Incriminating Evidence (31 page)

More pounding, this time accompanied by Nicole’s sharp yell. “Alec Ravissant, you sonofabitch. Open the dammed door!”

He turned to Isabel. “Don’t tell her about my dream.”

She nodded. Nicole remained a suspect. “Do you think she’s mad about the compound being shut down?”

“She hasn’t been told yet. This could be about the cameras in the firing range.”

In spite of the tension between them, Isabel smiled. Years from now, when she was feeling isolated and alone and this fling was but a distant memory, she would have the moment Alec had shot out the cameras just so he could be with her to replay in her mind. She would revel in the heat and exhilaration that infused the memory.

Alec slid back the dead bolt and opened the door.

Nicole snarled and thrust her iPad into his hands. “Explain this, you bastard.”

Isabel read the headline on the screen over Alec’s shoulder.
Dead Soldier’s Sister is Suspect in Senate Candidate’s Alleged Abduction
.

Chapter Twenty-Four

B
ile rose in Alec’s throat as he read the
Baltimore Sun
article—which quoted Nicole directly as having stated Isabel was suspect, in words eerily similar to those she’d said in his office yesterday. Isabel’s arrest on the restraining order violation was mentioned, and the FBI was quoted as offering no comment on the ongoing investigation. But it only got worse from there. The article proceeded to neatly lay out the case against Isabel, attributing the speculation to “confidential sources within the Ravissant campaign.” She was painted as imbalanced, possibly dangerously so, with a strong vendetta against Alec in particular.

The stricken look on Isabel’s face triggered a fresh wave of horror. “I had nothing to do with this, Isabel.”

She turned to Nicole. “Did you say what the article quotes you as saying?”

Nicole grimaced even as she nodded. Alec had to give her credit for being honest.

Isabel took a step back. “I thought we were
friends
.”

“We are, Isabel. But that doesn’t mean I won’t consider all possibilities. Tell me you don’t suspect me. I dare you.”

Isabel glared at Nicole but said nothing. She turned to Alec. “And you. You’ve been seducing me even as you’ve been looking for ways to use me to get your campaign back on track?” She jabbed a finger at the offending iPad. “Don’t think I don’t see this for what it really is. I’m the perfect goddamned suspect, because if I take the fall, your campaign won’t have to face questions of whether you have dirty operatives on the payroll. You won’t be tainted by scandal.”

“Isabel, I told my campaign manager in no uncertain terms you’re off-limits. When I find out who did this, their ass is fired.”

“Right. When they single-handedly saved your campaign with this smear piece?”

“Watch me.”

“We’ve got other problems to deal with first, Rav,” Nicole said, her voice stiff with anger. “Someone quoted what I said in a private meeting in your office. If it wasn’t you, then who was it?”

Alec was damn tempted to point a finger right back at Nicole, but exchanging suspicions would get them nowhere fast.

“Who was present when you said it?” Isabel asked.

“Hatcher, Rav, and me.”

“And Hans,” Alec added. “He can hear everything said in both our offices.”

“Hatcher could have done it to save your campaign,” Nicole said. “He needs you to win to secure the CEO position.”

That balloon would never float. Alec knew Keith was adamantly opposed to using Isabel that way. He’d been outraged by Carey’s suggestion. Nicole’s casting suspicion on Keith hinted at her own desperation.

“I think we need to sweep my office for bugs again.”

I
sabel felt as if she’d been hit with infrasound. Her pathetic life had been laid bare in the papers in an appalling exposé. She’d been labeled antisocial. A loner. Out for revenge. Jesus, put up a sketch of the Unabomber next to the piece, and no one would bat an eye. She’d been tried and convicted by the
Baltimore Sun
. Not too surprisingly, the paper had endorsed Alec weeks ago.

A search for bugs in Alec’s office turned up a listening device. Meaning once again,
everyone
was a suspect, and yet as much as it hurt to consider it, Isabel couldn’t help but wonder if Alec was behind it. He had the most to gain. She only had to remain the prime suspect until after Election Day. After that, she could be neatly cleared and he could claim no harm, no foul.

Except she’d been made to look like a bitter, grieving, vindictive sociopath in an article that was certain to go viral. All harm, all foul. Whether she was guilty or innocent didn’t matter. What mattered was Alec couldn’t lose with her taking the spotlight.

He was down in the polls, and he’d told her himself losing was not an option. He could have done this.

She closed her eyes and remembered last night, when she’d finally released her guilt over wanting him and enjoyed every minute of being in his arms and taking him into her body. There’d been a connection that was more that sex. More than fulfilling the need for orgasm. But what if, for him, it had just been a means to an end?

The suspicion settled in and made a home with her deepest insecurities. Seducing her could be a way to control her. To convince her to play the game, take the heat until the election.

She’d returned to his suite alone while he called his campaign manager, supposedly to demand answers. He didn’t want her in the room while he made the calls. She dropped onto the couch and picked up Gandalf, who seemed annoyed to be woken, but he settled onto her lap anyway.

They hadn’t had a chance to finish discussing his dream, which they both knew was memory. He’d heard her singing the title song from
The Sound of Music
in the dream. What she hadn’t told him yet was she
had
sung that song on Thursday, but it hadn’t been while she was working for the DNR.

She’d sung it during her lunchtime foray onto Raptor land to look for the cave.

Apparently, she’d gotten close.

A
lec hung up the phone, having just granted an impromptu, angry interview to the reporter who’d skewered Isabel. He had no clue how the reporter would slant the piece. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for politics, but how could he sit back and watch the press go after Isabel, all because of him?

She’d saved his life, and they’d flayed her.

It would only get worse if she were his girlfriend or wife—she would be an open target as the candidate’s—or senator’s—wife. As far as he could tell, only the youngest children of politicians got a free pass. And sometimes not even them.

He ground his palms into his eyes. Nearly six a.m. and it had already been a helluva day.

He’d assaulted Isabel in his sleep, and he’d yet to tell her he’d seen the lynx petroglyph in his dream. A dream that wasn’t a dream at all.

He’d heard her singing, which meant she’d been near the cave as he was being tortured. If she could narrow down where she’d been when she sang that song, they’d have a starting point for the search. But the article had undermined every ounce of trust Alec had managed to build with her.

He was falling in love with her, but from the look in her eyes, she not only didn’t trust him, she was back to dislike. Possibly even hate.

And he couldn’t exactly blame her.

Did she once again think he might have had a hand in covering up Vin’s murder? Had they gone all the way back to the start with the awful article?

He tilted back in his chair and stared, unseeing, at the ceiling. He’d had about four hours sleep, and much as he wanted to crawl back into bed with Isabel, he had a feeling she wouldn’t welcome him.

I attacked her.

He feared what he could have done if she hadn’t woken him with the blow to his temple.

In the cave, muscle memory had taken over, and he’d defended himself with the ferocity in which he’d been trained. The same ferocity he hoped soldiers learned here, because in the heat of battle, sometimes only muscle memory, thanks to intensive training, could see a soldier through.

The Army had taught him how to kill, and he was good at it. Very, very good.

He stiffened. A memory hovered, just out of reach.

The memory dissolved before it could solidify. He shook it off. Probably it was an op in Afghanistan. Or Pakistan.

He picked up his phone and dialed. It was time to fire his campaign manager.

I
sabel pulled on her hiking clothes and stuffed her pack with all the items that had been removed to dry when they returned from their swim down the river. The trail mix, jerky, and energy bars were all sealed in their packages, nice and dry, a ready breakfast on the fly.

From her rarely used purse she grabbed the phone and keys for the car Alec’s employees had delivered to her on Friday night. The screen of the phone was cracked. She unlocked it to make sure it still worked and saw she’d missed some calls. Odd, since no one but Alec had this number. There was a text as well. A quick check showed the text and the missed calls were from the Fairbanks lawyer Alec had hired for her. She’d forgotten about the legal issues with everything else that had happened.

But she didn’t have time or the emotional energy to face that now and tucked the phone into her backpack. She’d deal with the lawyer later. She had more important items on today’s agenda.

She faltered as she made her way through the labyrinth to the front door. Should she stop and talk to Alec? Give him the chance to deny again that he was behind the article that had presented a caricature of her to the world and called it a photograph?

Could she look into his eyes and ask him point-blank what he would do if she found the cave? Given the slant of the article, at this point, finding the cave would only hurt his campaign. If she were proven right, she’d no longer be the perfect scapegoat. Even worse, he’d have to face difficult questions about his abduction. If voters believed he’d been abducted by pretty much anyone
but
her, they might have serious questions about his mental fitness for such a high-stress office.

He’d been tortured, like Vin. He’d said as much when describing the dream. This wasn’t John McCain running for office years after being tortured in Vietnam. Alec had suffered through a life-altering event less than sixty days before the election.