laundering were the most serious charges that Walter Ashcroft stood accused of. The news had run one story after another on the consorting with known organized crime leaders.

Dean had last been seen at his high-rise condominium along the waterfront. From the looks of the place, he had left everything behind, including his car. His credit cards hadn’t been used. Nothing seemed to be out of place.

The man had simply vanished.

Over his webcam, Brophy interviewed a Clyde Porcello at Ridge Road Ranch. Porcello hadn’t recognized the name Ellis Dean, but knew the man in the picture as Timothy Crosley. Ellis’s associates at Lincoln and Sullivan confirmed Ellis used the name when he wanted to be anonymous. Most of the men mentioned Ellis was concerned about an obsessive girlfriend.

Porcello continued, “The man I knew as Crosley thought he was an expert marksman. I’m hesitant to call him an expert. He had talent, but was too impatient. He always let his emotions get the better of him. But if I remember correctly, he said he was a member of a gun club in New Hampshire somewhere.”

Sure enough, Brophy discovered Ellis under the alias of Crosley was a member of the Manchester Rod and Gun Club. Brophy had no question the man had the capability of shooting and killing Olivia Edmunds.

Most everyone else scoffed at the idea. What would have been his motive?

But Brophy’s instincts told him he was on the right path. He just had to find the scumbag.

Where the hell could he have gone?

He sat at his desk and went back over each report. Something…anything that would jump up out at him to where Ellis would have gone.

“Have you had any luck?”

Brophy looked up to see Cruz in front of him. He shook his head. “Nothing, but it’s been hard. He had one alias. He could have had more. Honestly, I think he has left the country.”

“You would think that would have been the smartest move,” Cruz agreed. “But I think I may have found the bastard.”

He studied her intent face. “That would be?”

“When you told me that he was a member of a gun club in Manchester, I did some digging on my own. Everyone I talked to said that he came only sporadically. I mean, the place is two hours away from here. So, I’m thinking a man obsessed with guns would need to take out his frustrations somewhere closer.”

“And?” He hated it when Cruz paused for dramatic effect.

She grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Salisbury.”

* * * *

Ellis Dean walked over to the window for the tenth time.
Goddammit, she said she would be here over an hour ago!

He should have never listened to her. Telling him to leave everything so they couldn’t trace his movements.
I’ll help you vanish. Go to our place.

The lying piece of shit. He should have known better. He only had a couple of thousand in cash. The old Buick he had used in the shooting was in the garage, but he didn’t dare use it too often, even after he had changed the plates. The new ones were stolen as well.

Nervously, he tapped his fingers against the windowpane. Why hadn’t he taken the time to go to the bank and withdraw from one of his accounts? He could have gone up north and crossed into Canada. From there, he would go to Belize.

Then, he could live out his life in ease with one of their off-shore accounts they had set up together. Over the years, the account had grown to well over a hundred million.

That is what he thought when she said go, don’t worry about anything.

Now, though, he was worried. He had been held up in this house for days, since the FBI had put out a warrant for his arrest in connection with that fool Walter.

Foolish and stupid on his part. He had let his guard down. The Feds had picked up on it immediately and connected him with helping Walter do business with the Delfino family in Chicago.

For years, Ellis had been able to lead Walter on a merry-go-round and hadn’t let him off. To keep Ellis quiet, Walter had done anything Ellis wanted. The cost of his silence had been high.

It had all been part of Julia’s glorious plan. When Walter embezzled money from his father with that damn power of attorney, Ellis had him. He roped the idiot in without him even realizing it.

Walter was an arrogant, selfish sonofabitch. It hadn’t taken much for Walter to push his own brother under the bus. To save himself, Walter set his brother up.

Of course, Ellis had helped. Walter, the bungling fool, wouldn’t have known what to do, but once it was done, Walter had no trouble with the outcome.

Even after Jack’s suicide, Walter never blinked an eye…was relieved that the FBI had dropped the case. No guilt. No remorse of the pain he had caused.

No, Walter had maliciously turned his guilt on Jack’s daughter, cutting her off and leaving her penniless. Ellis and Julia had reveled in the outcome.

When Julia had come to him with her plan for revenge, Ellis had thought her crazy. But little by little, things fell into place. Determined to get revenge on the mighty Ashcrofts, Julia Stanford made them pay for their treatment of her precious brother, Russell.

Pay with their blood. Oh, yes! Life became interesting when he met Julia Stanford.

Remembering when he first realized that in Julia he had found his soulmate, a shiver of lust raced through his blood. Over the years no one suspected they were carrying on a torrid affair right under their eyes.

Especially not Jack. His
dear
friend had worn on his last nerve. Ellis had tired of playing the poor sidekick—relying on Jack for his pity handouts.

Jack helped him stay on the basketball team when he had got caught drunk off campus the night before a game. Jack went to the dean to see what could be done to get him into Harvard Law after they put him on the waiting list. Jack had his father speak to the city’s most prestigious law firm to get him on as an associate…behind Jack, of course.

High and mighty Jack, who could do no wrong.

All those years, Ellis had hated the ground Jack walked on and the fool never suspected. Jack never saw beyond the mask Ellis hid behind. Jack never realized his best friend was a psychopath until it was too late.

Julia saw it, though.

Relief flooded him when he saw her car pull into the drive and park. Ellis watched the car door open. Wearing red high heels, her long legs emerged from the vehicle. His anger forgotten, replaced with an overwhelming desire to have her.

Straightening her short skirt, she smiled seductively. Her button on her blouse was undone enough to show off her cleavage. Turning, she opened the backdoor and bent over grabbing a bag of groceries. She wasn’t wearing panties.

Lord, he was rock-hard with need.

Ellis walked out to help. She handed him the bag and kissed him eagerly. Pushing her ample breasts against his chest, she whispered in a low, throaty voice. “Naughty boy.”

She laughed.