Midnight Lies: The Wildefire Series (4 page)

How did her sister do this every day? Savvy was an assistant district attorney in
Nashville and, from all accounts,
thoroughly enjoyed her job. How could she work day in and day out trying to make sure
justice was served and all too often watch the perps walk out the door, ready to commit
the same crime or something even more heinous?

Being a cop was often frustrating but at least she could arrest the guilty party.
The courtroom always seemed so arbitrary to her. Yes, there was justice, but it wasn’t
black and white. Not like it was out on the street.

The vibration of her phone caused a welcome distraction. The judge had been adamant
about no phones in the courtroom. Since he already didn’t like her, she wasn’t about
to call attention to herself. Easing out of her seat, Samantha quietly and happily
left the courtroom and its ridiculous drama behind.

In the hallway, she dodged and weaved through small pockets of people as she put the
phone to her ear. “Detective Wilde.”

“Wilde, where are you?”

Her captain always sounded like he’d gotten up on the wrong side of the bed. She was
used to his gruff manner. “At the courthouse. I—”

“You need to get back here ASAP.”

“What’s up?”

“We just picked up a murder suspect. Says he knows you.”

“Who’s that?”

“Dr. Quinn Braddock.”

Before the captain finished saying Quinn’s name, Samantha was running down the hallway
to the double doors leading outside. The phone still at her ear, she ran out of the
building and down the stairs. “Who’s the victim?”

“His ex-wife, Charlene Braddock.”

No. No way
. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Running with the speed of an Olympic sprinter, Samantha
made it to her car in seconds. Her heart pounding with the dull thud of dread, she
started the vehicle and took off with a screech.

This was a mistake, of course. There was no way Quinn would have committed murder.
It was ridiculous to even consider him a suspect.

As she zoomed in and around traffic, her mind wouldn’t shut out the voices of doubt.
And the one voice that shouted the loudest reminded her of the comment Quinn had made
as he’d walked out the door this morning. She could hear his voice as clear as if
he sat beside her.
“I just hope I can get out of there without strangling her.”

Sick dread penetrated and began to wash away the denial. “Oh, Quinn … no.”

Quinn sat alone in the interrogation room. Charlene’s blood still covered his shirt.
At least they’d allowed him to wash his hands, but the stench of death continued to
fill his nostrils. He had been one of the lucky ones who’d never suffered from PTSD,
but the smell of blood on his clothing was all too familiar and brought images to
his mind he had worked like hell to forget.

Swallowing back the bile surging up his throat, he forced the horror of the past aside
and concentrated on the here and now. They actually believed he killed Charlene. Sure,
he knew the statistics. Knew that the largest percentage of murders were committed
by family members or acquaintances of the victim. He wasn’t naïve. What he was, was
pissed.

From the off-the-cuff comments that had been made around him, the cops were ready
to bag, tag, and haul him off to prison. Hell yeah, he knew he looked guilty. They’d
caught him standing over Charlene’s lifeless body, covered in her blood. And he had
scratches on his face.
His DNA would most likely be under her fingernails. Hell, if they hadn’t taken him
in for questioning, he would’ve been disgusted with their ineptitude. But now he was
becoming disgusted with their lack of investigation. They thought they had their killer;
why look elsewhere?

He had wanted to contact Sam, but when it came time to make his one call, he’d done
the sensible thing and called his attorney instead. His request that Detective Wilde
be notified had been met with speculative interest. He knew she would come as soon
as she heard. After having so many of the officers treat him as though he had already
been found guilty, he looked forward to Sam’s unerring trust. She would be the voice
of reason in this insanity.

He had no illusions or expectations that she could convince anyone he wasn’t guilty.
The investigation would have to prove that. But she would make sure the investigation
took place. Sam wouldn’t leave him hanging out to dry as her co-workers apparently
wanted to. He couldn’t deny another reason he wanted to see her. She would soothe
the raging rivers roaring inside him. Control was a vital part of his makeup, but
he could feel it eroding as each slow minute ticked by.

The image of Charlene’s body wouldn’t leave his mind. Admittedly he had no affection
toward the woman who had lied to him almost from the moment he had met her, but no
one deserved the death she had endured. Had this been a random act of violence? Though
blood had covered most of her body, he had noted that she wore a nightgown. Had she
answered the door that way or had someone broken in and stabbed her? Had she planned
to greet him in her nightgown and opened the door to her killer instead? Were there
things missing from her home? If so, hopefully that would help the police see that
he hadn’t been involved. Charlene had nothing he
wanted, and since he hadn’t had any of her items on his person, if things were missing,
then the killer or killers had them.

He amended the thought. There was one thing he did want—the Braddock necklace. He
had given it to Charlene a couple of weeks before their wedding. Her lack of enthusiasm
for the gift should have given him a clue. She had hated it. Even on the few occasions
he’d asked her to wear the thing, she had scoffed and refused, yet she had declined
to return it at their divorce. He hadn’t been surprised … that was Charlene’s way.
Quinn had chalked it up to a lost cause.

A slight noise caught his attention. Sam came through the door like a small tornado
on a mission. He had often marveled that someone so incredibly delicate-looking could
work in such a tough profession. Samantha Wilde destroyed every stereotype he’d ever
heard about homicide detectives.

Sitting at the table across from him, she asked softly, “What happened?”

The question didn’t strike him as odd. It was a reasonable one. “The door was partially
open when I got there. I found her lying on the floor. She was bleeding out. I tried
to save her but it was too late.”

“Did you see anyone leaving the house? Anyone suspicious?”

“No.” A memory hit him. “I do remember hearing squealing tires, like a car leaving
in a hurry.”

“But you didn’t see anyone?”

“No. Just a dark blur.”

“A dark blur? Blue, black, brown? What color?”

“I don’t know. I just caught it out of the corner of my eye.”

“How do you know it was a car, not a truck or SUV?”

“I don’t … not really. Guess I just assumed it was a car.” He shrugged. “Sounded like
a car.”

She silently stared at him for several seconds. Finally she said, “How did you get
the scratches on your face?”

“Charlene scratched me when I was trying to help her … I don’t think she even knew
who I was.”

She went silent again, her brilliant green eyes piercing and direct, as if she were
trying to drill through his brain. The truth slammed into him like a giant meteor
crashing to earth. Sam wasn’t looking at him as her lover, a man she totally trusted
and believed in. She was eyeing him as a suspect. The lump of cement that had been
churning in his stomach for the last hour solidified into a hard block and settled
low in his gut.

“Samantha, I didn’t kill her.”

A pained and devastated expression flickered across her face before she replaced it
with that of a professionally cool homicide detective interviewing a person of interest.
“I didn’t say you—”

“Not another word, Quinn.”

He jerked his head up to see his friend and attorney, Bob Dixon.

Bob kept his steadying gaze on Quinn but his words were for Sam. “I’d like to confer
with my client.”

“I’m not working the case,” Sam said.

“What’s she doing in here if she’s not on the case?” Bob asked Quinn.

“Samantha is my—” He caught himself. Was he risking her career by calling her his
girlfriend? As hurt as he was by her attitude, causing her problems wasn’t something
he wanted.

“Your what?” Bob asked.

“My friend.”

“Friend or not, she’s a cop. What’d you tell her?”

“What I’ve told everyone since I got here. The truth. Charlene was near death when
I arrived at her house. I tried to save her but couldn’t.”

Bob nodded and turned to Sam. “As I said, I need to confer with my client.”

Nodding her agreement, she headed to the door. “Let us know when you’re finished.”

She didn’t say another word to him, didn’t even look at him before she left. Shit.
Did she actually believe he was capable of murder?

Samantha made a beeline to the ladies’ room—one of the few places in this building
that she could hide. She rushed to the last stall and locked the door. Finally she
allowed herself to breathe, taking slow, even breaths. Feeling no better, she closed
the lid on the toilet, sat down abruptly, and put her face on her knees. It had been
years since she had fainted, but she recognized the signs. She had been seconds from
falling face-first onto the floor.

She told herself that Quinn’s emotionless comments to her questions weren’t suspect.
He was a very controlled person—that was his nature. And the scratches on his face?
It made perfect sense that an injured victim would lash out, not knowing that someone
was trying to help. The comment he’d made about strangling Charlene … people joked
about stuff like that all the time. It didn’t mean they meant the words.

Insidious doubts once more drilled into her blind faith. Hadn’t she wondered if this
man who seemed perfect for her was too perfect? Hadn’t she questioned if what he had
shown of himself was just a façade, because it was what she had wanted to see? Just
how well did she know Quinn?

She had thought her father to be flawless, too, only to learn that a monster had been
lurking beneath the surface. She had loved her father, Beckett Wilde, with all
her heart, believed him a hero in every sense of the word. He had proven how very
wrong she could be.

Admittedly she had been ten years old when that happened. It was normal for a child
to look at a parent as a larger-than-life, extraordinary person. She was an adult
now. She knew people were all too human. Despite Quinn’s seeming perfection, he was
as human as anyone. Had his fierce control finally snapped?

Samantha raked her fingers through her hair, barely aware that it came loose from
its knot and tumbled down over her shoulders. How could she even consider Quinn a
killer? This was a man who’d held her in his arms when she had sobbed over a sappy,
sad movie a few weeks ago. A man who made love to her with an intense passion intertwined
with an aching gentleness. He had laughed at her lack of skills in the kitchen, joined
her in singing an old rock and roll song she had been humming one day. He had told
her about losing his first pet, Harry the hamster, and how he had buried it beneath
his mother’s prized zinnias because he wanted his friend’s grave to be beautiful.

Quinn was a physician, saving lives daily. He would never take one. Yes, all right,
he had served in the army, but that was war against the enemy. And he had been a combat
medic, putting his life on the line to save others. He was everything heroic and brave.
Just because he seemed too good to be true didn’t mean he wasn’t exactly as he appeared
to be.

Everything they had shared over the past four months showed that he was exactly what
she believed him to be. Quinn Braddock was not a killer.

But then why didn’t he talk about his past? The hamster story had been one of the
few things he had shared. She knew his parents lived in Virginia, but only because
she had asked him. He’d admitted he and his parents
had never been close and that he hadn’t seen them in years.

After graduating from college, Quinn had joined the army, choosing to serve his country.
When he’d left the service, he had pursued medicine. He had an excellent reputation
as an ER doctor in one of the largest hospitals in Atlanta. All these things showed
a man of honor, integrity, and caring. His decisions and career choices reinforced
her faith in him.

But what if Charlene’s death hadn’t been cold-blooded murder? Quinn had made no secret
of his hatred for his ex-wife. What if he had gone over there and lost his temper?
Beneath the cool control were simmering passions she had yet to see unleashed. What
if that control had snapped?

Why had he gone over there in the first place? He had never said—only that she had
called and asked him to come. If Charlene had called, why hadn’t she heard the phone
ring? His cellphone had been on the nightstand, right next to hers. Why hadn’t she
heard it?

Samantha pushed her fingers through her hair again and stood. This merry-go-round
of questions and suppositions was getting her nowhere. She needed to get the full
facts. The only way to get to the truth was to investigate the evidence.

After washing her hands and patting her face down with a damp paper towel, she felt
marginally refreshed. The instant she opened the door, she was wishing she had stayed
inside the bathroom.

Larry Kennedy appeared in front of her; apparently he’d been waiting for her to come
out. “Captain Mintz is looking for you.”

Larry was a fellow detective and one of the few cops who’d made it clear that he didn’t
approve of her. His deep-set eyes gleamed with unhidden malice. It hadn’t
helped that she had turned him down for a date her first week on the job.

With a silent nod to let him know she’d heard him, she turned away. She and Kennedy
had already had several small altercations. The last thing she needed to do was get
into another verbal sparring match. Not when her world was falling apart around her.